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A/N: Just another of my somewhat pointless snarky romance D/G one-shots. Bear with me.
Disclaimer: Ferrets, the transfigured or the natural type, are looked upon with disfavour by the landlord unit. Ah well.
~*~
It was a particularly cold winter. Ginny, coming back inside from a chilly afternoon's Care of Magical Creatures lesson, was sniffling slightly, her nose and ears red from the biting wind.
Her fingers were still cold when she walked into the library, glancing over her shoulder before making her way towards the Muggle literature section.
He was sprawled in the leather chair, blond hair falling into his eyes, his polished dragonhide shoes gleaming as he stretched his legs out on the table, a book of Tennyson propped casually in his lap. This most unlikely of friends looked up as she approached, raising a slightly sardonic eyebrow at her sniffle.
"Did I not tell you that Weasel and Potty were not worth tears?"
"Hush," she plopped down into the seat across from his, reaching out and pushing his feet off the table. He gave her a mock-glare as his book snapped shut, and if she noticed, she merely gave him a smile. "I'm not crying. Just... cold. Maybe snotty little ferrets don't feel it, but it's frigid outside."
"Maybe snippety little weasels should start wearing thicker cloaks," he remarked idly, inspecting his fingernails. "Or at least remember to cast Warming Charms on the skimpy things that she does wear before going out to romp with oversized canines and other inhabitants of the gameskeeper's bizarre menagerie."
She glared, sniffled again, and with a roll of his eyes he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and shoved it at her. Ginny smiled, then, and blew her nose on the square of fine white linen.
"Keep it," he told her, "I'm not putting anything with your mucus back into my pocket."
She made sure to cast a perfect Cleaning Charm on the linen with a flourish in front of his pointy Grecian nose before sticking the immaculate handkerchief into her pocket.
~*~
Christmas morning found Ginny up before dawn, alone in the Gryffindor Common Room because Ron and his friends had elected to go to the Burrow for the holidays. Having OWLs coming up in the springtime, she had chosen to stay, and have freedom.
Perhaps this was a good thing, because Ron certainly would have asked very suspicious questions had he seen the stately eagle owl that flew in, bearing a parcel wrapped in rustling forest green paper. Ginny read the card with an amused smile.
"To the apparently warm-blooded Weasel, who isn't any fun when she's shivering."
Her breath had caught in her throat when the box was opened to reveal a forest green, fur-lined cloak of crushed velvet, the material soft and warm as a kitten.
She threw the cloak on, dashed out of the Gryffindor Common Room, through the hallways, and out into the new, pure-white snow that had fallen overnight towards the direction of the Quidditch pitch.
She cornered him by the broomshed, his hair slightly tousled by the wind, less than impeccable-looking and oddly endearing (especially for a little serpent). He was watching the sunrise, his broom leaning against the wall of the shed, and gave a slight splutter of indignant surprise when she bowled into him, wrapping her arms around him in a squeezing hug. Her eyes lit up as she stared up into his face.
He was wearing an expression of ineffable hauteur. "Much as I appreciate the undying devotion, little red, I'd appreciate my ribs unbroken, thanks."
"You git!" she giggled, ingenuously running her hands underneath his partially open cloak and encountering wool. "You're wearing my present!" Her voice was a squeal of delight.
Slim, delicate, slightly freckled hands pulled the fastenings of his robes apart to reveal a charcoal gray hand-knit jumper in a cabled pattern. She pulled back (only slightly) from his warmth to inspect how it looked on him, her smile widening as her cheeks started to redden, not quite solely because of the cold.
He smirked, reaching out to toy with a lock of ginger hair. "Ah well. It's cold around the Slytherin Common Room, you know. And of course, out here. And YOU should talk... I see that you're wearing my present."
She grinned up at him, a wide smile on her face. "Thank you ever so much, ferret. Do I pass muster?"
His hand lingering in her hair, his gaze ran slowly from the heart-shaped face, crowned by glistening red-gold locks, down the slightly coltish figure that in another year or so would be voluptuous. Slytherin colours really became her best, after all.
"You'll do," he said at last, his eyes a dark, intense gray. "I suppose I shall have to thank you for my present as well?"
"Yes you do," she said firmly, "I knitted it myself."
At that moment, a gust of wind blew towards them, and she quite impudently stepped back into his personal space, maybe-perhaps entering something not quite so tangible but a bit more significant as well. And almost as simultaneous as their heartbeats, they both made the mistake of looking into each other's eyes.
The snow swirled around them then, and they were beyond noticing, because the hand that had been toying with her hair had angled her head, even as the hand that had been resting on the surface of his jumper raised up to pull him closer. She gave a tiny moan as he covered her lips with his, and in the back of her mind she was frantically wondering why it was that it would be him, of all people, the most unexpected of friends and the most obnoxious of blond Slytherin ferrets, whose kiss succeeded in making her toes curl and her whole body feel as though it were coming home after a long day, sliding into a warm bubble-bath with champagne and cherries and all that... the thought was left unfinished when he growled low in his throat, pulled her abruptly closer, and lazily parted her lips with his tongue.
When they finally parted, her face was almost as red as her hair, and he had no compunction in telling her such.
She clutched his arm, because her knees were feeling like jelly and he, at least, was leaning against a wall. It was a moment before she could speak, but when she did, she made sure to give him a blissful smile. "If that's how you're going to thank me, ferret, I'll have to knit you a scarf, a cap, and mittens to go along with it."
He gave her a feral grin and then, all of the sudden, hoisted her over his shoulder, making his quick way back inside the castle. Amidst her shrieking giggles and ineffectual swats at his shoulders, he drawled, "How about knitting me a blanket? I'll need something to cover us with after the three or so bouts of frenzied lovemaking when I seduce you."
"You..." her voice was muffled against fabric as he kicked open the door, "are an incorrigible, indecent, terrible, gutter-minded pillock."
"And you have just complimented me," he set her down, gazing down into the flushed, girlish face with an exultant look. "However shall I thank you?"
Disclaimer: Ferrets, the transfigured or the natural type, are looked upon with disfavour by the landlord unit. Ah well.
~*~
It was a particularly cold winter. Ginny, coming back inside from a chilly afternoon's Care of Magical Creatures lesson, was sniffling slightly, her nose and ears red from the biting wind.
Her fingers were still cold when she walked into the library, glancing over her shoulder before making her way towards the Muggle literature section.
He was sprawled in the leather chair, blond hair falling into his eyes, his polished dragonhide shoes gleaming as he stretched his legs out on the table, a book of Tennyson propped casually in his lap. This most unlikely of friends looked up as she approached, raising a slightly sardonic eyebrow at her sniffle.
"Did I not tell you that Weasel and Potty were not worth tears?"
"Hush," she plopped down into the seat across from his, reaching out and pushing his feet off the table. He gave her a mock-glare as his book snapped shut, and if she noticed, she merely gave him a smile. "I'm not crying. Just... cold. Maybe snotty little ferrets don't feel it, but it's frigid outside."
"Maybe snippety little weasels should start wearing thicker cloaks," he remarked idly, inspecting his fingernails. "Or at least remember to cast Warming Charms on the skimpy things that she does wear before going out to romp with oversized canines and other inhabitants of the gameskeeper's bizarre menagerie."
She glared, sniffled again, and with a roll of his eyes he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and shoved it at her. Ginny smiled, then, and blew her nose on the square of fine white linen.
"Keep it," he told her, "I'm not putting anything with your mucus back into my pocket."
She made sure to cast a perfect Cleaning Charm on the linen with a flourish in front of his pointy Grecian nose before sticking the immaculate handkerchief into her pocket.
~*~
Christmas morning found Ginny up before dawn, alone in the Gryffindor Common Room because Ron and his friends had elected to go to the Burrow for the holidays. Having OWLs coming up in the springtime, she had chosen to stay, and have freedom.
Perhaps this was a good thing, because Ron certainly would have asked very suspicious questions had he seen the stately eagle owl that flew in, bearing a parcel wrapped in rustling forest green paper. Ginny read the card with an amused smile.
"To the apparently warm-blooded Weasel, who isn't any fun when she's shivering."
Her breath had caught in her throat when the box was opened to reveal a forest green, fur-lined cloak of crushed velvet, the material soft and warm as a kitten.
She threw the cloak on, dashed out of the Gryffindor Common Room, through the hallways, and out into the new, pure-white snow that had fallen overnight towards the direction of the Quidditch pitch.
She cornered him by the broomshed, his hair slightly tousled by the wind, less than impeccable-looking and oddly endearing (especially for a little serpent). He was watching the sunrise, his broom leaning against the wall of the shed, and gave a slight splutter of indignant surprise when she bowled into him, wrapping her arms around him in a squeezing hug. Her eyes lit up as she stared up into his face.
He was wearing an expression of ineffable hauteur. "Much as I appreciate the undying devotion, little red, I'd appreciate my ribs unbroken, thanks."
"You git!" she giggled, ingenuously running her hands underneath his partially open cloak and encountering wool. "You're wearing my present!" Her voice was a squeal of delight.
Slim, delicate, slightly freckled hands pulled the fastenings of his robes apart to reveal a charcoal gray hand-knit jumper in a cabled pattern. She pulled back (only slightly) from his warmth to inspect how it looked on him, her smile widening as her cheeks started to redden, not quite solely because of the cold.
He smirked, reaching out to toy with a lock of ginger hair. "Ah well. It's cold around the Slytherin Common Room, you know. And of course, out here. And YOU should talk... I see that you're wearing my present."
She grinned up at him, a wide smile on her face. "Thank you ever so much, ferret. Do I pass muster?"
His hand lingering in her hair, his gaze ran slowly from the heart-shaped face, crowned by glistening red-gold locks, down the slightly coltish figure that in another year or so would be voluptuous. Slytherin colours really became her best, after all.
"You'll do," he said at last, his eyes a dark, intense gray. "I suppose I shall have to thank you for my present as well?"
"Yes you do," she said firmly, "I knitted it myself."
At that moment, a gust of wind blew towards them, and she quite impudently stepped back into his personal space, maybe-perhaps entering something not quite so tangible but a bit more significant as well. And almost as simultaneous as their heartbeats, they both made the mistake of looking into each other's eyes.
The snow swirled around them then, and they were beyond noticing, because the hand that had been toying with her hair had angled her head, even as the hand that had been resting on the surface of his jumper raised up to pull him closer. She gave a tiny moan as he covered her lips with his, and in the back of her mind she was frantically wondering why it was that it would be him, of all people, the most unexpected of friends and the most obnoxious of blond Slytherin ferrets, whose kiss succeeded in making her toes curl and her whole body feel as though it were coming home after a long day, sliding into a warm bubble-bath with champagne and cherries and all that... the thought was left unfinished when he growled low in his throat, pulled her abruptly closer, and lazily parted her lips with his tongue.
When they finally parted, her face was almost as red as her hair, and he had no compunction in telling her such.
She clutched his arm, because her knees were feeling like jelly and he, at least, was leaning against a wall. It was a moment before she could speak, but when she did, she made sure to give him a blissful smile. "If that's how you're going to thank me, ferret, I'll have to knit you a scarf, a cap, and mittens to go along with it."
He gave her a feral grin and then, all of the sudden, hoisted her over his shoulder, making his quick way back inside the castle. Amidst her shrieking giggles and ineffectual swats at his shoulders, he drawled, "How about knitting me a blanket? I'll need something to cover us with after the three or so bouts of frenzied lovemaking when I seduce you."
"You..." her voice was muffled against fabric as he kicked open the door, "are an incorrigible, indecent, terrible, gutter-minded pillock."
"And you have just complimented me," he set her down, gazing down into the flushed, girlish face with an exultant look. "However shall I thank you?"
The End.
Thalia is the author of 8 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 23 members. Members who liked Warm Thanks also liked 1298 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 23 members. Members who liked Warm Thanks also liked 1298 other stories.
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