NOTES:
1. Hi, this is the part where I disclaim.
2. This story starts out primarily about Ginny, Draco, and Quidditch. I don't know very much about Quidditch, except what the HP Lexicon can tell me, so I am either a) making things up, or b) using American baseball as inspiration. Please correct me if I mess up something about Quidditch that I really should have known.
3. A thousand worthless points for anyone who spots my fairly obvious Green Day reference. I felt kind of clever about it.
4. Many thanks to my beta, the lovely and talented BlueJeanJunkie, without whom my run-on sentences might take over the world.
5. I love reviews with the passion of a thousand burning suns, and so on.
6. Enjoy! And then tell me about it!

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For not the first time in my life I bemoaned the fact that procrastination and I got along so dreadfully famously.

It didn't help matters either that the WWN was playing one of my favourite songs, causing me to temporarily halt my very frenzied, last-minute packing in order to rock out accordingly. In the wonderful world of Ginevra Weasley, this usually means a lot of unrestrained flailing and knocking into things.

It may be worth mentioning that my room is free of breakables because I've already broken all of them, mostly due to said flailing.

I've a glaring lack of coordination in everyday life, but, oh, put me on a Quidditch pitch and I'll fly gloriously graceful circles around you. It's about the only thing I excel at, so it's a good thing I was scouted by the Appleby Arrows at the Hogwarts' Alumni Charity Game two years ago, after the war. I'm the best Chaser you've seen since Angelina Johnson. No kidding.

"And that was 'Warning' by the Sage Knights. I'm Glenda Chittock, and you're listening to the Witching Hour on the Wizard Wireless Network. Here's your latest news update. Ministry officials have arrested the top suspect in a bizarre string of small crimes involving missile-projecting Muggle toasters - "

Half-listening to the news, I unsuccessfully reorganized the Quidditch gear in my trunk to make space for everything else I had to pack.

"Good news for Arrows fans this season- "

My ears perked up.

"After coming off a devastating defeat last season in the final game against the Falmouth Falcons and losing both their starting and back-up Seekers to injuries from a wayward Bludger, word is the Appleby Arrows have signed a new star Seeker to a very lucrative contract, though the upper management remains tight-lipped about the newcomer's identity."

"Argh," I said, upset with Glenda for not having pried any more information out of our manager than we could. Honestly, what manager refuses to tell his players who he's just picked up for the most pivotal position on the team a week before spring training?

"And the society pages are abuzz about a couple reportedly getting quite cozy last night at the grand opening of the Museum of Magical History," Glenda continued.

"Gnah," I said, picking up my wand and waving the WWN off. Once Glenda got to the 'Society Pages' it usually meant gossip about some rich, pimply layabout like Draco Malfoy and what tarty minx had been seen on his scrawny arm the night before. Nauseating, really.

...

Oh, who am I kidding? Draco Malfoy's bloody gorgeous these days and I half-wish I was the tarty minx on his arm. I mean, look, the bloke looked like a scowly rat back in school, but god, he got pretty. Suddenly, instead of pale and pointy, he's gone all fair and chiseled (if the rags are anything to go by, anyway). But he's Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy is a right bastard. And as far as I'm concerned, right bastards ought not look like sex on a stick.

Don't tell my mum I said that.

Speaking of which, "Mum!" I yelled out my doorway.

"Yes, dear?" her voice floated up from the living room.

"D'you know where my old school trunk is?"

"Try the attic, dear!"

"Thanks!"

I ascended the stairs to the attic, which our beloved ghoul had vacated a few years earlier. He claimed that since I was the only Weasley child still living there it had become far too quiet, and he couldn't very well be expected to shoulder the whole burden of making a jolly din all the time, now, could he?

He had a point, I suppose. My brothers all moved out years ago. Bill and Charlie are still overseas, of course (and both happily married), and Percy's got his own flat in London - says he wants to be closer to work and whatnot. Fred and George built an addition on top of their Diagon Alley shop (interestingly enough, to be closer to work as well). Totally illegal, of course, but they charmed the whole thing invisible and it seems to have worked out all right so far. They haven't had to use Fugue Floss on their lessor, at any rate. And Ron and Hermione are flatmates now - well, that's the official line, anyway. We all know they're shagging like bunnies over there.

Erm, don't tell my mum I said that either.

But as I was saying, I ascended the stairs to the attic and located my old school trunk. As part of the "sweeping reform" our manager, Andrew, is making to the team, instead of having us Apparate to the pitch three hours before games like everyone else, he's decided to rent a chalet, where all the players will live for the entire season. Andrew insists this is key to "fostering unity and a team atmosphere".

All right. Look, I'm all for reform. The Arrows have been languishing at the bottom of the league for three years running, even with a management overhaul last season. But I seriously doubt we're going to do any better if all we want to do is kill each other for leaving toilet seats up, talking about periods, or eating each others' Nutella.

Andrew says we all have very legitimate concerns and wants us moved into the chalet by today.

So I levitated my trunk out of the attic and into my room and proceeded to empty it of whatever contents I'd neglected to unpack after I graduated. My dragonhide gloves, scales, a few quills, some sheaves of parchment...

"Oh, Merlin," I groaned, picking up my old Charms notes. There, all too visibly in the margins, a very silly younger me had doodled hearts and proclamations of love to - well, who else? The Boy Who Lived (and Then Defeated Voldemort Some Years Later, in case you were wondering).

I glanced around furtively, expecting one of the twins to jump out and tease me mercilessly about my notes. They'd do that, you know. You can be sure they gave me hell for that stupid singing valentine first year. No one ever conclusively proved it was me who sent the thing, and I neither admit nor deny it, but let me just say, eleven year olds who fancy themselves in love can be exceedingly silly sometimes.

"Well, no need for these to ever see the light of day again," I said decisively. "Incendio."

Not that anyone would try to push me and Harry into a relationship anymore these days, besides my mum, I mean. She's notoriously thick-headed that way. Harry got engaged to Luna Lovegood last year. Damn near broke Mum's heart, that she couldn't have Harry officially in the family. She's still a bit standoffish to Luna when they come by for Christmases and birthdays, but she'll come around, I'm sure. Luna's a darling, of course, if a bit, erm, loony.

I threw the last of my clothing into the trunk and brought it downstairs, where, now that it had come time for my departure, my mum promptly threw her arms around me carrying on about empty nests and why didn't I "just take that offer from the Ministry to work under Percy instead of getting such a hazardous job throwing balls about and having to move away from home?"

"That's what you get for raising six Quidditch-crazy boys before me, Mum," I quipped, giving her a tight hug. "Besides, if I worked for Percy, he'd probably make me live in the office anyway. Y'know, just to make sure no cauldron escaped intense scrutiny."

"Now, you stop that. Percy's job is very important," Mum said, swatting me on the shoulder. She hugged me again. "Now, are you sure you're all right taking the Knight Bus by yourself? I could get your father to take some time off, make sure you get settled in."

"I'll be okay, Mum."

"Well... all right. But do remember to give us a Floo as soon as you get there."

"I will, Mum." I edged my way out the door.

"Are you sure - "

"Bye, Mum!"

I practically ran out the garden and to the edge of the road to catch the Knight Bus. I stuck out my wand hand, and within seconds, the big purple bus came screeching down the lane. Stan, still the conductor after all these years, took my trunks and sat me down, and then we were off.

After an uncharacteristically painless journey, I arrived at the chalet, gaping openly. The place was fucking huge. But I suppose it'd have to be, for all sixteen of us, one of whom came out to greet me. Natalie McDonald, Beater, a former fellow Gryffindor and the sweetest girl you ever knew, but with the most insane killer instinct once you got her out on the pitch.

"So?" I asked, giving Natalie a hug. "Is our Seeker here yet?"

"No," she replied with a grimace. "But Andrew's been dropping bloody hints all day. I think he thinks he's being cryptic. Anyway, he's waiting for all of us to get here before he unveils his new toy. Left just a minute ago to go fetch the prodigy."

"Showy bastard," I said, as we entered the foyer with my luggage. "So what are the clues?"

"Well, it's a male, for one," Natalie said, leading me to the room we would share for the next year. "And talented, obviously. But apparently, in spite of his skill, he's never gone pro."

My hormones very briefly entertained the impossible thought of Oliver Wood turning out to be our new Seeker. But, unfortunately, Oliver, still Keeper for Puddlemere, is, of course, gay. The best-looking ones always are, the jerks.

I finished unpacking, Flooed my parents ("Are you all right, dear? Are you sure you've got everything you need?"), and made my way down to the living room, where the rest of the team was slowly gathering. I had barely gotten comfortable in one of the armchairs when the front door swung open.

"Oh good, you're all here," said Andrew, leaning casually on the doorjamb. Andrew Pickering, Manager, former Slytherin, my parents' age, and often too smug when his unorthodox managerial decisions pay off.

"Finally!" one of the reserve Beaters grumbled. "Where's the new guy?"

"And how lovely to see you too, Mark," Andrew said pointedly. "Well, I suppose we can all skip the formalities. Meet your new Seeker," Andrew said, ushering our newest teammate in.

"Oh dear god," I muttered amidst the others' gasps and murmurs.

Draco Malfoy, Seeker, former Slytherin bane of Ron's existence, and Witch Weekly's Sexiest Wizard Alive three years running for having, among other assets, "smouldering grey eyes that can melt a witch's knees at thirty paces and a social and financial status reaching far beyond the knowable universe."

"Hello," he said to everyone and no one in particular.

I swear someone to my left about swooned. The rest of us just stared like fools.

"Well," said Andrew, rubbing his hands vigorously together and trying to save our collective face with an apologetic look at Draco. "Looks like almost everyone's settled in nicely. Ah, let's let Draco here get unpacked and we'll have our first team meeting. Uh, Red, show him to his room?"

"Fine," I said.

I got up and walked upstairs, throwing back a glance every once in a while just to make sure Malfoy was still following me.

"Here's your room," I gestured stiffly. "You're sharing with Anthony. He's one of the Chasers."

"Thanks," Malfoy said, pulling in his luggage (Swedish dragon hide, no less) and giving the room a brief survey. Having apparently deemed the room satisfactory, he turned back to me and inquired politely, "Now, what did you say your name was again?"

I could have strangled his lily-white throat. Weasley! Ginny Weasley! The brilliant witch who cast such a hex on you it would have made Godric Gryffindor weep with pride! The girl who rushed to Harry Potter's defense every time you were within a fifty mile radius! The girl whose brother you -- Gah! Settle down, Ginny.

"Ginny Weasley. I hexed you once, my fourth year," I said laconically, in an admirable attempt at controlling my temper.

"Oh. Well, that explains the hair. But you'll have to forgive me if I don't remember you; I got hexed quite a bit in school. People didn't like me much; can't imagine why." He punctuated the last bit with a soft, wry smile.

"Right," I said curtly and turned on my heel, before my brain could adequately process the idea of Malfoy actually being capable of smiling. "See you around," I said, not quite over my shoulder, before walking back through the corridor to join my team.

"So," Natalie said when I slid in next to her on the couch. Around us, the rest of the team was still discussing our new arrival in fervent whispers.

"Malfoy," I said, almost dejectedly. Knowing I had to train, play, and good holy crap, actually live with the pond scum for the next year made me want to howl and stamp my feet.

Natalie let out a commiserative sigh.

The rest of the girls on the team actually looked excited. As luck would have it, Malfoy was loads more attractive in person than what the likes of us mere mortals got to see in the magazines. But Natalie and I, oh, we were close enough to Malfoy's age to know what a shit he was in school. And being armed with that knowledge made me quite certain that the next year was going to be hell.

Malfoy ambled down a few minutes later, hands in pockets, and everyone immediately stopped talking mid-sentence, doing their best to look nonchalant and non-gossipy.

"Ah, good. Have a seat, Draco," said Andrew, gesturing to the gaudily upholstered assortment of couches and chairs.

I must have shot a look of unbridled horror at Andrew when I realized there was an empty space next to me because Malfoy approached but then remained standing to the side.

"Welcome back, everyone. Glad to see you all looking in fine health," Andrew enthused. Sometimes I wondered if the Sorting Hat had gone a bit wonky in placing him because our manager seemed entirely too cheery for the dungeons. "As you all know, this lovely place will be your home for the next season. Some of you have voiced concerns about being in such close quarters, but it worked for the Quiberon Quafflepunchers, and by Merlin, it'll work for us too. To make this a success I must ask you to follow a few house rules."

He passed around a small stack of parchment detailing the rules.

"First, unless you have a very good reason or have received exemption from me, you are not to leave the grounds after ten." A chorus of loud groans and protests failed to deter him, and he ploughed right ahead. "Also, please do try to keep any, ah, consorting to a minimum. Though I suppose if you must, at least give me some sort of warning so I can have our PR people at the ready." He directed a pointed look at two of our reserve players whose tumultuous and short-lived affair last season made scandalous headlines on the sports pages almost daily while it lasted. "I have a few house elves in our employ so you are not explicitly required to pick up after yourself, though I suggest you do for the sake of everyone else's health and sanity. And other than that, standard team rules apply. Questions?"

We shook our heads silently. No point arguing when we were all already here and unpacked.

"Good then! Now, most of you know each other, but I don't believe Draco here knows much about any of you as he has told me that he doesn't follow the Quidditch scene. So let's go around the room and introduce ourselves, shall we?" Andrew said in a tone that suggested we might have been students on the first day of primary school.

Obediently, each of us said our names and what position we played. When it came round to Malfoy's turn, the air shifted just a titch, and everyone leaned forward expectantly, as if he would say something far more brilliant than, "Draco Malfoy, Seeker." So it was somewhat disappointing, it seemed, when he did say just that. I hoped it meant he was a man of few words, because the less I heard his voice the better, no matter how velvety it was.

"All right, excellent," said Andrew. "Well, I shall leave you to get settled in. Tomorrow morning we start training, and I expect you all at the practice field at 8AM sharp. Turn in early, everyone!"

With a crack, he Apparated out of the living room, leaving us looking at each other in an awkward, uncertain silence.

"Time to get up," said the pleasant, melodious voice of the alarm clock.

"Snnx," I said into my pillow, groping blindly for the off button. Grasping nothing but air after approximately two seconds of exertion, I gave up and rolled over.

"Time to get up," said the clock again, with a little more urgency this time.

"You get up," Natalie grumbled from the other side of the room, buried under a mound of pillows.

"Come on, then, don't want to be late," the alarm clock urged, its tone getting increasingly clipped and annoyed at being ignored by two very resolutely sleepy girls. Upon finding that its firm yet gentle coaxing was not producing desired results, the clock finally reached its boiling point. "OI! Get up, you lazy bums! I don't want to go through this every morning! You're grown-ups with responsibilities and you'll never amount to anything if you keep on --"

"Okay, okay!" Natalie thundered, flinging off her blankets and stomping to the bathroom.

"There's a good girl," the clock cooed, and I hastily got up as well, lest it let loose more venom on me.

The clock had been quite the novelty the first week or so, after which we wanted it good and dead. We tried to hurl it out the window once, but it didn’t take.

While I haphazardly threw on my standard issue training gear with my eyes still half-closed, Natalie returned, brushing her teeth viciously.

"I swear I'm going to kill that thing. You’ll see. I’ll find a way," she said as darkly as she could through a mouthful of foam. "Why? Why couldn't Andrew give us regular alarm clocks that ring instead of hurling insults at us every morning?"

"Rather reminds me of home, actually," said Anthony, my fellow Chaser, as he jauntily passed by our room and had the audacity to whistle a disgustingly merry tune.

Ugh, morning people.

After I heard Natalie make her way downstairs I lumbered groggily down the corridor towards the bathroom.

"Morning, Weasley," said someone to my left.

Malfoy.

"Hate," I said.

What I really meant to say was that I hate mornings (and I do. Nothing worse than having to extricate yourself from the warm confines of your beloved bed to go... do things). But if he took it to mean that I hated him, then, well, no love lost there.

"You've graduated to forming actual words, I see. Congratulations," Malfoy said smoothly.

I managed to shoot a bleary glare in his general direction before stumbling into the bathroom.

It had become sort of a ritual, really, our crossing paths in the morning. He'd greet me, I'd make some sort of grumpy noise at him, he'd say something stupid back, and then we'd go our separate ways. It worked out well for me, since I was barely conscious in the mornings and couldn't properly register any meaningful interactions.

I was met downstairs with a chorus of staggered greetings, and a house elf whisked by, setting down my breakfast on the dining table with a clatter.

"What's on the docket today, then?" someone yelled from the kitchen.

"Speed drills to start, I think," Natalie replied. "And then extended BP for us." She nodded to her fellow Beaters. "I don't know about the rest of you lot."

"It's a bit funny this year, now that Andrew’s sequestered us in the middle of nowhere. I rather liked having the fans come out to see us train," said Mark, a reserve Beater.

"Yeah, all five of them," Anthony deadpanned.

"Come on, Mark, you just like showing off to the girls in the stands and hope they throw themselves at you," I said, jabbing him in the side with my elbow.

"Can't blame him," Malfoy interjected. "That's what celebrity is for."

"Exactly," Mark laughed, giving Malfoy a high five.

For reasons I couldn’t fathom, the other boys had actually taken a shine to Malfoy. The girls, of course, were all quite in love with him and desperately and unsuccessfully trying to hide the fact. Natalie and I were the lone holdouts in our camp of bitter grudge-holding and non-acceptance, and we were very happy there.

It would have been a lot more effective if Malfoy actually gave a crap though. Typical Malfoy, always so difficult.

"Oh, time to go!" Anthony announced, hastily clunking his coffee mug down on the table.

Following his lead we shuffled out to the training pitch.

*****

"All right, nicely done today. Emily, watch the position of your left shoulder when you're throwing the quaffle. Ginny and Anthony, I want to see a tighter execution of the Porskoff Ploy next time."

We nodded to our Chasing coach, too exhausted to demonstrate our acknowledgement in any other way.

"Oh, and one more thing before we're done here," he went on. "See if you can catch the Seekers' practice and pay attention to how Draco Malfoy flies. Top notch, that one. Can't believe someone didn't snatch him up before we did."

"We fly just fine," I grumbled to the other Chasers after our coach was out of earshot.

"Shh, Ginny, don't be silly," one of them chided. "I think it's a perfectly good idea to go watch Draco practice."

"Oh, you're just saying that because you're all madly in love with that idiot," I retorted.

Emily and Kate, our reserve Chasers, nodded vigorously.

Anthony opened his mouth.

"You too. You can't deny it," I accused, wagging my finger at him like a mother would at a wayward child.

Anthony smiled and shrugged, rocking on his heels.

Emily snickered softly. "Well, we're not Chasers for nothing."

"Emily Wickham!" I gasped, looking scandalised. "You're a thirty year old mother of two!"

"Yes, that's true, but I'm not blind." She flashed a lascivious grin my way.

"Just totally crazy," I said mildly.

"Mm, definitely," Emily agreed dreamily. "Crazy for some of that –"

"Oh, let's just go," Anthony said exasperatedly. "Can't do any harm to see what Draco's doing. We might pick up some tips." He pulled us along to where the Seekers were finishing up their training for the day.

It was easy to spot Malfoy right away; his style was and had always been on the showy side, and as much as I hated to admit it, he really was quite good.

It had been rumoured during my first year at Hogwarts that Lucius Malfoy had bought his son a place on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Regardless of their sudden acquisition of brand new equipment, it was clear from day one that the ferret had loads of talent. So imagine the Gryffindors' relief when Harry turned out to be marginally better (and slightly more prone to taking stupid risks).

I watched Malfoy go through his drills. He appeared to have lost none of his skills and was, in fact, faster and sleeker, and carried himself with a grace and confidence previously absent in his school years. He reminded me in a way of a predatory cat on the prowl, only infinitely more intriguing, and I rather resented him for being able to take my breath away like that.

*****

"Natalie."

"Grmph."

"Natalie, are you awake?"

"No."

It was a good thing we had an off day, as it was obscenely late (or early) and I hadn't been able to fall asleep. Feeling not all that tired and a little peckish, I grabbed a pack of cards and a book, and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen.

*****

"Hang on, you can't do that. We go in threes, it's every third card! You can't just pick out cards you like! That's not how it's done!"

"Shut up, I'm the one playing," I chided the Jack of Spades. Enchanted cards; what was I thinking?

"Are you cheating at Solitaire, Weasley?"

I whirled around and let out a surprised squeal. "Oh god, Malfoy, don't sneak up on people like that. You're liable to induce heart attacks left and right."

Malfoy shrugged as he poured himself a glass of juice, and much to my disappointment, pulled up a stool to the kitchen island and sat across from me. He gestured to the display of cards in front of me and looked at me expectantly.

"Oh, like you're the bastion of moral integrity," I huffed.

"Don't get me wrong, Weasley. There's nothing wrong with a little cheating every now and then. But cheating at Solitaire? I mean, really? Solitaire?"

I frowned at him. "Shut up, Malfoy. Drink up and go away."

"Now, what did I ever do to deserve such animosity?"

I snorted. "Well," I began, putting the card deck back together. "There was the part where your father almost had me killed in the Chamber of Secrets."

Malfoy shot me a look of disdain. "Hang on, my father slips you a cursed diary, so I'm automatically evil by association? Don't be stupid, Weasley. You don't see me accusing you of being a short, dumpy fool obsessed with Muggle junk."

"Hey," I warned. "You lay off my dad."

He put up his hands in surrender, though his expression clearly implied nothing of the sort.

"And even with that aside," I said, "you were a real arse in school, did you know that?"

"Well, yeah. You don't have to tell me, I was there," Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "But that was, what? Six, seven years ago? Why are you still harping on about it now?"

"You were that big of an arse."

Malfoy shrugged. "With my background, I could certainly afford to be."

"And you apparently still can," I said, rolling my eyes.

"That still begs the question, Weasley," he said, casually swiping my deck of cards. "I don't recall ever being particularly nasty to you."

"You didn't even know who I was when you came here," I accused.

"Sorry, Weasley," he said apologetically and sounding almost sincere about it. "Your family may be big enough to populate a small country, but it's not like you lot have got a monopoly on being redheaded and freckled."

"Well, you antagonised my brother all seven years you were in school together; you ought to at least have recognised some resemblance."

"Please," Malfoy said, waving his hand dismissively. "Your brother was a hideous gorilla. You look nothing alike. And you can take that as a backhanded compliment if you'd like." He raised his glass and smiled, as if toasting me, and took a swig.

"I… Guh. Why do people like you?" I asked, far less rhetorically than originally intended.

"What," he grinned, “you haven't seen the latest Witch Weekly?"

"Yes, apparently you're very good at smouldering," I offered sarcastically. "But if that was the only criterion for likeability, Snape would be the most popular teacher in Hogwarts history."

"True," Malfoy admitted. "But you see, Severus can't charm people's pants off like I do," he added rather cheerfully.

I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back in my chair, living proof of a Malfoy charm repellant, silently daring him to suggest otherwise.

"Yes," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "You are an anomaly."

"Well, huzzah for me."

"Ah, not to worry, dear Weasel. I'll get you yet. One day you’ll just fall in love with me and you won't even know how it happened."

"You are so full of shit, Malfoy," I said, chuckling at the absurdity of his proclamation.

"The pants," he insisted. "They'll be charmed right off."

As I shook my head in incredulity, he began shuffling and dealing the cards he'd pinched from me earlier.

"Eh?" I said.

"Poker, Weasley. The sport of kings," Malfoy declared, temporarily stilling his movements. "If you're going to cheat at cards, you might as well learn to cheat at something worthwhile."

Having nothing better to do, I shrugged and gestured for him to continue dealing. "Well, rack 'em up then."

Malfoy stared at me for a moment. "You're far worse than I thought. No wonder you have to resort to cheating at Solitaire." He gathered himself and pressed on. "No matter. Under my superior tutelage, you'll be grifting like a pro in no time." He winked slyly.

"Is this how the pants-charming begins?" I asked, picking up and eyeing my hand of cards suspiciously.

"Is it working?"

"Lord, no."

Malfoy smirked. "Then I obviously haven't begun."

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A/N: Much love to my beta BlueJeanJunkie for all her hard work. Also, poker being the "sport of kings" and Ginny's line "Rack 'em up" are nicked from Sports Night, the Aaron Sorkin TV gem no one ever saw.

"I'm in."

"Fold."

"Dammit, Malfoy. Deal me better cards next time. I'm out."

"Fold."

"You would."

"Shut up, Jack."

"Call," I said, pushing a pile of chocolate McVities toward the centre of the table, leaving a trail of crumbs in its wake. We had no poker chips on hand, and no one was all that willing to bet real money. Due to the abundance of digestives in the house, biscuits thus became our preferred currency.

I eyed Jack, our Keeper, with exaggerated intensity as Malfoy told us to reveal our hands.

Malfoy gave our cards a brief glance. "And Weasley wins again," he announced.

Jack grumbled while I happily gathered the McVities back to my end of the table. It was messy business, what with the chocolate and crumbs and all, but immensely gratifying.

"I can't believe this," said Natalie, looking forlornly at her rapidly dwindling pile of biccies (some of which Mark surreptitiously ate). "You used to be crap at cards, Gin. You couldn't even play Cheat properly."

"I got good," I said coyly, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Malfoy smirking at me.

A few more hands later and, save for the ones inevitably eaten during the course of the game, the McVities were all mine, albeit a little worse for the wear.

As the other players left the table in search of other leisurely pursuits, I beamed at no one in particular, feeling unjustly proud of my card-playing skills, despite knowing Malfoy'd stacked the deck specially for me.

Malfoy started gathering the card decks up, and then leaned over towards me. "Good show, Weasley," he murmured, out of earshot of everyone else. "For a while I thought my instruction might have gone to waste on your empty head there." He patted my head.

Brushing off the slight tingling sensation induced by his breath on my ear, and rightfully indignant about his insinuations about my mental capacity, I elbowed him sharply and shoved a biscuit in his mouth for good measure.

"Kidding, idiot," said Malfoy without rancour, chewing his digestive and then making a face. He tossed the rest of it back down on the table in disgust. "This stuff's awful, Weasley. Are you trying to kill me? And after all I've done for you?" Malfoy demanded, his air of righteous anger somewhat lost on account of half his tongue hanging out in revulsion.

"I'm merely giving you a share of my winnings as compensation for your services," I said briskly.

"You permanently damaged my tongue," he whinged. He grabbed a serviette from the kitchen, then stood and looked at it for a moment, trying to decide whether he could suffer the indignity of openly scraping partially chewed food off his tongue with table linens. "Back in a tick," he said finally.

I rolled my eyes as he scuttled off, and cleared the table of residual cards and crumbs.

"I want reparations, Weasley, and I want them in non-biscuit form," Malfoy said upon his return, with arms crossed petulantly and still somewhat stuck in disgusted-face mode, looking very like a child being denied his favourite sweet.

I only laughed at how adorable he looked, at which point my train of thought came to a screeching halt and imploded in a fiery ball of absurdity. Malfoy, adorable? What the hell was I thinking? It was only when Malfoy suspiciously asked if I was all right that I realised that the effect of my mental implosion had unwisely registered itself on my face, making me both splotchy and wide-eyed. Hastily issuing a totally irrelevant excuse, I scurried off to set things straight with my traitorous brain. In the end, traitorous brain and I settled upon complicatedly characterising the whole incident as a freak occurrence of neurons misfiring, wherein "adorable" really meant "peevish." We agreed never to speak of it again.

Hah. Adorable. As if Malfoy really would –

…Starting right now.

*****

Natalie stood around in the room making noises about how lucky I was while I gleefully packed a bag for the weekend. It was Harry and Luna's wedding, and naturally, I'd gotten permission from Andrew to go home and partake in the festivities. The added bonus was that I got to leave the damn chalet, of whose inhabitants I was getting heartily sick (and they of me, I'm sure). Never had I loved Harry more.

Despite the best efforts of our lovely house elves, we were all slowly descending into filth and madness, and ready to mutiny. Before this idiotic arrangement of living under one increasingly confining roof, we all got along just fine. But now that we had no one to interact with but each other - and couldn't leave the premises alone, after dark, or for extended periods of time without Andrew's permission - we became mired in petty arguments and general childishness.

The position of toilet seats in the morning, the decibel level of the WWN past midnight, the obstacle course of Mark's clothing strewn about the house, and who had had the audacity to dip an errant finger into Emily's sacred blackcurrant jam all became cause for long, loud shouting matches about considerateness, personal property, and alternately, fascist dictatorships.

Although I had once lived with six brothers and a various assortment of roommates at Hogwarts, I had gotten used to a fair amount of solitude over the past few years, and suddenly living with fifteen other people with their own set ways was hardly an arrangement I considered desirable.

Only Malfoy seemed unfazed by the goings-on in the house, and when I asked him about it he explained it thusly: "Weasley, despite all the wards I've thrown up at the manor, I've had crazy women camp out in my garden just to catch a glimpse of me, for fuck's sake. And you better believe I've had soiled ladies' underwear somehow worm their way into my belongings." He paused, his face taking on a look of simultaneous annoyance and horror. "But once you've had enough idiots bounce off the house shields, you learn to pick your battles and bodyguards accordingly. Frankly, since everyone thinks I'm off holidaying in the French Riviera, I'm glad for the respite. Mark's questionable personal hygiene notwithstanding," he'd added conspiratorially.

Nonetheless, Malfoy aside, tensions in the house were palpable, and I was glad to go - if only for a few days.

*****

"Ginny!" Mum exclaimed happily upon seeing me at the Burrow's front door. She ushered me in and gave me a rib-crushing hug. "Oh, are they treating you all right? You look so skinny; do you get enough to eat, dear?" she asked breathlessly.

"Everything's fine, Mum," I said, delicately extricating myself from her grip. I heard some clamouring from the back garden. "Someone else here?"

"Yes, all your brothers," she beamed. "I thought it'd be lovely if we could all sit down and have a nice family dinner, since you, Bill and Charlie are in town for a few days. We're just getting ready for dinner now. Go put your things away; I'll call the boys in to help set the table. Oh, it's so nice to have all of you home!" Mum gushed, and bustled away to the kitchen.

I did as I was told, and upon returning downstairs was greeted by the rest of my family with hugs and by Charlie with a head ruffle, which I hated and loved at the same time.

Dinner was, as usual, a chaotic affair, with everyone talking at the same time, and I basked in the glow of its familiarity.

"Oh! Ginny, I've been meaning to ask you," George said suddenly.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, George," Mum interrupted.

George made a big show of chewing and swallowing before he continued. "Who's this secret Seeker you have now? None of the tabloids can agree; last week the Quibbler even said it might be Draco Malfoy," he chuckled heartily.

"Oh," I said, returning a tight smile. "I'm not allowed to say. It's in our contracts, you know."

"Come on, Gin," Fred wheedled. "You can tell us, we'll give you a twenty percent discount at our shop, won't we, George?"

George nodded vigourously while Percy rolled his eyes and huffed.

"Ah, leave your sister alone, boys," said Dad mildly.

"Right, sorry," said George, allowing a new flow of conversation to start up. "But you'll tell us after dinner, won't you?" he murmured, poking me in the arm.

I smacked his hand away. "No," I said resolutely, though the look he and Fred then exchanged meant that any hopes I had for post-dinner peace were shot to hell.

*****

When we were much younger I used to be the resident grass through no real intent of my own; it was ridiculously easy to tell when I knew something I wasn't supposed to, and once Mum caught hold of that look she knew exactly who to ask about broken chairs and poorly weeded garden patches. It wasn't that I didn't try covering up for my brothers. It was just that when I did, it became even clearer that something was awry – I'd stammer and sweat and go red, and then Mum would know who the culprits were, and then I'd end up catching an earful from whichever brother happened to be the cheeky one that day.

Understandably, my brothers got sick of this pattern very quickly, and conspired to remedy my glaring flaw. It became a bit of a pet project for them, really, during a particularly lazy summer, each of them taking sinisterly gleeful turns to suck the natural honesty out of me. Even Percy, who initially refused to take part on principle, was drawn into the whole process out of morbid curiosity. At the time I didn't much mind either, as I couldn't have been much older than about seven or eight, and I relished having the undivided attention of my big brothers.

By the end of the summer and their experiment, I was lying as smoothly and easily as anything, surpassing my brothers' expectations with my added benefit of looking every inch the model adorable, angelic little child. An innocent, saccharine "I don't know, Mummy" became my mantra, much to Mum's chagrin and my brothers' delight (and consequently, my own, as pleasing my brothers pleased me).

To this day, nothing short of Veritaserum can glean anything from me, my artfully deceptive ways being part of the reason why Malfoy's teaching me poker produced such successful results.

Well, there is actually one thing besides Veritaserum. Well, six, to be exact – my brothers, especially Fred, George, and Ron. Since they were the ones to build up my lying skills, they could also tell with frightening precision just when I was fibbing if they paid hard enough attention.

It was of little surprise, then, that the twins cornered me coming out of the bathroom after dinner, with George holding a bowl of ice cream aloft.

"You can't bribe me," I said nobly.

"What, this?" George looked at his bowl. "Oh, this is just for me. We don't need bribes to get the truth out of you."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt," I said, sparing a longing glance at the hot fudge dribbling down the generous scoops of ice cream in George's hands.

"Fred," George said.

"Right away, sir," Fred exclaimed, saluting George and running to the kitchen to procure what was to inevitably be an admittedly low price for my confidence.

"Do your worst, then," I said, when Fred presented me with my very own hot fudge sundae.

Sporting identical grins, the twins led me to their old bedroom, which was remarkably cleaner and nicer-smelling now that they'd finally finished moving all their operations to their shophouse.

"Now, what's the best way to do this?" Fred asked.

"I'uhuh," I said through a spoonful of pure decadence, shrugging unhelpfully.

"Man or woman?" George began, looking rather intense, as Fred dug around for recent magazines speculating about the upcoming Quidditch season.

"Man," I said in a small voice. Now that the actual questioning had begun I was suddenly feeling like a very bad person indeed for being about to give up team secrets for a bowl of ice cream.

"Oh, it's Albert Thornhill, isn't it?" Fred piped up excitedly from behind one of his magazines. "His stats were excellent last season. I think he was at the end of his contract, too, with the Harpies. Oh, that'd be great for the Arrows; you certainly need someone like him on your team, the way he pulls off those great plays – "

"Focus, Fred. Thornhill's just renewed his contract anyway," George said, frowning. He turned back to me. "Now, did this new Seeker go to Hogwarts?"

"No," I said firmly, hoping to steer their focus away from anyone who went to our school.

"Are you sure?" George prodded suspiciously.

"Yes."

"Ginny," George said matter-of-factly. "You're just making this more difficult than it has to be."

Fred sighed dramatically. "Imagine, all these years and she's still trying to lie to us. Her own brothers!" He clutched at his heart.

I rolled my eyes and groaned.

Fred turned to me, mid-theatrics, his eyes lighting up as if he'd only just noticed that I was there. "Well, eat up," he said cheerfully. "Got to keep your energy up for the interrogation. George and I, we've got all night."

*****

"Draco Malfoy!" Fred crowed, his voice filled with glee at finally battering down my last defences.

"Not so loud!" I begged, but before I could restrain him, Fred had leapt out the room in exuberance to go tell the rest of the family what he and George managed to force out of me.

George looked at me and shrugged.

"Oh, shit," I said.

When George and I descended the stairs, Ron was the first to speak. "Malfoy?" he asked disbelievingly.

"No," I said wearily.

"Malfoy," Ron said again. "Hmph."

Mum bristled at the name. "Those Malfoys, nothing but bad blood in them. Why, after what that Lucius Malfoy did to Bill… I hope that wretched son of his isn't making things difficult for you, dear."

"Erm, no, he's all right," I said. "Just please don't tell anyone he's our Seeker. I could get in loads of trouble with Andrew, and I rather fancy keeping my job."

"Nice fellow, that Draco," Bill said offhandedly.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"What? He brought me a really nice fruit basket when I was in the hospital," Bill explained, unconsciously shifting his limp leg, a souvenir from Lucius Malfoy during the war.

Mum harrumphed, clearly unwilling to be pacified by fruit. "That's just the problem. Those Malfoys think they can buy their way anywhere, always flaunting their wealth. I bet anything he bought his way onto the Arrows too, just like he did at Hogwarts," she huffed, looking pointedly at me.

"Oh… Well," I waffled. "I don't think… Well, he's really good. He's even better than when we were in school, and only Harry could outfly him back then."

"Anyway, with all his money, I think he could find a better team to buy his way onto," said Fred. "I mean, sorry, Gin, but the Arrows aren't exactly top notch these days."

We knew neither of those were the correct responses Mum was looking for, because she glared and pressed her lips together in a tight line, signalling an end to that particular conversation.

*****

"Hello," Ron said, standing in my doorway and tapping lightly on the door.

"Oh, hi, Ron. Come in," I said. "I'm just getting ready for bed."

Ron walked in slowly and sat on the edge of my bed as I pottered around. "You sure you're all right playing with Draco Malfoy? I mean, he wasn't exactly a candidate for Model Human Being of the Year back in the day."

"Yeah," I said, smiling. "Well, you know I'd never let personal problems get in the way of my playing. And anyway, Malfoy's not that bad anymore, really…"

Ron looked at me sceptically.

"Well, he's still rather an arrogant arse sometimes, but… I don't know, Ron," I said slowly, talking as much to myself as to Ron. "I don't even really remember what it was that I hated so much about him in school, just that I did. And it was so long ago… I mean, sometimes I forget that some of our schoolmates even existed, let alone what kind of issues I had with Malfoy in particular."

I frowned, wondering how to explain this to Ron when I could barely reconcile my present thoughts with the old feelings I had gotten so accustomed to. "You know, at the time it seemed like such a life or death struggle, the antagonism with Malfoy, but now it's just, well, it seems kind of pointless, really. I don't like him, certainly, but I don't really hate him either. To be honest, any negative feelings I have toward him now are more out of habit than anything. He hasn't done anything terrible in years - that I know of, at least. And in the war he did end up fighting on our side, too, for whatever reason."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Believe me, I was the most gobsmacked about that one. Still can't figure out why he did that. I think I understand what you're saying, though. It has been a long time." He sighed. "God, we're old."

I chuckled. "You know, I am a bit surprised you didn't kick up a big fuss about me and Malfoy being on the same team."

"Yes, well, it's not like I can really begrudge him for existing, can I?"

"You certainly used to," I prodded.

"And that took a lot of energy, too, to actively hate someone that much. I've got better things to do these days," Ron said.

"Yeah, like shag Hermione," I said cheekily, and received a pillow in the face for my insolence. "But seriously," I continued in a tone that did not in any way imply seriousness. "When are you two getting married?"

"Oh, shut up, you sound like Mum. As if she doesn't have enough blooming grandchildren already," Ron complained. His facial expression belied the tone of his voice, however; he looked as though he wouldn't be completely averse to actually marrying Hermione, which was good enough for me (and Hermione, I suspect). With dramatic effort, Ron pushed himself up from the bed and began walking out. "Well, Gin, I may have mellowed with age, but if the ferret gives you any trouble, I'll be only too glad to break his legs for you."

"So noted," I grinned.

*****

The wedding went off without a hitch, and considering Hermione was the self-appointed wedding planner, that was to be expected. Harry looked, well, like Harry, with a tinge of nervous energy and perpetually untamed hair. And Luna couldn't have made a more beautiful bride. Well, perhaps if she had left her butterbeer cork necklace off, but I suppose that added to her overall charm. All in all it was a lovely wedding, and there were more than a few happy tears shed on my part.

"Harry," I said, giving the groom a tight hug at the reception. "Congratulations."

Although I was never as close with Harry as Ron and Hermione were, it wasn't difficult for me to see the tremendous burden he'd taken on as a child and the pain that came with it. It was gratifying to see Harry truly happy and at peace with himself at last. Much of that could be credited to Luna, whose unique perspective had been instrumental in helping Harry come to terms with all the death and destruction in his life.

"Thanks, Ginny," Harry grinned. He elbowed me playfully. "Now, when are we going to see you settle down?" he asked, in that exasperatingly honeyed tone newly-weds often mysteriously acquire as soon as their vows have been exchanged to sic on their unmarried friends.

"Don’t you start on me, Potter," I said, wagging a finger at him. "Besides, it's Ron you've got to work on, not me."

"Oh, Ron and Hermione have practically been married since we were twelve."

I laughed. How true; though Ron and Hermione didn't really officially start dating until they were out of Hogwarts, they'd been bickering like an old married couple almost since they day they met, and it seemed like only a matter of time before they both realised what everyone else had seen for years.

After a few minutes' more chitchat, Harry gave me another hug and begged off to go mingle with the other guests. Alone for the time being, I surveyed the elegantly decorated room, idly thinking to myself that when I got married, I'd definitely get Hermione in on the planning. Of course, this was all pending me actually finding and keeping a guy long enough for us to want to marry each other. But currently, romantic prospects were not looking up, as all the gentlemen my friends and family insisted on picking out for me kept turning out to be duds. Perhaps it was all for the better anyway, what with my hectic Quidditch schedule and crazy living arrangement.

Well, that was that, then.

I looked at my champagne flute and downed its contents.


_______________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: A big, heaping pile of thanks to my betas Alexandria Malfoy and Talia, as well as to everyone who has reviewed.

A/N: Mild, blink-and-miss HBP reference re: apparition, just to be on the safe side. Many thanks to my lovely betas BlueJeanJunkie and Alexandria Malfoy.

*****

"I'm back," I said loudly, only to be met with silence.

I stood uncertainly in the foyer for a moment, then closed the front door behind me and went to investigate. The chalet was miraculously clean, a state in which I had not seen it since the first day we all moved in, and it was suspiciously empty.

"Hm," I said to myself, wondering if perhaps Andrew had scheduled a new practice time.

I went upstairs to put my things away, and in passing one of the boys' rooms, noticed Malfoy in there, sprawled out on his bed with a book lying open next to his head. After a moment's hesitation, I entered the room and perched myself on the edge of Anthony's bed, irrationally assured by the gentle rise and fall of Malfoy's chest that there hadn't somehow been a bizarre incident that rendered him dead and everyone else MIA. Appreciative as I was of a good nap, I did not wake Malfoy, but opted just to watch him for a while. It seemed somehow out of character for him to be splayed out like that, looking as ungainly as anything, when in waking hours he was one of the most graceful creatures I'd ever seen (not that I'd ever let him have the satisfaction of knowing that little tidbit). I was somewhat heartened to see that, at least in sleep, the perfection I had come to associate Malfoy with was lost just a bit. It made him seem more… well, normal, really.

As I got up to go, Malfoy stirred and blinked at me, my presence obviously not registering straight away with his sleep-addled brain.

"Hello," I said.

Malfoy rubbed one eye and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. "Weasley," he croaked. "You're back."

"Yeah," I said, and sat down again. "I received a distinctly unhearty welcome, too. Where is everybody?"

He shrugged. "Home?" he ventured through a yawn. "Andrew figured that everyone could use a break from each other, and since you were already leaving, he decided to let the rest of us go home for a couple of days too."

"How come you're still here?"

Malfoy shot me as withering a glance as he could through half-lidded eyes that clearly still wanted to be closed. "Didn't I tell you about the lunatics outside my house?"

"Why don't you just move?"

"Tried to," he replied, getting up and stretching. "They found me. At any rate, having the place to myself for a bit was quite nice. The others will be back tomorrow, I think."

A curious thrill of horror raced through me as I realized I'd be alone with Malfoy for at least the better part of a day. For a split second, my imagination couldn't decide between envisioning me ending up killing him or falling for his inexplicable charm.

Of course, if it ended up being the latter, I'd then have to kill myself. Overall, it seemed like a macabre conclusion would be inevitable.

I coughed to cover up the cross between a snort and a laugh that emerged from my throat, and Malfoy looked at me sceptically.

"All right, Weasley?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just… You might want to fix your hair, there," I said, gesturing in the general direction of his head.

Grumbling to himself, Malfoy made his way to the bathroom, and I followed him slowly out of the bedroom into the corridor.

"You want to get something to eat?" he called to me.

"Oh," I said. "Sure, should I get one of the house elves to – "

Malfoy stuck his head out of the bathroom, his hair restored to a picture of sleek perfection once more. "No, I mean a restaurant, somewhere outside. I'm getting sick of the food here; it's so…" he gestured vaguely, searching for the right term. "Homemade."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. Only Malfoy would find fault with the comforts of home-cooked meals. "Aren't you supposed to be on holiday in the French Riviera?" I reminded him of his cover story.

"So we'll go to France," he said, exiting the bathroom and looking at me as though I was quite the simpleton.

"Oh, of course, how silly of me not to realise," I said dryly. "And if the press happens upon us and asks about your beautiful, only slightly less well-known lady companion?"

"We had a chance encounter and are catching up with each other, old friends that we are," Malfoy supplied smoothly, a hint of a smirk gracing his lips.

"Except I'm supposed to be in spring training," I countered.

"Even better," said Malfoy. "Then they'll think the Arrows' secret training grounds are in France. You'll be the perfect decoy. Andrew will be delighted."

"You're mad," I said.

"I'm bored," he replied with a frown. "Let's go somewhere, Weasley."

"But Andrew only gave us leave to go home. You hate your own house, and I hardly think I can take you back to the Burrow. You'd be six kinds of dead before you even crossed the threshold," I said, thinking of my mother.

Malfoy gave me a look that suggested he'd rather poke his own eyes out before setting foot inside the Weasley home.

"No," he said after a moment, with a decisive nod and a gleam in his eye that could only mean mischief. "We'll go to France. It's not bad this time of year, you know," he added conversationally.

"Have you not been listening to a word I've said?" I asked exasperatedly.

"Yes, yes, home and all that," he waved me off impatiently. Then he held up a knowing finger. "But you see, my mother's got some property in France, which could be considered mine, as it will be someday. Technically, I could call it home."

I got the feeling that Malfoy was a man who often skated by on technicalities.

"I'll polish it up later for Andrew if he asks," he added, noting my unconvinced countenance. "Come on, Weasley, don't be so difficult."

"I'm difficult?" I exclaimed hotly.

"And slow to anger," he said mildly, before ducking back into the bathroom to check his reflection again.

"Oh, fine. Let's go," I huffed, if only to prove to him in the most idiotic way possible that I wasn't, in fact, difficult. "Stop looking, you're pretty enough as it is, you great prat."

Malfoy ambled out of the bathroom looking smug and took my arm so I could Apparate alongside him, seeing as I had no idea where we were going. Just before I felt the familiar tightening sensation of Apparition, Malfoy turned to me with a maddeningly coy grin and said, "You think I'm pretty?"

"Yes, you're a regular bleeding Adonis," I said a moment and a country later, once my ears got adjusted.

"Why, Weasley, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Malfoy enthused stupidly and began walking.

"Oh. Good heavens," I said flatly. "Colour me surprised."

"And you are just the most delightful company I've ever had," he rejoined, squeezing my arm, sarcasm almost visibly oozing out of his pores.

I sensed that he was about to pinch my cheeks next if I allowed him to keep up with that particular brand of spurious enthusiasm and indelicately unlinked our arms, putting a good bit of wary distance between us.

"Oh, come now, Weasley," Malfoy said, stopping mid-stride to spread his arms open and take on an exaggeratedly forlorn look. "You wound me."

"With skin as thick as yours? Hah," I said haughtily, though without thinking, I complied with his unspoken request to come closer.

He smirked at me, as though he rather agreed that he was indeed impenetrable.

*****

"Now, see, the house elves we have could’ve never made anything that good," Malfoy declared, when we Apparated back into the house a few hours later.

Though I tended to be rather disagreeable around Malfoy, I couldn't help but admit that he was right about the chocolate cake we'd had for dessert.

"Thanks for tea, Malfoy," I said graciously. "I'll treat you next time."

"Just as long as you can afford something better than the Hog's Head," he said casually.

"What, the goat smell not good enough for you?" I asked, chuckling.

"It does lack a certain something," Malfoy said, affecting an air of disdain. "A goat, for one," he said, before making his way upstairs.

I sat down in one of the armchairs in the living room, feeling a bit too full to really move. Despite my initial misgivings, tea with Malfoy had been fairly lovely, with excellent food and inconsequential, easy banter.

The front door swung open, and Natalie stepped in.

"Oh, you're back too!" she said, smiling. "When did you get back?"

"Not that long," I said vaguely.

"How was the wedding?" Natalie asked. "Meet any handsome blokes?"

I laughed. "No," I said, my glance involuntarily flitting to the spot on the stairs Malfoy'd just vacated. "Not at the wedding."

*****

We were all walking back from practice when Andrew waylaid me and Malfoy.

"Uh, Ginny, Draco. A word in my office, please?" Andrew requested. His tone was light, but I had a feeling we were in trouble.

I chanced a look at Malfoy, who seemed unruffled.

Andrew gestured for us to sit when we reached his office, and we obeyed silently. "Now, I'm well aware that I cannot regulate your lives, but as I explained at the beginning of training, I did hope that this sort of thing could be brought to my attention before the press got a hold of it."

I gave him a blank look, not knowing what on earth he was talking about.

He gave us each a copy of the Daily Prophet evening edition to look at, already opened to the first page of the gossip section.

I gasped loudly.

In large, bold letters, the lead headline read: Fire and Ice, under which were file photos of me and Malfoy, with the caption "Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley reportedly get cosy in Paris."

I whimpered. Malfoy looked amused as he read aloud the accompanying article.

Has Draco Malfoy found a new love? The entrepreneur and renowned ladies' man was spied in France, where he is currently holidaying, with Arrows Chaser Ginny Weasley at an upscale patisserie. The blond charmer and his flame-haired companion were reportedly "flirting like mad," according to one eyewitness.

Added another bystander, "They looked very much an item, whispering intimately and smiling at one another."

("I never whispered!" I interjected shrilly)

Weasley's agent and publicist Matilda Henry dismissed the rumours as "pure nonsense," noting that the two had gone to school together and were just having a friendly chat.

Voted three times as Witch Weekly's Sexiest Wizard Alive, Malfoy, 25, has previously been linked to Simone Beauvais, the bassist for the popular band Poisonous Tuesday, and Pansy Parkinson, owner of Parkinson Publishing, Ltd. Weasley, 24, is known in Quidditch circles for her aggressive playing style, but has kept a fairly low public profile since joining the Appleby Arrows two years ago.

"We weren't even in Paris," I said stupidly. "And what the hell does 'Fire and Ice' mean? Where do they come up with these things?"

Andrew seemed rather taken aback, while Malfoy looked like he was stifling laughter at the article and my outburst. I decided that any charitable thoughts I'd previously afforded him were no longer applicable.

"Can I assume, then, that reports of your dalliances are false?" Andrew asked.

"It's practically slander," I said hotly.

"Nonetheless," said Andrew, beginning to look a bit amused himself. "I do have to ask, what in Merlin's name were you two doing in France? And in public together, no less?"

"It was just... We," I began, and then turned on Malfoy. "You talk now."

Malfoy took up the reins smoothly. "Well, Weasley here got back early, and we thought it might be a good idea and a bit of fun to throw the public off a little. The Quibbler's already hit on the fact that I'm the new Seeker, you know. If it weren't such a rubbish publication, the secret would be out. So we thought if we turned up in France, where I'm supposed to be anyway, it would draw attention away from me being with the Arrows. And Weasley being there, well, it provided the added bonus of giving the impression that our training grounds are somewhere in France."

Andrew looked at him shrewdly, obviously not believing a word he said. "Now, Draco, I realise the clauses of your contract are, erm, unusual, but I do wish you would discuss these things with me before you go traipsing about the main continent all willy-nilly. That said," he added with a smile. "I do hope your ruse works. It's been a bit difficult trying to keep all this under wraps."

Malfoy returned the grin, and I rather got the feeling that their relationship was such that Andrew would literally let Malfoy get away with murder. I pictured Malfoy on the pitch, standing before a dozen corpses, while Andrew patted him on the back, saying, "Oh, that's a shame. Well, don't let it happen again, my boy," and then buying him an ice cream afterwards.

Malfoy looked well aware of where he stood with the man, too. Smug bastard.

"Well, all right then, that's all," said Andrew spiritedly. "Get some rest, you two. We've got our first game in a few days." He clasped his hands together, looking gleeful.

We said our goodbyes to Andrew and began walking back towards the house.

"What did he mean about your contract?" I asked, perhaps rudely.

"Well, it's not so much a contract as a favour between friends, really," Malfoy replied.

I slowed down, trying to make out what kind of "favours" they'd exchanged. As my mind tumbled rapidly and obscenely to the gutter, Malfoy put a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't go there, Weasley," he said, as if he could read my mind. "The terms of my contract mean basically that I play and help the Arrows win a few, and in return I get some business experience. I've actually been thinking about buying up a Quidditch team someday."

"And I'm sure you get paid something ridiculous, too," I stated, remembering hearing somewhere that his was a particularly lucrative signing.

Malfoy's mouth curled into a funny smile. "I do. I get one Galleon a month. It's uncommon, but not unheard of. Well, look," he said at my incredulous expression. "You and Anthony are bloody good Chasers, you know that. And Andrew's got a pretty small payroll to work with. The Arrows have traditionally relied on their junior league prospects rather than multi-million Galleon trades and acquisitions in the pros. He's got to pay you what you're worth, otherwise your agents would scream bloody murder and try to get you traded as soon as humanly possible."

"And if he paid you what you're worth the team would go bankrupt, basically?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Like I said, a favour."

"For how long?" I asked, alternately intrigued and confused by Malfoy's admission that he was doing something for little to no tangible profit.

"Well, until I get tired of it, or until someone in the juniors is good enough to go pro."

"Oh," I said, thinking of nothing better to say.

"Anything else?"

A perfectly ludicrous thought crossed my mind. "Race you back to the house?"

He gave me a curious look, as if I was barking mad. "You are really -" he said, before taking off like a shot.

*****

"You gigantic cheater," I accused laughingly when I'd caught up with him at the chalet's back door.

"I know," he grinned.

"Have you ever done anything without cheating?"

Malfoy thought for a moment. "No, I'm so good at it. Why bother doing things the hard way?"

"You are a terrible person," I said, shaking my head in mock disappointment.

I opened the back door and jumped a little when we were greeted by a series of whistles and catcalls.

"There are the lovebirds," cried Mark, ushering us inside. "Getting cosy in the equipment shed, were you? Wasn't Paris enough?" He waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively, and I jerked backward in alarm.

Malfoy nodded and waved to his admirers, as if acknowledging that we really had been up to no good in the equipment shed. I punched him viciously in the arm, to the laughter of our teammates.

"You're all mental," I shouted over the din.

It was then that I noticed that someone had enlarged the Prophet article and pasted it onto a wall. The headline had been charmed to alternately burst into flame, freeze over, and emit pink, bubbly hearts.

I couldn't help but laugh, even knowing that I was doomed to be one miserably infamous half of 'Fire and Ice' for a long, long time.

As it turned out, avoiding Draco like the plague was not quite as difficult as I had anticipated it to be. There were, of course, other friends on the team with whom I enjoyed spending time, and very important games on which to concentrate. But the most helpful thing of all was what I found out a few days later when I was called in to Andrew's office.

And by "helpful," I mean "completely horrible."

---

"You're what?"

Andrew held up his hands placatingly. "Now, now, Ginny, you have to understand - "

"You're trading me? You, you, you - Oh! I can't - You bastard! I've given you the best years of my life!" I shrieked.

(This was not strictly true. I am sometimes given to hyperbole.)

"Yes, of course, and we have truly appreciated having you on the team. It's just that... Well, the truth is, we just can't afford you for much longer, and what with Phillippa..."

"Oh, Phillippa," I scoffed. I knew she was after my job, that soulless wench.

"Well, she comes quite a bit cheaper than you do..." Andrew reasoned.

I snorted derisively and tamped down the urge to toss off a jab at Phillippa being cheap.

It was at this point that my agent, having thus far deflected my sparks of rage, decided to enter the fray. "Of course, the timing isn't what one would consider ideal," Matilda said, shooting a pointed look at Andrew. Appleby was trading me to Puddlemere, the team that just happened to currently be in the middle of a three-game series with us. This meant that, when the trade went through that night as planned, I'd switch clubhouses and uniforms, and play against the Arrows the very next day. Even worse, the Arrows were the home team for this series.

"But in all," Matilda continued calmly, "this does seem like a logical trade." She held up a hand to silence my impending objections. "There's no question of your skill here, Ginny. Puddlemere is dying for a competent Chaser. Just to get you on their team, Puddlemere is willing to trade three junior players, pick up the remainder of your contract, and pay you much more than you could ever hope to get as an Arrow."

Well, that part was at least a bright spot in these otherwise disastrous developments. "I suppose that's true," I conceded grudgingly.

"And of course you know as well as anyone that with the size of our current payroll, we have to rely on the strength of our farm system," Andrew said quickly, taking advantage of my momentary willingness to listen to reason. "It's not you, Red. You're great on the team and the fans love you. It's just... It's business, you understand."

"Yeah, business," I huffed.

It wasn't that I didn't get it. I did. Taken from a purely strategic point of view, the Arrows would be mad not to agree to the trade - they were losing a good player for sure, but they'd also gain three younger players just bursting with talent and potential, at half the cost. And for a team that struggled yearly with getting revenue and payroll to just break even, it was a decision that required almost no consideration. I got it. But still, why did it have to be me?

---

I couldn't go back to the house. Not yet. It would mean I'd have to pack everything up and say goodbye. It would mean having to put on a brave face while my teammates took turns saying hollow words of comfort that I wouldn't hear, when all I really wanted to do was smash things to bits and curse.

Trades weren't uncommon; a hundred of them happened every year to all sorts of players, and if I expected longevity in this field, I would just have to accept the fact that I could very well be traded at a moment's notice a dozen times throughout the course of my career. And maybe it would get easier as the years rolled on, but having started my career with the Arrows, I was having a difficult time adjusting to the thought of leaving.

So I went to the practice pitch instead for one last pass around my home field.

With single-minded determination, I dove for non-existent Quaffles, swerved away from invisible opponents, felt ghostly waves of air brush past my face as if a Bludger had just whizzed by. I'd make them regret ever letting me go. I'd be instrumental in Puddlemere's imminent victory at the World Cup. I'd be the best Chaser ever to grace this earth. I'd -

"Weasley."

I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Who else could it be? "What?" I snapped, suddenly feeling angrier than before.

"I - We heard about the trade."

"Me too. Surprise!" I said sarcastically, turning my broom around so I could face Draco.

This was a mistake. As soon as I met his eyes, my cheeks burned with the indignity of it all. He had told me once that he thought I was a great Chaser, and I now felt that I'd somehow let him down by ultimately being tradable, expendable. The reasonable part of me knew I was being silly. I didn't owe him anything, and I certainly wasn't a horrid Quidditch player either. Being traded didn't mean people didn't like me, or that I was incompetent; being traded meant I was being traded. And yet the reasonable part of me still couldn't reason away the feeling of failure that repeatedly kicked me in the gut with every minute he hung in mid-air next to me.

I didn't know whether it was because I respected him as an incredible Quidditch player or because I was madly and stupidly in love with him, but I wanted him, possibly more than anyone else, to be proud of me. And clearly, this was not a proud moment for me.

"Weasley," he said again. "It's... really too bad. It won't be the same without you. But I suppose that's just the nature of this business," he mused.

Comforting words, if I ever heard them. "Right," I said, preparing to take off again. "Leave me alone, Malfoy."

"It's nothing against you - "

"What are you, Andrew's lackey now? Look, I don't need you to explain business decisions to me. What I need right now is a friend who will tell me that I'm going to be all right, and I'm going to be the greatest Chaser who ever lived and that this trade decision will go down in history as the stupidest mistake the Arrows have ever made."

"Oh," he said, after a moment. "Well, frankly, I figured you already knew all that."

"I didn't," I said, a little bemused.

"You should."

"I haven't got a head nearly as big as yours."

He smirked. "Still, if it would make you feel better - you're a good Chaser. And I'm not saying that just because it's what you want to hear. You haven't even reached your prime yet; if you keep playing the way you do, you're going to be superb in the next few years. Truth is, if I were the one making the decisions, I wouldn't even consider you up for trade. You're bound for brilliance, Weasley. I'd never let you go."

I blinked and swallowed a lump in my throat.

"That is, of course, until you get old and become rubbish at this game."

"Oh, thanks, that really warms my heart," I said.

"I live to please."

"You're such an arse."

"So you keep telling me."

"Well, it bears repeating," I said, fighting a sudden urge to smile.

"Weasley, you know what I'll miss most of all?" Draco asked as we lowered our brooms to the ground. "How you never quite know when to shut up."

"Oh, if that isn't just the pot calling the kettle black," I said, dismounting.

"But you're not a Black, you're a Weasley."

"Oh, Malfoy," I said sweetly. "Has the news of my trade just rattled all the wit right out of you?"

"Yeah, you're right," he laughed. "That was pretty weak. Tell you what, I'll work on it, and after the Arrows crush Puddlemere in the World Cup qualifiers, we'll do lunch and I'll amaze you with my linguistic agility once more."

"Already with the smack talk, are we?"

As we neared the house, Draco turned to look back, where the sun was just about to set behind us. "Well, considering you'll be wearing blue and gold in a matter of hours, I think it's only fair that I get in as much psychological damage as I can."

I smiled wistfully at the back of his head. Bantering came easily to us, and the comfortable camaraderie that we had fostered over the past few months was probably part of the reason I fell for him. And perhaps that was all we were meant to have. Tomorrow I would have a new identity, and my new job would take me to a different part of the country entirely. Maybe we would see each other once in a while, but probably only in passing; maybe we would wave or stop to say hi, and then carry on without the other. And in time I would learn to be okay with that.

I gave him a hug, taking care not to linger, and went inside.

---

"Good to have you with us, Ginny," Oliver said, clapping me on the shoulder as we filed out towards the pitch. "I think you'll fit right in."

"Thanks," I said, glad that I at least knew Oliver somewhat well. "It's, er - well, I hope I do."

"Don't worry," he said comfortingly. "These are a pretty cracking lot, and we're happy to have a new Chaser on board. Just play as you normally do." He shrugged and grinned.

I shot him a grateful but tight smile, hoping that the butterflies currently doing medal-worthy gymnastics in my stomach wouldn't put me out of commission for my first game as a Pud U player. It felt strange even just saying the term in my head. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm Puddlemere United's new Chaser. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm Puddlemere United's new Chaser. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm about to throw up.

Distantly, I heard the announcer begin to call my teammates up into the air, and watched as they each pushed off the ground in turn to the cheers of their fans and the polite applause of the home Arrows crowd.

"And please welcome Puddlemere's newest player," the announcer's voice boomed across the pitch. I took a deep breath. "In the Chasing position, Ginny Weasley!"

As I rose into the sky, I felt the air shift, somehow giving the feeling that there was something electrifying in the roaring crowd. It took me a moment to realize that they were on their feet, cheering me on, and the butterflies in my stomach turned into a hard knot that rose into my throat. Beyond the urge to cry, I felt incredibly lucky to be so appreciated even though I was now on the opposing team. Tomorrow, in the coming days, weeks, years, they would embrace other players as their own and forget about me. But this, right now, was my moment. This would be my last hurrah, in a way, to thank the Arrows fans for their support by playing my best game yet.

So I did.

---

Although I had initially been a bit apprehensive going in to a new team mid-season, finding my footing at Puddlemere turned out not to be a problem at all, especially since I had already known the Captain for yonks. It also didn't hurt that, as compared to the Chaser I had replaced, my playing style fit in much better with the other two starting Chasers, resulting in some very tight and well-executed plays that helped put us in serious contention for the World Cup. It was all very exciting, and the Pud U players accepted me into the fold without much question, for which I was both grateful and glad.

But still, of course, things weren't quite the same. There were days when I rather missed the easy friendships I had with some of my old teammates (no prizes for guessing which ones). Obviously, it did no good to dwell and cry over spilt milk and all that. Simply, there was nothing to do but move on.

Easier said than done, of course.

---

The Quidditch season ended, well, rather anticlimactically, really, for both Appleby and Puddlemere. We were both eliminated in the second round of World Cup qualifiers and that was the end of that. While it would have been the experience of a lifetime to be able to play in the World Cup, I was still glad to be able to go home to the Burrow and take a long and well-deserved break.

I was just settling down to a good, guilt-inducing read of a trashy magazine when I heard a loud pop coming from the living room downstairs.

"Anyone home?" Fred's voice rang out.

"Me!" I shouted.

"Oh, good," Fred yelled back, and a second later I heard him clomping up the stairs. I hastily discarded my rag to the floor.

"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked when he popped his head into my room.

"Business is slow today. It's boring," he groused, pushing my feet out of the way so he could sit on the bed. "Not that George minds very much, of course."

"The cute new assistant?"

"Cute new assistant." Fred nodded. "Can't stand it. They flirt all bloody day long and neither one's got balls enough to do anything about it."

"You're just jealous it's not you she's flirting with," I teased.

"Well, yeah! I'm clearly the more dashing of us two!" Fred laughed.

"I don't think that's - " I said, cut off by a knock on the front door. "Oh, who could that be?"

"Let's see," Fred said, yanking me off the bed and down the stairs. He pulled the front door wide open. "Yeees?" he said with exaggerated interest.

"Er - There a Ginny Weasley here?" said someone from behind a gigantic bouquet of flowers.

"Yeah, I got her right here," said Fred, jerking a thumb in my direction.

"Here you are," said the flower man, dumping the flowers in my arms. He tipped his cap and went on his way.

Fred closed the door. "Well? What are they for? Did I forget your birthday again?"

"Lucky for you, no," I said, pulling out and reading the attached card. "Oh," I said after a moment, handing the card to Fred, who read it, turned it over and back, and read it again.

He looked at me askance. "You sure this is for you?"

"Don't be daft, Fred," I said. "How many other Ginny Weasleys do you know who live in Ottery St. Catchpole?"

"I'm just saying it might have been a mistake. Misdelivered. What would Malfoy want with you when he's got what's-her-name?"

"What, I'm not good enough for him?"

"No, no, I didn't say that, you twit. It's just that he's already got a bird, hasn't he? What's he need you for?"

"Well, I don't bloody know!"

"No need to get worked up, Gin. Just trying to clear things up is all."

I shot him a quelling look.

"Lovely flowers, though," he said placatingly.

"Aren't they?" I agreed, and scooped them up to my room so I could be alone to think.

Of all the days for Fred to pop by unannounced, it had to be the one where Draco Malfoy sent me a bouquet of tulips with an attached card asking me to accompany him to the 72nd annual Excellence in Sports Awards ceremony.

Hope purred softly in my chest and I shut it up right quick.

Draco's face stared at me from the floor. I picked up the glossy magazine, which featured a picture of him and Phillippa Frost on the cover in which they both looked bored, or at best, indifferent. Emblazoned across the cover in bright yellow, the headline read simply, "Split!"

Did I dare hope? No, probably not. I wasn't proud of it, but I had gotten into the habit of picking up nearly every publication that featured Draco, from the kind that ended up as fishwrap the next day to the high-class men's fashion magazine in which he modeled pants and not much else. (That particular issue was tucked securely away under my bed. Hey, I said I wasn't proud of it.) And considering the fact that these magazines changed their tune about the status of Draco and Phillippa's relationship every other week, it would probably be safe to assume that this most recent alleged split had no basis in reality - which, you know, bugger.

But more importantly, what was I to say to his invitation? Fred did have a point - Draco had Phillippa; what would he want with me? Was Phillippa otherwise engaged on that particular night? Had they indeed split up? And if so, was I some sort of rebound girl? Perhaps he'd finally come to his senses and realised I was the love of his life. Or maybe they were on the verge of a split, and I was the back-up date. The possibilities were endless and they all led to more questions, each one asked more shrilly in my head than the last.

I flopped onto the bed. "Stupid," I groaned into my pillow.

"Oh, come now, Weasley, don't be so hard on yourself," came Draco's voice, which sounded oddly clear and... present.

I jerked my head up to face the doorway, where Draco stood, leaning casually against the doorframe. Suavely, I shrieked.

"What are the soles of your shoes made of?" I demanded, leaping to my feet. He was a stealthy bugger, this one, and this certainly wasn't the first time he'd scared the living daylights out of me with his sneaking. I wasn't sure if he just liked doing it to me, or if it was just how he naturally moved. In any case, here he was, standing in my bedroom, hands in his pockets, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Gin," Fred's voice floated up from somewhere downstairs. "You've got a visitor. He's... somewhere around here..."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Fred," I shouted. Lord, between the two of us the Burrow could get burgled in broad daylight and we wouldn't even notice anything was amiss until two days later.

"Nice place you've got here," Draco said with a half-smile, taking in his surroundings.

I suppressed a groan and collected myself. "What are you doing here?"

"I sent you flowers and a question, and I got tired of waiting, so I thought I'd come by, see if you had an answer yet."

I looked at the flowers and blinked uncomprehendingly. "I got those not twenty minutes ago."

"Well, this may surprise you, but of my many virtues, patience is pretty low on the list."

"I - uh - I haven't decided yet," I hedged. Truthfully, as soon as I'd read the card I wanted to scream "Yes!" from the mountaintops, but I figured I mightn't want to show my hand before I knew what his impetus was for asking. Besides, things were... complicated. Tricky business, this.

"So there is a chance you'll say yes?"

"Mmr," I said noncommittally. "What's in it for me?"

"You get to spend hours of mind-numbing awards show performances in my company, of course."

"Surely you can do better than that. I went last year, you know. It was a dead bore. I think I'd rather stay home with a cup of tea."

"They give out nice gift bags?"

I laughed. "Good one." Last year our gift bags consisted of an extra-large t-shirt, a disposable mac, and a three Galleon Honeydukes coupon. Really great swag, we got there.

Draco smiled and shrugged. "How about I take you out for supper after?"

Something in my stomach did a little leap at his offer. Still, "Malfoy, I like the relationship I have with the press. That is to say, we don't have much of one, and I don't fancy having my picture taken and then splashed all over the tabloids the next day, accusing me of being some sort of tart who's about to be responsible for breaking you and Frost up."

"That's understandable, but if it helps, we actually broke up a couple of weeks ago."

"Really?" I suppose that although I was chuffed to bits inside, I really ought to have said something comforting or sympathetic, but what came out of my mouth next was, "Hey, Entertainment Digest did get it right! That's a first."

"You read that rubbish?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, no, only when you're in it." Shit. There were times when I considered myself unbearably idiotic, and this was one such shining moment. I forced a grin, hoping he would think I was being sarcastic or making some sort of lousy joke. Maybe he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between my plastered-on Cheshire Cat grin and my normal, human smile. I coughed weakly.

"Is that so?" he asked, almost innocently, and strolled over to the bed, where my copy of Entertainment Digest was lying open. He picked it up and studied the cover. "Not my best shot," he said, making a dissatisfied face at the way his own visage stared back at him, unimpressed. "Anyway, my point is, if there's nothing to break up, I suppose the worst story they'll make up about you is that we're madly in love now. And that isn't so bad, is it?"

"I suppose not," I said slowly. Especially considering the fact that it would be partially true on my end.

"And, you know, it wouldn't all be slander, seeing as at least I'm in love with you," he said. It came out so casually that for a moment I wondered if I'd just had an auditory hallucination.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"You heard me, Weasley."

"You - you - you - Nooo..." I said, showing off my intellectual side. "Wha - Since when?"

Draco shrugged. "A while."

I gaped at him. "Are you joking? You're joking, aren't you? Well, it's not a very good joke!"

"That's because it isn't one," he said, looking at me as though I'd just gone insane.

"Wh - I - Oh, I can't - You can't be serious," I said. I had no idea why I was being so contrary, considering this was perhaps the best news I'd heard in my entire life.

"I thought you'd have cottoned on by now! Come on, Weasley, I thought I was pretty fucking obvious about it; I followed you around that stupid house like a damned puppy! What, did you think I just had fantastically good timing whenever you had a moment alone?"

"Er, yeah?"

Draco shot me a look of disbelief.

"Well, the house wasn't that big! And there were, what, sixteen of us living there; we'd have had to run into each other frequently enough. It's like the law of probabilities!" I could hear myself saying these words as they tumbled messily out of my mouth and it was as though someone else was saying these silly things. The part of me that had nothing at all to do with the talking rather wanted to smack the part of me that did.

"I can't believe anyone could be that dense," he huffed.

"Hey," I said, my hackles up. "I may not be very observant, but it's not as though you've cornered the market on paying attention. I was probably in love with you first, and it's not like you'd ever noticed!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded.

"There was the poker, and France, and then that stupid - oh god, that stupid dream, and then you were standing there with your nice-smelling sweater and - "

"Do you mean to tell me that you've been in love with me this whole time and you've never said a word?"

"Don't make this into all my fault! You've only just said anything yourself, and I wasn't about to confess my feelings to a person who was dating someone else!"

"I'd never have even considered dating her if I'd known I had chance with you!"

"Why didn't you ever ask, then?"

"Because I didn't think I had a chance!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Oi!" shouted Fred, flinging my bedroom door wide open. "You lot best keep it down in here. I'm trying to listen to the radio! Children..." he muttered exasperatedly as he went downstairs again.

Suddenly drained of momentum, I looked at Draco sheepishly. "I think we've just had the stupidest fight ever."

He grinned at me. "So, what do you say, Weasley? Care to accompany me to the awards ceremony?"

"Draco, we just professed our love for each other in probably the worst way possible, and all you can think about is the sports awards?"

"Well, to be fair, I'm also thinking about kissing you, but it didn't seem quite the right time to say so," he said, then added, "Until right this very moment."

"That's an interesting thought. Care to expound?"

"Well, in my head, it was going to go something like this," he said, stepping closer and putting his arms around my waist, pulling me gently towards him. He bent his head and pressed his lips against mine, and sometimes people say they lose themselves in a kiss and sort of melt away, but I could feel everything all at once, the warmth of his hands on my back, the softness of his lips, the silkiness of his hair between my fingers. And it was all there, in front of me, surrounding me, and it was him, and it was perfect.

"So," Draco said, pulling away slightly after a minute. His cheeks were tinged with pink and his hair unruly from my fingers, and there was no possible way I could love him more. "What do you think of my plan to kiss you?"

"Well, it's going to be difficult to improve on perfection, but I think we might want to give it a try."

"Gladly. But you know," he said with a smirk, "we may have to spend the rest of our lives trying to top ourselves here."

I kissed him again. "I'll take that chance."