Author's note: With thanks to Mynuet for sharing the plot bunny that got this whole thing started, and a double dose of gratitude to where_is_truth, for the beta and the pep talks.

***

Draco Malfoy was scowling deeply as he stomped down the hallway. No one at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would have thought anything was amiss – on the contrary, the sixth-year Slytherin was far more likely to have an unpleasant expression on his face than he was to be caught smiling – unless they had seen the parchment crumpled in his hand.

The missive from his father had come to him via the family eagle owl, Callidus, during lunch in the Great Hall. He’d known it couldn’t be good news. Malfoys didn’t put quill to parchment to relate positive sentiments; that would be wasteful.

He’d managed to read the letter after ordering Pansy to stop peeking over his shoulder. She had the annoying habit of sitting as close to him as she could manage. More often than not, her flowery perfume was so overpowering that it gave him a headache and put him off his food. Bloody aggravating bint.

“We’ll be doing a great deal of important entertaining,” his father’s short note read. “It would be beneficial for you to stay at school over Yule and study. Your marks could use improving. Perhaps your Head of House could suggest a study plan. Additional flying practice might also be helpful.”

Years of experience had taught Draco how to decode these messages from Lucius: “Mummy and I are having the Death Eaters over to plot Harry Potter’s demise. Stay at school and study – it’s humiliating that your marks are always second-best to that Mudblood’s. Can’t Snape help you cheat your way to the top, if you can’t get there honestly? Also, if you lose to Potter in Quidditch one more time, I will see to it that you aren’t part of your house team. You’re an embarrassment to your mother and me.”

So he’d be stuck at school. The only Slytherin staying, as far as he knew – even Crabbe and Goyle were going home for hols. And he’d heard the Weasel in Potions, ears flushed red with stupid pleasure as he told Potter that the Mudblood had invited him to come home with her.

Potter was staying, of course. Draco rolled his eyes at the thought. It wasn’t enough that he’d be stuck at school, but stuck at school with Potter? Gods, what a Yule this would be.

***

Ginny Weasley was smiling as she climbed the stairs to the fifth-year girls’ dormitory. She smiled frequently, but today Ginny had an extra cause for her secret delight. Ron was going home with Hermione tomorrow. The thought of having an entire two weeks free from her older brother’s prying eyes inspired such joy that she broke into an impromptu dance, shimmying the rest of the way up the stairs and into her room.

It was too bad Harry wasn’t going too, Ginny thought ruefully. Now that would have been perfect. He’d been invited, of course, but had insisted that Ron and Hermione should enjoy their holiday and had no need of a chaperone. “Besides,” he’d added with a wink across the table when they asked him yet again to come along, “I won’t be alone. I’ve got Ginny.”

The redheaded recipient of his affectionate gaze looked up, managing a weak answer to his smile.

“That’s all right, then.” Ron smiled broadly, completely oblivious to his sister’s red face as he delivered what he thought was a sly nudge to Harry’s ribs. “The two of you can just keep other company.”

Ginny groaned at the memory as she flopped onto her bed. Ron had been trying to push them together ever since the train ride back to Hogwarts. His clumsy attempts at matchmaking – limited to “Say, Harry, maybe you could help Ginny with her Potions essay!” and the like – wouldn’t have bothered her so much if Harry hadn’t seemed strangely receptive to them.

He hadn’t started seeking her out on his own, but every time Ron made one of his subtly nuanced suggestions, Harry quickly agreed to help Ginny with her homework, or her flying, or whatever flimsy excuse Ron was using to push them together. And Ginny let him, because it made everyone happy. Ron and Hermione beamed at them from across the common room where they were snuggled on the couch, and Harry smiled more when he was with Ginny than anyone else. The only one indifferent to the interaction was Ginny.

Harry was nice, sure. But Hermione had spoken the truth when she told Harry that Ginny had moved on, although no one knew the truth of the matter. Ginny held that secret closely, not trusting it to the pages of a journal or the ears of a roommate. There was a certain someone who’d caught the youngest Weasley’s interest, and she’d seen his name that morning on the list of those students staying in the castle over the break. Her grin widened. What a Yule this would be.

***

The next morning, Ginny hugged Ron goodbye with perhaps a trace too much eagerness, but her brother seemed not to notice.

“Happy Christmas, Gin,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m glad you’re staying with Harry.”

Ginny bit her tongue, fighting the urge to deny his claim. She wasn’t staying with Harry. Harry happened to be staying at the castle, too. She wasn’t staying with Harry any more than she was staying with Professor Snape.

Hermione hugged her then, brown eyes twinkling as she wished Ginny a happy holiday.

“I imagine you’ll have lots of stories to tell us when we get back,” she said brightly, and Ginny tried desperately to ignore the emphasis placed on “stories.”

Professor McGonagall stuck her head through the portrait hole then, urging the Gryffindors to hurry downstairs.

Hermione expertly levitated Ron’s trunk beside her own and turned to bestow a quick hug on Harry, who had come to say goodbye. He grinned back at her.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he said cheerfully. “You too, mate.”

Ron returned the grin and took Hermione’s hand as they climbed out of the portrait hole.

Harry turned to Ginny, green eyes sparkling merrily. “I thought they’d never leave,” he admitted.

She gaped at him.

“C’mon, Gin, you’ve got to admit he’s been a bit annoying lately, what with all his shoving us together.” Harry’s expression was amused as he took in Ginny’s shocked face. “What, you didn’t think I knew? Been a bit obvious, hasn’t he? Blimey, Gin, I’m not that thick.”

Ginny could only stare. Finally, she collected her thoughts enough to form a reply. “You knew? All this time, you knew? Then … why …”

Harry’s face turned serious as he met her eyes. “I knew what he was doing, Ginny. I just didn’t mind.”

“Oh!” Ginny gasped, hand flying to her mouth. She’d suspected, of course – she wasn’t thick, either – but to have Harry Potter openly express his feelings was something she would never have anticipated.

And now what? She had to say something, anything, but she could only stand there as the blush crept up her cheeks. That damnable Weasley blush always betrayed her, and it was doubly traitorous on this particular occasion, as Harry completely misinterpreted it.

The grin returned to his face. Finally, Ginny’s mouth started to open, even as her mind still frantically searched for an appropriate response, but Harry startled her again when he put a soft finger on her lips.

“Don’t say anything, Gin,” he said, letting his hand fall back to his side. “We can talk more later, okay? Professor McGonagall wants me to come meet with her now, but I’ll see you at supper, yeah?”

Ginny might have managed to nod; she wasn’t sure. Harry exited the common room and still she stood, rooted to the spot, until her senses returned to her and she collapsed onto the nearest sofa. Damn, she thought. Now what?

***

Draco had watched silently, jaw set, as his fellow Slytherins exited the common room. Crabbe and Goyle had grunted their goodbyes, and Pansy had flung her arms around his neck as she wished him a happy Yule. Her flowery scent had assaulted his senses as she attempted to squeeze the breath out of him, and he sneezed as he stepped out of her embrace.

“I wish I was staying here with you,” she breathed. Draco smiled stiffly at her.

“My father wants me to concentrate on improving my marks,” he drawled slowly and deliberately, forcing himself to meet her eyes and give her a teasing smirk. “And I could hardly concentrate if you were here, could I?”

He nearly choked on the words, but his Malfoy heritage carried him through. He studied Pansy’s face carefully for any sign that she’d heard a faint note of hesitation, but as always, she was oblivious.

She was beaming at him. Slytherins should not look that happy, Draco thought sourly. They shouldn’t succumb to such blatantly false flattery, either, but then Pansy had never been as adept at this game as Draco. She was very far from being a worthy adversary, so it was no challenge to play with her.

And more than anything, Draco hated being bored.

The absolute stillness of the dungeons proved oppressive in short fashion, so Draco pulled on his heaviest wool cloak and headed outside. His eyes narrowed as he pushed open the heavy doors and saw all the happy activity taking place. A lively snowball fight between a gaggle of Gryffindors. Ravenclaws building snow forts. And of course the Hufflepuffs were responsible for the small colony of snowmen with stick wands.

Draco belonged to none of these groups – not that he would have participated in any of these ridiculous activities anyway – so he tugged his Slytherin scarf tighter around his neck and walked past them all, grey eyes fixed on a point in the distance.

No one spoke to him, and he did not deign to make eye contact with any of his fellow students, so he failed to notice the pair of big brown eyes that had widened with surprise at his appearance outside. Those eyes followed him as he strode past the group of students and disappeared down a small hill, and those eyes began to glint with mischief as a plan was formulated.

Draco had no destination in mind as he headed away from the castle, but he found it surprisingly pleasant to walk in the snow, feeling it at first resist, then give way under his boots. After he could no longer hear the giggles and yells of other students, he stopped. Standing very still, he realized that he almost felt … peaceful. No Pansy. No distractions. Nothing to bother him.

He was shocked out of his contemplation by a thump, followed immediately by dull pain and a wet trickle down his neck. What? he thought frantically, reaching a gloved hand to the back of his head, where something had struck him. He gingerly probed the area, and when he brought his hand back to see if he was bleeding, his fingers were covered in a moist white substance he was very familiar with. Snow? Now he was furious. Someone had thrown a bloody snowball! At his head!

He whirled around to face the offender and stared at the figure before him.

Ginny Weasley? With a smirk on her face? Draco wondered if perhaps he’d walked farther than he’d realized and had stumbled into an alternate universe, where Weasels had spines, threw snowballs and smirked at him.

He groped frantically for his composure, the unpleasant sensation of snow trickling down his back greatly hampering his efforts, and managed only to stutter, “What the hell are you playing at, Weasel?”

“Hello, Malfoy,” Ginny said calmly, trying to fight the giggle that was threatening to escape. She was sure no one had ever seen Draco Malfoy look like this before, dumbstruck, completely out of his element, with an enormous chunk of snow sticking to the back of his head, silvery blond hair plastered crazily to his scalp.

The dumbstruck look was fading fast, though, and she could tell that he would momentarily regain himself and get all Malfoy-ish on her. In the next second, she saw a furious glare appear on his face and a pale hand dipped inside his cloak.

She had to act quickly, or he was going to hex her. Lightning-fast, Ginny reached into her own cloak, pulled out an object, and whipped it straight at Draco’s face.

He pulled his wand out of his robes and opened his mouth to curse her just as the snowball hit him. And instead of the “Rictusempra!” he had planned, what came out of Draco’s mouth instead was “Mmph!” (And a lot of snow.)

This time, Ginny couldn’t hold in her giggles. Snow was dripping down his forehead, clumped in his eyelashes, and he was spitting it out in clumps, having had the misfortune to open his mouth at just the wrong moment. The giggles turned into a belly laugh, and while Draco reached into his cloak again, this time withdrawing a monogrammed handkerchief with which to wipe his face, she sank down to the ground, laughing hysterically.

Before, Draco had been surprised that the little girl Weasel had dared to throw a snowball at him. He was very nearly shocked that she was not afraid when he whirled around to confront her. But he was absolutely flabbergasted that not only were her reflexes quick enough to react before he could draw his wand, but that she had the absolute gall to throw another snowball. At his face.

And now she was laughing at him. He finished cleaning the wet mess from his face and leveled a glare in her direction. She managed to bring her fit of laughter to a choking halt and meet his eyes, which had become a stormy gray as his expression darkened.

“Why did you do that?” he hissed. He had no intention of cursing her now – he just wanted an answer, had to know what the thought process was that had led to her actions. He expected her to tell him it was because of his repeated insults to her brother and the rest of her poor, redheaded family. Draco could have understood an answer like that. He would have sneered at her foolish, misplaced Gryffindor bravery, but he would have understood.

“Well?” His tone was impatient now. The little wench would answer him.

Ginny stood up, not bothering to brush the snow from her cloak, never taking her eyes from his face. She chose her words carefully; after all, this was an important moment. This was the opportunity she had waited for, and there might not be another. After an infinitesimal pause that seemed to last for an hour, she answered him, her tone soft and sure.

“I did that,” she said, “because I wanted you to see me.”

His mouth opened again, but Draco Malfoy had nothing to say. He simply stared at the snowy figure who had surprised him yet again. She brushed her fiery hair behind her ears as she watched him, steadily meeting his startled gaze.

He might have found words, but the silence was broken by Ginny’s name being called.

Her head whipped around toward the sound and she uttered a muffled curse. She looked back at Draco quickly, shot him a quick smile and ran back toward the hill.

As she walked quickly up the short incline, Draco saw another figure appear.

“There you are.” It was the same voice that had called her a moment ago, and Draco’s eyes narrowed as he recognized it.

Potter.

***

Ginny’s face was flushed red as she scrambled up the hill toward Harry. Damn, damn, damn, she thought furiously. Of all the moments for Harry to interrupt, not that one! What might Draco have said, if given time?

She hadn’t known what she was going to do when she’d separated from the other Gryffindors and followed him. And when he’d stopped so suddenly, just standing there, he’d looked so sad. It wouldn’t do to just talk to him – he’d sneer at her and issue one of his scathing taunts. She had to do something unexpected.

And then she’d remembered the snowballs in her pocket. A secret smile spread over her face as she mentally replayed the event … and then she realized Harry was talking to her.

“… doing out here, Gin?”

“Huh? Oh.” Stupid, stupid. Pay attention! Answer him, or he’ll know something’s up. Did he see Draco? “We were having a snowball fight, and I, um, I wanted to find a hiding place. You know, so I could have the element of surprise.” Did he see me with Draco?

Harry was smiling down at her, and she quickly deduced that he hadn’t seen anything. Change the subject, Ginny!

“So how was your meeting with Professor McGonagall?”

The smile slipped from his face and his eyes lost their sparkle. “Fine,” he said, his words clipped.

Ginny arched an eyebrow. “Sorry I asked.”

He turned to her then, and his face was stricken. “I’m sorry, Ginny, I didn’t mean …”

“Forget it,” she said. “It’s none of my business, anyway.” And she didn’t care. She’d just needed to distract him so she could gather her thoughts. But the pretense was too much to keep up, and Ginny found that she didn’t much care if she was being rude.

She veered away from his side with a sudden movement, quickening her pace as she hurried toward the steps of the castle.

Harry watched her go, much like Draco had, but she didn’t smile back at him.

Draco couldn't be sure, later, how long he'd stood in the snow after Ginny – the Weasel girl, his brain corrected – had left to go to Potter. His cheeks were stinging with the aftereffects of the snowball, but still he stood.

"I wanted you to see me," she had told him. Mental agility was one of Draco’s strong points, but this statement had his brain performing a frenzied series of back flips. And she'd said it so … honestly. She had met his gaze unflinchingly and delivered those words without the slightest hint of amusement or hidden meaning.

She had meant what she said, he was sure of it. Now he was left to work out why, in bloody hell, Ginny Weasley would look twice at him. He began pacing a slow circle in the snow, thinking.

His looks and his money were most girls' downfall, but he grudgingly assigned the little snowball-flinging fireball more credit than those twits. She wasn't impressed by his status – she certainly hadn't hesitated to fling that Bat-Bogey Hex in his direction – and it wasn't as if they'd ever interacted enough for her to fall victim to his devastating wit. Everything she knew of him should, by all rights, make her run to Potter’s side and stay there, but when Potter had come for her, she had not wanted to go. She had wanted to stay with him.

The more Draco thought about it, the more agitated he became. She wanted him to see her, but what did she see in him?

***

After leaving Harry and his wounded-puppy stare outside in the snow, Ginny slipped into an alcove near the Transfiguration classroom and tried to get a grip.

Okay, she told herself. So you told him. Now what? Harry came along and nearly ruined the whole thing, but you don’t know what Draco would have said. And he would have said something. He would have! You definitely have his attention now; best to stay on the offensive while he’s still off-balance.

She snickered out loud at that, pleased with herself. Draco Malfoy was seldom flustered, but she was certain she’d managed to discompose him. He had no idea who he was dealing with, but if Ginny played her cards correctly – and she always did – he would soon find out.

"Miss Weasley!" A sharp voice interrupted Ginny's reverie, and her head jerked up to meet Professor McGonagall's gaze.

"Professor McGonagall," Ginny returned, trying to force a calm she didn't feel into her voice as she pasted on a dutiful smile. After all, it wasn't as if McGonagall could read her thoughts and know that she'd been musing on Draco Malfoy's ability to make snow look sexy.

"Are you ready for dinner, Miss Weasley?"

Dinner? Great Hall … other students … Draco. Ginny's smile was real now, if somewhat on the mischievous side, and she answered eagerly.

"Yes, Professor," she said, fighting to keep her lips from curving into an entirely inappropriate smirk. "I'm ready."

***

By the time he entered the Great Hall for dinner, Draco had his usual mask fixed firmly in place. He settled himself at the end of a long table, ignoring those around him until a flash of red caught his attention. He willed himself not to look. He made a conscious decision not to look. And then, of course, he looked.

And then he scowled deeply, because the third-year Hufflepuff boy with an unruly mass of carroty locks had seen him looking.

Before Draco returned his gaze to the still-empty plate in front of him, he saw Potter enter the Hall. The black-haired boy was scanning the room, looking ill at ease.

Looking for Ginny, Draco knew. Potter's search continued unsuccessfully, and then he saw Draco watching him.

The slightly worried expression slid immediately from Harry's face, and his eyes narrowed. Draco allowed more enmity than usual to show in his return glare. An annoying inner voice wondered at his motivation, as the two boys had had no contact for the past two days, and Harry Potter was slightly startled to see Draco Malfoy actually bare his perfect white teeth.

When Potter looked away, Draco let his face relax into a smirk, but that faded away into an unreadable expression when another flash of red caught his eye. This time, it was her, walking in with that bat McGonagall.

Potter had followed his eyes to see her entrance. His uneasy expression had returned when she met his eyes and the happy spark had faded from her own. She shook her head very slightly as Potter took a step toward her, and he stopped. Draco watched this, and he could not have explained why he felt so pleased to see Ginny – the Weasel!, his brain screamed – issue her silent rebuke.

Her eyes slid to the side as she took a seat directly in Draco's line of vision, and he saw that teasing glint reappear as she located him. Once she was sure he was watching her, Ginny winked once, very deliberately, and began to eat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw – and also heard – Draco Malfoy drop his fork. Her glee was short-lived, however, because Harry Potter slid into the seat next to her. Here we go, she sighed mentally, taking an especially large bite of peas to buy herself some time.

"Ginny," Harry started tentatively, "is everything okay?"

She didn't even bother trying to stifle her exasperated sigh. He'd had at least thirty minutes to think of something to say to her. He'd approached her even after being warned off. Was it wholly unreasonable of her, she wondered, to expect something a little more suave than Harry's meekly delivered query?

The problem, she knew, was that she hadn't been clear with him. He thought she was angry because he was hiding things, when she was really just annoyed by his untimely interference.

She got a sudden flash of memory from the previous summer at the Burrow and remembered watching curiously as Hermione jerked a small, sticky piece of fabric off her scraped knee. "They're bandages," the bushy-haired girl had explained. "They protect wounds while they're healing, and once the wound is healed, it's best to rip them off as quickly as possible. It hurts much less that way."

Ginny had held off for fear of hurting Harry, feeling that she couldn't reject what hadn't been declared. But now that he seemed to be on the verge of that very declaration, she was determined to forestall it.

Do it quickly, she coached herself. Cruel to be kind.

She turned to Harry then.

"I'm okay," she said carefully, flinching at the smile that immediately leapt onto his face. "But … we do need to talk, Harry."

She would have done it right then, would have told Harry in no uncertain terms that as much as she valued his friendship, she just didn't feel that way about him. She would have done it if Peeves had chosen any other moment to swoop into the Great Hall and dump an enormous bucket of icy water on her head.

But as her hair was plastered to her face and her teeth were chattering, she decided with no small amount of bitterness that the conversation was best left for another time.

Soon, Ginny vowed. Right after she dried her hair and found a way to make Peeves die all over again.

Draco had watched with thinly veiled amusement as Potter approached Ginny. The prat must know nothing about women if he thinks now is a good time, he thought. Clearly she's not in the mood.

He was startled to find himself wondering what Ginny Weasley might be like when she was in the mood. If the mischievous spark he'd noticed in her melted-chocolate – dirt-colored! – eyes was any indication, she might be quite the spitfire ...

"Bloody hell," Draco blurted loudly, desperate to derail that train of thought. Several curious faces turned his way, and he set his jaw when he realized that yes, he had said that out loud.

He dared a glance down the table to see if a certain Gryffindor had noticed, but she was saying something to Potter. Peeves swooped into the Great Hall then, carrying an enormous bucket, which he proceeded to dump over said Gryffindor’s head.

She was sputtering, and those fire-bright locks were drenched, hanging heavy down her back. Potter fumbled for his napkin and offered it to her, and Draco scoffed at the ineffectual gesture. What was she supposed to do, dry that mane of hers with that absurdly small square? She looked absolutely ridiculous. He was enjoying the moment immensely until it struck him that he must have looked much the same earlier that afternoon.

Ginny appeared to be more annoyed than seriously angry as she dragged her small hands through her hair, attempting to squeeze out some of the moisture. She said something to Harry, stood from the table, and headed out of the Hall.

Following her was an unconscious decision. Draco slid from the bench and was moving toward the exit before the heavy doors had even swung shut after her.

She had already disappeared around a corner, but he could easily discern her path from the trail of water droplets on the stone floor. He walked quickly in that direction and soon saw a familiar figure starting up the staircase.

His lips had pressed together to form the "w" in weasel, so that he could halt her progress, but at the last instant his mouth twisted and the word Ginny heard was "Wait."

She turned when she heard it without knowing who had spoken. When she saw Draco at the foot of the stairs, her look of surprise at finding him there – was she expecting Potter? – was identical to his surprised expression as he found himself taking another step toward her.

He had to regain the upper hand. Two snowballs and a wink, and he was behaving like a mindless ponce instead of a Slytherin. Instead of a Malfoy.

He didn’t realize he was muttering those thoughts aloud, and Ginny had to giggle. Her soft laugh brought him back to himself, and that familiar smirk appeared on his face as he took in the sight of the bedraggled girl above him.

"Hello, Ginny," he drawled.

So, Ginny thought, Draco Malfoy has recovered his power of speech. Never mind that she was a soggy mess; he had followed her and initiated this little tête-à-tête, and she was not one to pass up an opportunity.

"Draco," she returned coolly, tucking several wet strands of hair behind her ear. "I wasn't aware you knew my first name, as you've never used it before. Should I congratulate you on your powers of observation, or do you have a piece of parchment stuck in your sleeve to help you along?"

He arched an eyebrow. Just as he’d thought, she was a spitfire. He grinned, and the decision was made. She was a worthy opponent, and the game would begin.

He didn't realize that it already had.

Steely gray eyes locked with warm brown, and he stepped onto the staircase just as Harry Potter came around the corner.

Draco was already feeling rather pleased with himself, and the sight of Potter's jaw dropping open only heightened his amusement.

"Malfoy! What are you doing with Ginny? Get away from her," Harry growled, his hand dropping to his wand.

This was far too easy.

"What am I doing with Ginny? Well, Potty, when I figure that out, I'll let you know – second thought, no, I won't – but I'll tell you this: I'm not doing anything she hasn't invited me to do." Draco's drawl was full of silky satisfaction, and his smirk widened as Potter’s face flushed a furious red. "Blushing like a Weasley there, Potter. Too bad red doesn’t nearly look as good as you as it does on Ginny."

As soon as Harry had appeared, Ginny had begun searching for something heavy to throw at him. Again? He was interrupting again? Gods, where was Hermione when she needed a good repelling charm? Her frustration was overwhelming, and if she managed to avoid a foot-stamping tantrum, she deserved a bloody Order of Merlin, First Class.

Then Draco spoke, and Ginny's fury was momentarily forgotten. His voice ... that tone ... his words. What was he on about? She hadn't invited him ... well, not directly. She supposed her actions outside could have been taken as some sort of invitation. If so, Draco seemed to have accepted it. Was that a compliment? Was he complimenting her hair? Self-conscious for the first time that day, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the still-wet mass.

Silvery eyes noticed her furtive motion, and Draco's pale hands reached out to gently tug Ginny's from her hair. He felt her tense at the contact and mimicked the teasing wink she'd sent his way in the Great Hall.

"Stop that," he said, his tone mild. "It doesn't matter."

What does? Ginny wanted to ask, but her thoughts were hopelessly scrambled from his touch. He was close enough for her to scent an appealing, woodsy smell that must be his cologne, and his thumbs had traced gentle circles on her palms before he'd released her hands. She was spinning, she was dizzy – it was delicious.

And Harry was watching her, suspicion mingling with a dawning awareness in those too-green eyes.

Green for jealousy, Ginny thought unkindly, but he has no right to be jealous.

She should probably say something. But what, and to whom?

"Harry," Ginny started, flushing when her voice came out as a hoarse croak. "I want to tell you ..."

"Yes," a cool voice interjected, "tell him." Ginny's head swiveled, and she met Draco's eyes, which were glinting in satisfaction.

"Tell me what?" Harry demanded. "Ginny, what's going on?"

Again, Ginny opened her mouth to try and explain, and again, fate intervened. The staircase creaked into motion, and she and Draco were borne away from Harry, who was left standing alone.

Thanks, as always, to where_is_truth for the beta (as well as the seal of approval), and also to applecede for the much-needed brainstorming session.

***

"Well, this is an interesting turn of events," Draco observed as the moving staircase continued to spiral them away toward parts unknown. The amusement was evident in his tone.

Ginny sank down onto the stairs, silently agreeing with him. The entire day had been one interesting turn of events after another. From Harry's almost-declaration to throwing snowballs at Draco, to getting soaked by Peeves and then stuck on a staircase – again with Draco – she no longer knew which way was up. She was sideways, or upside down, or somewhere in between, but it didn't seem like such a horrible place to be.

"So." Draco's smooth voice tickled her ear as he seated himself next to her. "Don't you think it's about time you explained yourself, little Weasel?”

Ginny noticed his use of the old nickname, but his tone was entirely different now, so near to a caress that it made her shiver. His gaze was intently fixed on her, and she knew the time for truth had come.

She nodded at him. "You're exactly right, Malfoy," she said. "I'll answer any question you've got for me ...”

His eyes flashed with interest, and then she continued.

" ... as long as you answer something first."

A brief frown crossed his face, but then he shrugged, devil-may-care attitude returning. "Why not? It isn't as if you'd know the right question to ask, anyway."

He reconsidered that statement as Ginny's eyes gleamed with triumph.

"Why'd you follow me?"

Draco said nothing in response, but the fleeting look of surprise that Ginny spotted on his face let her know she had, indeed, known the right question.

"Don't answer that,"she added quickly, which caused him to quirk an eyebrow at her. "What I mean is that I know what you'd say. You don't know why, any more than I did when I first started to see you differently."

She trailed off then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she watched for Draco's reaction.

When he spoke, never taking those molten eyes from her face, his voice was ever so slightly hoarse. "Don't stop there."

The next breath she drew was slightly shuddery. The chemistry between them – whatever this was between them – was almost a tangible thing now. Ginny imagined she could see it fluttering in the short distance between them and had to stop herself from reaching out for it.

"I had a fight with my brother," she said simply, forcing herself to stay on track. "About a month ago. I told him I wasn't planning to go home for Yule – that was before Hermione invited him – and he was furious. 'We always go,' he said.

"'We always go,'" she repeated, shaking her head. Draco noticed that her hair, as it dried, had started to curl at the ends. He wondered if the curl would straighten if he tugged it gently, or if it would maintain its simple integrity. He might have checked, but Ginny was still speaking.

"I started to think about how many people see me just as 'the Weasley girl,' not as Ginny. They know my name, maybe, but they assume everything else about me just because of my last name."

She paused, and Draco's voice slid into the silence.

"And you thought I might know what that was like." He was furious with himself for the vague disappointment he felt at her explanation. What did it matter to him, anyway? And what had he expected her to say, if not that?

"I did think that," Ginny said softly, "but you're also one of the people who didn't see me as anything other than a Weasley." Didn't, she realized, I said didn't. But maybe it's true, maybe he's starting to look at me.

He couldn't argue with that statement, could not meet those limpid brown eyes and tell her she was wrong. He couldn't think of anything to say to her that seemed even vaguely right, but he had to do something. So he reached for her.

He cupped her face gently in his hands, and her eyes fluttered closed with a small sigh. So soft, he thought as he let his fingers trail down the sides of her neck until his palms were resting lightly on her shoulders.

Do it, his mind urged, but he hesitated. Any of the Hogwarts girls who had met him in broom closets or dark alcoves would have screamed "Polyjuice!" at this uncharacteristic behavior, but all Draco knew was that he wanted to do this right.

When nothing happened after a few seconds, Ginny slowly opened her eyes. Draco was still there, so so close, not moving, barely even breathing. He blinked, and in the sliver of a second his eyes were shut, Ginny leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

If she'd thought his scent made her weak, Ginny would need to ask Hermione for some stronger adjectives to describe what it was like to kiss Draco. It was lucky they were sitting, because she knew her knees would not have supported her. The sensation of her lips touching his, of his grip on her shoulders tightening at the instant of contact ... of his lips pressing back and coaxing her mouth open, of his tongue sliding forward to trace her lips ...

She could have kissed Draco forever. She would have kept kissing him for the next several minutes, at least, but the staircase chose that moment to come to a creaking, stuttering halt.

They parted instantly, eyes opening reluctantly, but their faces remained millimeters apart. Draco turned his head to peer into the dark corridor in front of them, and as he moved, his cheek brushed Ginny’s nose.

He stood then, climbing up the few remaining stairs. At the top, he turned and extended a hand to Ginny, which she took wordlessly. He helped her up, and released her hand with a quick squeeze when she reached his side.

"What now?" Ginny asked quietly, still reeling, reeling, reeling from the kiss. Am I panting? Gods! Get a hold of yourself.

Draco's eyes were serious – predatory, even – as he looked back at her. "I think that should be obvious," he said, and his lazy drawl was full of promises and intentions Ginny was sure were not entirely proper. Not that she wanted them to be. The idea of Draco Malfoy being proper with her made her cold inside, whereas his kiss ... oh. He had bent his head so that his mouth was tickling her ear, and his warm breath was making her shiver as he whispered to her.

"We have to figure out where we are."

Her head jerked and she met his eyes, only to see them twinkling at her.

"Was that not what you were expecting me to say?" he asked in a deceptively innocent tone, inwardly enjoying her surprise. It was only fair, he thought – if she wouldn't do the expected thing, then neither would be.

Ginny considered a reply in the same teasing vein before deciding to take a more direct approach.

"Almost nothing about today has been what I expected, Draco."

Again, the simple honesty of her statement had surprised him, but at least now he could answer her. No more awkward silences – now that he had kissed those full, warm lips, he felt more in control of himself than he had since being assaulted by her snowball.

And she was right. Of all the words he might use to describe this day, 'unexpected' was surely the most apt. Ginny had disrupted his moment of peace with a bang – don't you mean a splat? his brain corrected – and had insinuated herself into his consciousness. He had hardly stopped thinking of her since that afternoon.

He mused on what he knew, really knew, of her. A Weasley, yes, but the only similarity she seemed to share with her odious brother was the hair. And even the hair, on her, had a strange appeal. She was deft where Ron fumbled, both socially and on the Quidditch pitch. No, he thought, she's not like her brother. Upon that conclusion, he assigned a mental point in Ginny's favor.

He was continuing to tick off positive points, finding more than he had anticipated, when a startled "eep!" broke the silence, and both Ginny and Draco turned quickly toward the sound. Draco drew his wand and prepared to cast a nasty hex, but Ginny peered into the dark hallway and visibly relaxed when she recognized the shadowy figure clinging to the wall.

"Euan," she said, identifying the second-year Gryffindor. That did nothing for Draco, who was reasonably sure he had never seen the shaking boy before. "Abercrombie," Ginny added under her breath, seeing his lack of recognition.

"What are you doing, Euan?" Ginny's voice was gentle, causing Draco to roll his eyes, but it did nothing to lessen the small boy’s obvious discomfort.

"G-g-getting my Charms book," the boy stuttered. "I left it ..."

"Left it where?" Draco asked sharply. "We're not anywhere near the Charms classroom."

"But ... " Euan trailed off miserably, though it was clear he wanted to say something.

Ginny stepped in front of Draco, effectively shielding Euan from his icy glare. "Go on," she said, and the softness in her tone made Draco remember how soft her lips had been. The glare dropped off his face.

"Well," Euan continued reluctantly, darting a nervous look over Ginny's shoulder, "we are near the Charms classroom. It's just there." He pointed behind him, and Draco recognized a familiar portrait.

"Finally," he said coldly. "I thought I'd be stuck wandering the castle with a Weasley all night because of a blasted moving staircase." Out of the corner of eyes he hoped were projecting the right amount of detachment and disgust, he chanced a peek at Ginny.

Her eyes did not well up with tears, and her mouth did not fall into a pout. Instead, she nodded slowly, as if he had said nothing that she had not anticipated.

"Euan," she said again, and her housemate turned to her. "You should be getting back to Gryffindor. I'll be along shortly."

He nodded quickly, and with a last "eep" as he caught Draco's eye, he was scurrying back down the corridor.

Now they were alone, and Ginny lifted her brown eyes for a brief moment, searching Draco's face, before a very small smile flickered and died.

"Good night, Draco," was all she said before she turned and started to walk away.

And this time, when he said "wait," she didn't.

Ginny's disappointment was keen as she hurried down the corridor after Euan Abercrombie. Of course she hadn't expected Draco to sling his arm around her shoulders and kiss her cheek, but she'd thought they'd at least moved beyond the public insults. The way he'd looked at her, kissed her, had let her hope.

Clearly, Draco still needed the pretense as a buffer, if it even was pretense. Ginny wondered what, exactly, had changed for him today. She could guess at what she'd seen pass through those fathomless grey eyes and try to deduce what he might be feeling, but the thought of it was tiring. And after all, it had only been a day. A single afternoon, part of an evening – a small amount of time. Too small to change everything?

Dissecting their interaction could wait; she had other business to attend to. Her brown eyes narrowed and she quickened her pace, hurrying down the hallway until a small figure came into view.

For the second time that day, Ginny smirked. Poor Euan, she thought. He has no idea what he's gotten himself into. His Charms book, huh? How studious of him, considering that it's winter hols. Euan, Euan, Euan. Or should I say, Harry, Harry, Harry?

"Oh, Euan," she called sweetly. "Wait for me!"

He halted dutifully and smiled as Ginny approached. "Hi, Ginny!" he squeaked.

"I thought we could walk back to Gryffindor together," Ginny said, linking her arm through his companionably. "Oh, but … you're not ready to go back yet, are you?"

Euan's look of puzzlement was a beautiful thing.

"Your Charms book," Ginny prodded. "You forgot it, silly."

"My Charms book?" Euan repeated dumbly. "It's in my room. I ..." He gulped then, and his eyes were wide with realization as he stopped in his tracks.

"That's all right, Euan," Ginny said, adopting a helpful, innocent tone. "I know you weren't getting your Charms book. Someone asked you to come find me, didn't they?"

The second-year's head bobbed up and down in affirmation before he stopped and blurted a very unconvincing "No!"

Ginny continued her more-flies-with-honey approach and a few minutes later, Euan had shared a very enlightening tale in which Harry Potter gave him a Galleon to come check – 'spy' might be more accurate, Ginny thought furiously – on Ginny and report back on exactly what she might be doing with Malfoy.

Euan climbed through the portrait hole first when they reached Gryffindor, and a familiar shaggy head turned toward him, green eyes alight with curiosity behind his glasses.

"Well?" Harry asked impatiently. "What ..."

"Did he see?" Ginny finished as she entered the common room. "I think I can answer that best, Harry. Good night, Euan," she added pointedly, and he scampered up the stairs to the safety of his room.

The rapid thumping in her chest was distracting as Ginny walked slowly to where Harry was lounging – if his straight-backed posture and worried eyes could be described as lounging – and sat in a chair directly across from him.

"Why?" she asked simply, then continued without waiting for a reply. Her words spilled out in staccato bursts as her voice grew strident. "Why did you pay Euan to follow me, Harry? Why did you act as if you owned me when you saw me with Draco? Why did you assume that having feelings for me was the same as acting on them?"


As she began speaking, Harry had opened his mouth to answer her, but he had frozen at her verbal onslaught. When she finished, he was sitting there, still gaping at her.

Ginny’s sigh as she folded her arms across her chest was loud and exasperated. Then, a jumble of emotions flitting across his face, Harry began speaking.

"You want to know why, Gin?" he murmured quietly. "I almost don't know. I saw you with Malfoy ..." He grimaced as if saying his rival's name caused him physical pain, and Ginny nodded for him to go on.

"I saw you with him," Harry continued, "and I couldn't see straight. I couldn't see anything else but how he taunts your family, and I kept hearing him sing 'Weasley Is Our King.'"

Now it was Ginny's mouth that was open slightly, but her expression was that of realization, rather than shock. Something important had clicked into place for her with Harry's words, and she was now doubly certain that she would be right to reject him. Once he stopped talking, that is. Because Harry was still going on about Malfoy, but increasing in volume and intensity. What had begun as a simple explanation had built up steam as grievances were ticked off, and now Harry was raging on about every offense the Slytherin had committed, from his first insults on the train – five years ago! Ginny wanted to scream – to his blatant fouls on the Quidditch pitch.

Harry had not mentioned her name since he first started to answer her questions.

***

In the dungeons, Ginny's name was running nonstop through Draco's every thought as he tried to puzzle out her actions when they had parted. That brief smile and her complete lack of response when he had behaved as he normally would. The calmness in her voice as she bid him goodnight. He had been sure, been completely convinced, that she would be rattled. He would have felt better if she had been angry. He could have responded to her anger. It was her unanticipated composure that he could not cope with, and he realized with surprise that her lack of reaction was very familiar to him. It was a Slytherin trait.

Draco resolved to view the day from a proper Slytherin perspective, since his current review was bringing him nothing but frustration. He'd taunted Potter and gotten a decent – more than decent, bloody amazing if he was being honest – snog. A good day. It did not matter that the snog had come from a Weasley. A snog was a snog, and any witch with lips that soft ...

This way wasn't working, either.

He needed a plan. Not some ridiculous, Granger-like plan, with charts and arrows, just an idea of what to do the next time he saw his – yours? When did that happen? – little spitfire.

And then it came to him. They were playing a game, and it was definitely his move. Everything Ginny had done that day had surprised him. He'd thought, at first, that she was acting outrageously out of character, but Draco was coming to the conclusion that she was simply different than he might have expected, had he ever considered her.

"The element of surprise is a powerful thing when confronting an enemy." Shaking his head, Draco wondered briefly at the wisdom of using his father's advice. It was always a questionable venture to heed Lucius Malfoy's words, but to woo – ah, so we're wooing her now, are we? – a girl?

Maybe that snowball had hit him harder than he'd thought.

***

In Gryffindor, Harry's tirade had finally come to a merciful end, leaving Ginny searching for the best way to do what she'd been trying to do all day.

Tell Harry.

He was watching her, had been since he'd stopped talking. The fevered look of hate was slowly fading, and now he just looked tired. That made sense, Ginny thought – hate was an awfully draining emotion.

"Harry," Ginny said, knowing she had to start this before something else interrupted. "Thank you."

Both of them were surprised to hear those words come out of her mouth. Ginny had not planned to say them, but they sounded right as they slipped off her tongue.

"Thank you," she repeated, and when Harry looked ready to ask what she was thanking him for, she held up a hand to forestall him. "For explaining why. I think I understand now."

And she did understand. She understood Harry's motivation and knew that she was not it, and she understood her certainty that she and Harry would not – should not – be a couple. Ginny almost laughed at the look of relief that spread across Harry's face. Her newfound understanding was not the point in his favor he clearly thought it to be.

"We've been good friends, Harry," she continued. "And ... I've known for a while that's all we can be."

She met his gaze then, cringing slightly at the hurt she saw there. Go on, she told herself. Make him see.

"What I didn't know until just now was why. Think about how you explained things to me."

She sighed at his lack of comprehension. "It's not me you want. It's my family."

"Ginny ..." Harry's voice was a strangled plea, and he reached out for her.

"Can you tell me it's not true, Harry?" she asked gently. "Think about it – really think about it – and you'll know I'm right.

"And that's not fair. It's not what either of us need, and I'll be honest, Harry. I deserve more than that. I need – I deserve – someone who sees me. You don't," she finished simply, and her words echoed in the empty common room.

"And Malfoy does?" Harry's voice was sullen, and Ginny had to work very hard to keep herself from slapping that petulant frown off his face. How was it possible for one person to be this clueless? Was he even listening? All he could do was ask about Draco? Would he notice if she screamed in his face?

He has no right, she thought furiously.

"You have no right to ask that," Ginny snapped, her calm demeanor vanishing. "And I couldn't answer you if I wanted to. I don't know what Draco thinks when he looks at me; I don't know what he sees."

"But you want him to look at you," Harry muttered, and now his green eyes were glittering oddly as he looked at her. "That's original of you, Gin. You're brassed off, so you decide that going after Malfoy would be a good way to hurt me." At those words, the Weasley temper overtook Ginny.

She stood up, her eyes flashing with rage, and stalked toward the stairs. When she whipped around, the light playing in her hair, she looked like a goddess of fire, trembling from head to toe in furious indignation.

"It says everything, Harry, that your concern is not that I don't want you, but who I might want instead. You're not my father, you're not one of my brothers ..." She paused as a muscle in Harry's jaw jerked at those words. She knew they would hurt. But he needed to know that they were true, that he could not claim the right of a brother, much as he might want to. "Right now I'm not even sure you're my friend."

There were angry tears pooling in Ginny's eyes as she finished and stood there waiting for Harry's response. When it did not come, she turned again and walked slowly up the stairs.

Author's Note: It's finished! Finally! (Sorry; I'm a little giddy.) Thanks to all who've reviewed, but especially to where_is_truth for being the best beta I could have asked for. She helped me stumble through writing my first fic; any mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy.

***

When Ginny walked into the Great Hall the next morning, a carefully cast glamour hiding any evidence of her furious tears the night before, Draco was already there.

He was eating and did not immediately see her, so she took a moment to study him. Watching his hands as he cut his food with deft, graceful motions made her remember shivering at his touch, and when he lifted his fork to his mouth, the parting of his lips made her breathe unsteadily.

Now he had seen her. That platinum head tilted slightly as he appraised her, and after a moment, his chin jerked slightly, indicating the empty seat across from him.

An invitation or a challenge? Either way, Ginny was willing to accept, and she slid into the offered seat.

"Good morning," Draco said lightly, and she would have responded then, but he added two quick syllables that made her pause. "Ginny."

She could not help staring. He'd said her name before, and she'd mocked him for using it, but his tone was so different now. So familiar, even though she was certainly not used to hearing her name spill from those lips in that low, lazy timbre.

He had to know the effect his voice had – that silky purr was no accident. Neither was that look he was giving her, a silvery stare so piercingly direct Ginny was sure he could see her knickers.

Your green knickers, a mocking mental voice taunted. Feeling a bit Slytherin today, are we?

“No,” Ginny said out loud, flushing when Draco arched a pale brow.

“No?” he repeated,. “I haven’t asked you anything … yet.”

“By all means, Draco,” Ginny returned, feeling the heat recede from her cheeks. She could deal with Draco’s innuendo-laden banter, but not the silence that let her mind wander farther than his words went. “And what is it you might be asking me?”

Draco considered her, the little spitfire with the spark in her eyes, those sienna pools that he found himself both unable and unwilling to look away from. There were many questions that he could have asked her, many points on which his curiosity was yet to be satisfied, but he chose the most nagging one for this moment.

“What’s the story with you and Potter?”

He imagined that she looked relieved once he had asked, as if she wanted – needed, even – to answer this.

Her voice was soft but her words were steady as she began to speak.

“Really, there isn’t much to tell,” Ginny explained. “Ron’s been pushing us together a lot …” Here she had to pause and stifle a grin when Draco’s eyes narrowed. “He’s been pushing us together,” she continued, “but Harry never said anything to me. Until the first day of winter hols, that is. Even then, he really didn’t say anything straight out; he just hinted that he might not have minded what Ron was doing.”

“And you?” Draco had not meant to interrupt, but he found that he had to ask.

“Me?” Ginny tried not to think about what it could mean that Draco wanted to know what she felt for Harry. It might mean nothing more than simple curiosity, or possibly eagerness to find something to use against his enemy. But then surely Draco could sense her lack of interest in Harry. Even Harry should have been able to sense it – it fairly radiated from her pores.

“I knew it wasn’t right,” Ginny admitted after a moment of silence. “It didn’t feel right, but I didn’t know why. Well, I didn’t know why before last night. Harry and I … talked. And now I understand.”

They had both momentarily forgotten their surroundings, had forgotten that they were a Slytherin boy and a Gryffindor girl sitting together in the middle of the Great Hall. Draco had only been aware of Ginny’s presence since she’d entered, just as her attention was focused entirely on him. But now the murmurings from other students and the probing, pointed glances being directed their way had intruded into the moment, and the protective bubble was burst.

Draco sent a quelling glare around the room, smirking at the muted “eep” from Euan Abercrombie, and turned back to Ginny.

“I want to finish this,” he told her, and she wondered if he was referring to the conversation, the game they seemed to be playing, or something else entirely.

Either way, she thought they should finish, too, and so she stood when he did and they walked together toward the huge double doors leading out of the Hall. With the way things had gone for her thus far over the holiday break, Ginny was not at all surprised when she and Draco found themselves standing face-to-face with Harry Potter.

Harry could not quite muster a glare. He could only stare at Ginny, silently accusing her of something, and she felt her anger stirring again. She tamped it down, refusing to satisfy Harry with the response he clearly expected. Draco heard her sigh very softly, and the sound spurred an action that surprised all three of them.

He took Ginny’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and led her past Harry.

Who, of course, couldn’t leave things there.

“Malfoy,” he called, and Ginny thought he had probably intended to sound forceful and challenging. He managed neither.

Draco turned back, his smirk already in place. He’d given Potter the opportunity for a graceful exit – although why he had done so was a niggling question in the back of his mind – but if the git was too stupid to take it, there would be no second chance.

“She’s just using you,” Harry spat, fixing a venomous glare on Ginny. “She’s using you to get at me.”

Draco laughed, delighted with the opening he’d been given. Slytherins lived for these moments, and Draco was every inch a Slytherin.

“Is that so?”

Harry’s eyes were still defiant as they focused on Draco, and he nodded jerkily in response to the platinum-haired boy’s question.

“If that’s true –” Draco’s drawl was thoroughly amused, and the deliberate emphasis he’d placed on his first word said no, it was not possibly true, could not be farther from the truth, but he would indulge Harry for a moment.

“If that’s true,” he repeated, “then I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun being used.

“In fact, Potter,” Draco added with a significant, sin-filled glance at Ginny, whose hand he still held, “I’d highly recommend it.”

Harry and Ginny were both staring at Draco; the former with a frenzied hate, the latter with a new understanding.

Harry was the first to pull his eyes away, and then Draco turned back to Ginny.

“Come,” he said simply, and she didn’t hesitate.

Harry watched them walk away, watched to see Ginny be proven a fool when Malfoy dropped her hand and walked away.

He was the one who felt foolish when that did not happen.

***

Now they were alone. Together alone, Ginny thought, a shivery heat flooding her entire body. Shivery, maybe, because of what Draco had insinuated to Harry, and heat at the thought of those insinuations ever becoming reality.

Draco had guided her swiftly through the halls, and she had concentrated on the feel of his hand instead of where he was taking her. She was surprised, then, when he stopped and she realized they were standing at the entrance to Slytherin House. At least she assumed that’s where they were. She’d never actually seen the entrance, but clearly the violet-eyed witch in the portrait, who was alternating affectionate glances at Draco and appraising ones at Ginny, guarded the gateway to Slytherin.

Draco was watching her, waiting for a response.

“Aren’t we going in?” She was curious, certainly, but more than anything Ginny wanted him to know she was not afraid. Nervous, possibly, but more with anticipation than trepidation. Whatever was happening needed to stop. Right now they were playing, but that would only take them so far. If anything else was to happen – please let it happen -
they would need to set aside the coy banter and talk. Really talk. The thought of that conversation was twisting her stomach into hopeful knots.

And Draco was giving the password to the portrait, who gave a curt nod and opened to them. He kept his grip on Ginny’s hand – “Wards,” he murmured – and led her into what Ron referred to as the heart of darkness.

She was in Slytherin. Blinking once, Ginny tried to take in her surroundings. There was green, and there was silver, and besides that, she could have been in the Gryffindor common room, for all the comfortable couches and chairs. A laugh escaped her and she turned to Draco, her eyes twinkling.

“So this is how evil incarnate relaxes?”

He was amused, even pleased at how casually she’d walked into his House. He knew her brother – probably all her brothers – had lectured her on the evils of Slytherin and even of Draco Malfoy in particular, but it appeared that Ginny Weasley made up her own mind. Another thing to like about her, he thought, and it did not occur to him that he had stopped protesting the idea of liking her.

“You know,” he said slowly, trying to decide how this part should go, what the proper move was, “the minute your brother comes back, Potter will run to him and tell him exactly what’s going on, if he hasn’t already sent that owl of his.”

“Hedwig,” Ginny said absently. “I’m sure he’s already sent her. But what will he say?”

“What will he say?” Draco repeated.

“Well, you said Harry would tell Ron what’s going on, right?” Draco nodded assent and she went on. “But … what is going on, Draco? What is going on with us, between us? I don’t know what Harry would say, when I don’t even know myself.”

And there it was. Ginny had laid her cards on the table and there was no way to bluff his way out of this situation, had he even wanted to. It was time.

He let go of her hand then and instantly missed her warmth, but touching her made his head spin, and he had to think carefully about his words.

He sank into a plush green armchair and gestured Ginny into a seat that faced him. As she sat, he began to speak, never taking his grey eyes off her face.

“You were right when you said I’d never seen you, that all you were to me was just another Weasley,” Draco said honestly. It was a difficult admission to make, considering what he was about to say, but he would not lie to her. “I’d never noticed the way your eyes sparkle when you’re amused, and I was rather surprised to find out how clever you are.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that snowball hit me,” he told her, silently cursing the stupidity of that statement. A snowball? Stop talking. Stop talking right now.

“Don’t you mean since those two snowballs hit you?” Ginny teased, pretending she didn’t notice the emotions flitting across his face. He was talking, telling her things, and she would do nothing that might make him stop.

“That’s right, vixen, two snowballs. I was angry, and then I was confused, and then I didn’t know what to think. Especially after you told me you wanted me to see you. All I could think about at first was what you meant by that, and then all I could do was wonder why.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why you wanted me, of all people, to see you,” Draco explained, watching her face closely. Now he had surprised her – those pretty chocolate eyes were widening. Apparently Ginny had formed enough of a prior impression of him to be startled when he showed a little modesty.

“At first, it was only because you were Draco Malfoy. A Slytherin. A self-proclaimed Weasley hater. I wanted someone to see me, and I figure that you were the last person in this school who ever would.” Ginny’s words spilled out of her in a rush, tumbling over each other as she hurried to get past this part. There was much more to say.

“A challenge, then?”

“At first,” Ginny stressed. “But only at first. I watched you, and I started to see all these little inconsistencies, things that didn’t line up with who I thought you were. And then I realized that I’d been stupid.”

She paused then, studying Draco’s face. He was taking in everything she’d said, fitting it in with what he already knew. Something flared in his eyes at her last words, and he held out a hand to stop her from saying more.

“You realized that we were the same.”

Those had been her next words, and so she nodded. Now that connection she’d imagined before was there again, a sort of silvery cord shimmering between them, and the urge to touch it, prove it was real – prove they were real – was undeniable. And so Ginny reached, but instead of brushing a cord, or slicing through air, her hand found Draco’s.

Palm-to-palm, they sat there in silence for a long moment. Her free hand twisted in her robes as she attempted to conceal a slight tremble that she thought came from being nervous and excited all at once. When it seemed right to speak, Ginny began.

“If only it were that easy, Draco,” she said wistfully, and let her hand drop.

He frowned, instantly feeling the lost contact. “And why isn’t it?” He wanted her. She wanted him. It seemed, at that moment, very easy. Draco knew about wanting.

Her short laugh was incredulous. “You’re forgetting something. Actually, you’re forgetting almost everything. Your father. My family. Our Houses.”

He started to interrupt her then, but she cut him off. “Last night.” This was easily the most important point Ginny had listed. She would take on the challenge of their families, their housemates – but only if Draco was willing to do the same. She would not kiss him in secret and be publicly resigned to longing looks.

It was good that she had removed her hand from his, as her suddenly sweat-slick palms would have belied the calm steadiness in her eyes. It seemed ridiculous to think they had never really spoken to each other before yesterday. Ginny could have easily believed this interlude had been playing out for weeks or months, as rapidly as her heart was thumping as she waited for him to respond.

Draco had heard the small quiver in her voice and understood instantly that last night was the key on which this thing hinged. If he wanted this, wanted her, he had to explain.

She was probably wondering if he was ashamed of her, remembering everything she’d ever heard him say about her family. Taking it back was useless – not only was it too late for that, but he’d meant those words, and Ginny knew he’d meant them.

The only thing that would work was the truth, and Draco rolled the unfamiliar syllables around on his tongue for a moment before he spoke, and the uncertainty in his tone made him think, at first, that someone else was speaking.

“I’m sorry.”

Ginny thought, too, that someone else must have spoken. Surely Draco had not apologized. She’d expected haughty denial of any wrongdoing, maybe a sneer, or even silence. But she’d already told Draco that nothing about their interaction had been as she’d expected. Why should this be any different?

They were simple words, but she could see on his face what it cost him to say that, to lay his pride at her feet. He was tense, searching her face as if he could read the crinkles at the corner of her eyes and know what she was thinking.

What Ginny was thinking was that it was hard to think with him looking at her like that. If he trusted her enough to do what would have been unimaginable only yesterday, then maybe …

It wasn’t everything, but it was a start. There was no rush to speak now; important things had been said and a silent understanding had been reached. Details could wait. She smiled at Draco, head bobbing in a small nod, and that seemed answer enough.

He stood in a graceful motion and walked to one of the doors off the common room. As it opened, he turned and winked at her, then disappeared through the door.

It had come to him suddenly, the urge to go outside, and it felt right. Where this had begun, where Ginny had forced him to notice her. It was the closest he could come to a public admission of his feelings. Of their relationship. No mental voices screamed opposition when he thought that word, and he knew. It was right.

Ginny watched the door curiously, and it was only a few seconds before he was coming back out, arms full of dark, heavy fabric.

Cloaks.

Draco held one out to her, a thick wool cloak, such a dark grey it was nearly black. She took it, running her fingers over the fabric, and looked up at him.

He was really beginning to like that sparkle in her eyes.

“I know they say Slytherins are cold-blooded, Draco, but I’m doing just fine.”

“So am I,” he said, eyeing her meaningfully and smirking when a faint blush colored her cheeks, “but you’ll need it. We’re going outside.”

It certainly wasn’t cold, so Ginny had to admit she was shivering for another reason. A grey-eyed, platinum-haired reason who had shrugged on his own cloak and was waiting for her to do the same.

She slipped the heavy garment over her shoulders and caught a faint hint of his cologne. Her lips parted slightly at the memories it triggered – seeing him, being close to him, touching him.

Quit gawking and get a move on, her mind nudged.

His smirk suggested that he knew what she’d been thinking as he led her out of Slytherin, up the stairs, and out into the brisk air. He didn’t take her hand as they walked, but when he held the door for her, their hips brushed as she slipped past and each drew in an audible breath.

That broke the tension, and Ginny slipped her hand into his, thinking it was a perfect fit.

“Will we be able to do this when everyone else is back?” she murmured as their feet crunched through the snow. She hadn’t wanted to chance ruining the moment by asking, but if she had to give this up, she had to know now.

Draco’s fingers curled around hers tightly, and those stormy grey eyes were very serious as he stopped and turned to look at her, tilting her chin up with his free hand.

“You’re not my guilty secret, Ginny.” He would have gone on and told her that no one could make Draco Malfoy feel guilty, and certainly not about this, but the look that statement earned him tore a small growl out of his throat, and he bent his head.

Kissing her was being helpless and in control all at once. Those sweet, soft lips parted for him and he threaded his hands through Ginny’s hair, needing something to hold onto and knowing his hands could find no better purchase.

Draco held her like that for a long moment, exploring her mouth slowly. Finally they broke apart, and he rested his forehead to hers. The smile he gave her held no trace of a smirk and he brushed a kiss to her brow as he straightened.

His arm stretched past her head, as if he intended to smooth her hair where his hands had tangled it. Ginny’s eyes drifted closed in anticipation of the touch.

She was more than slightly surprised when he pulled her hair to the side and slid a large chunk of snow down the back of her cloak. Her “eep” was vaguely reminiscent of Euan Abercrombie’s, and Draco was still smiling as he carefully smoothed down her hair and brushed the snow from his fingers.

She smiled back at him, and he forgot to watch her hands instead of her lips. He realized his mistake when Ginny very sweetly shoved her own chunk of snow into his face.

“So that’s how it is,” he said softly.

Ginny nodded emphatically. “That’s how it is.”

That sly grin was back on his face, making her woozy, and she heard him whisper “Good,” before he was kissing her again. Ginny hooked her leg around his, tugged swiftly, and they crashed gracelessly into the snow, never breaking their contact.

She felt his lips curve into a smirk beneath hers, and the last thing she remembered thinking before everything melted away was that a boy who could keep kissing you while he was falling was definitely worth the trouble.