Draco had watched with thinly veiled amusement as Potter approached Ginny. The prat must know nothing about women if he thinks now is a good time, he thought. Clearly she's not in the mood.
He was startled to find himself wondering what Ginny Weasley might be like when she was in the mood. If the mischievous spark he'd noticed in her melted-chocolate – dirt-colored! – eyes was any indication, she might be quite the spitfire ...
"Bloody hell," Draco blurted loudly, desperate to derail that train of thought. Several curious faces turned his way, and he set his jaw when he realized that yes, he had said that out loud.
He dared a glance down the table to see if a certain Gryffindor had noticed, but she was saying something to Potter. Peeves swooped into the Great Hall then, carrying an enormous bucket, which he proceeded to dump over said Gryffindor’s head.
She was sputtering, and those fire-bright locks were drenched, hanging heavy down her back. Potter fumbled for his napkin and offered it to her, and Draco scoffed at the ineffectual gesture. What was she supposed to do, dry that mane of hers with that absurdly small square? She looked absolutely ridiculous. He was enjoying the moment immensely until it struck him that he must have looked much the same earlier that afternoon.
Ginny appeared to be more annoyed than seriously angry as she dragged her small hands through her hair, attempting to squeeze out some of the moisture. She said something to Harry, stood from the table, and headed out of the Hall.
Following her was an unconscious decision. Draco slid from the bench and was moving toward the exit before the heavy doors had even swung shut after her.
She had already disappeared around a corner, but he could easily discern her path from the trail of water droplets on the stone floor. He walked quickly in that direction and soon saw a familiar figure starting up the staircase.
His lips had pressed together to form the "w" in weasel, so that he could halt her progress, but at the last instant his mouth twisted and the word Ginny heard was "Wait."
She turned when she heard it without knowing who had spoken. When she saw Draco at the foot of the stairs, her look of surprise at finding him there – was she expecting Potter? – was identical to his surprised expression as he found himself taking another step toward her.
He had to regain the upper hand. Two snowballs and a wink, and he was behaving like a mindless ponce instead of a Slytherin. Instead of a Malfoy.
He didn’t realize he was muttering those thoughts aloud, and Ginny had to giggle. Her soft laugh brought him back to himself, and that familiar smirk appeared on his face as he took in the sight of the bedraggled girl above him.
"Hello, Ginny," he drawled.
So, Ginny thought, Draco Malfoy has recovered his power of speech. Never mind that she was a soggy mess; he had followed her and initiated this little tête-à-tête, and she was not one to pass up an opportunity.
"Draco," she returned coolly, tucking several wet strands of hair behind her ear. "I wasn't aware you knew my first name, as you've never used it before. Should I congratulate you on your powers of observation, or do you have a piece of parchment stuck in your sleeve to help you along?"
He arched an eyebrow. Just as he’d thought, she was a spitfire. He grinned, and the decision was made. She was a worthy opponent, and the game would begin.
He didn't realize that it already had.
Steely gray eyes locked with warm brown, and he stepped onto the staircase just as Harry Potter came around the corner.
Draco was already feeling rather pleased with himself, and the sight of Potter's jaw dropping open only heightened his amusement.
"Malfoy! What are you doing with Ginny? Get away from her," Harry growled, his hand dropping to his wand.
This was far too easy.
"What am I doing with Ginny? Well, Potty, when I figure that out, I'll let you know – second thought, no, I won't – but I'll tell you this: I'm not doing anything she hasn't invited me to do." Draco's drawl was full of silky satisfaction, and his smirk widened as Potter’s face flushed a furious red. "Blushing like a Weasley there, Potter. Too bad red doesn’t nearly look as good as you as it does on Ginny."
As soon as Harry had appeared, Ginny had begun searching for something heavy to throw at him. Again? He was interrupting again? Gods, where was Hermione when she needed a good repelling charm? Her frustration was overwhelming, and if she managed to avoid a foot-stamping tantrum, she deserved a bloody Order of Merlin, First Class.
Then Draco spoke, and Ginny's fury was momentarily forgotten. His voice ... that tone ... his words. What was he on about? She hadn't invited him ... well, not directly. She supposed her actions outside could have been taken as some sort of invitation. If so, Draco seemed to have accepted it. Was that a compliment? Was he complimenting her hair? Self-conscious for the first time that day, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the still-wet mass.
Silvery eyes noticed her furtive motion, and Draco's pale hands reached out to gently tug Ginny's from her hair. He felt her tense at the contact and mimicked the teasing wink she'd sent his way in the Great Hall.
"Stop that," he said, his tone mild. "It doesn't matter."
What does? Ginny wanted to ask, but her thoughts were hopelessly scrambled from his touch. He was close enough for her to scent an appealing, woodsy smell that must be his cologne, and his thumbs had traced gentle circles on her palms before he'd released her hands. She was spinning, she was dizzy – it was delicious.
And Harry was watching her, suspicion mingling with a dawning awareness in those too-green eyes.
Green for jealousy, Ginny thought unkindly, but he has no right to be jealous.
She should probably say something. But what, and to whom?
"Harry," Ginny started, flushing when her voice came out as a hoarse croak. "I want to tell you ..."
"Yes," a cool voice interjected, "tell him." Ginny's head swiveled, and she met Draco's eyes, which were glinting in satisfaction.
"Tell me what?" Harry demanded. "Ginny, what's going on?"
Again, Ginny opened her mouth to try and explain, and again, fate intervened. The staircase creaked into motion, and she and Draco were borne away from Harry, who was left standing alone.
He was startled to find himself wondering what Ginny Weasley might be like when she was in the mood. If the mischievous spark he'd noticed in her melted-chocolate – dirt-colored! – eyes was any indication, she might be quite the spitfire ...
"Bloody hell," Draco blurted loudly, desperate to derail that train of thought. Several curious faces turned his way, and he set his jaw when he realized that yes, he had said that out loud.
He dared a glance down the table to see if a certain Gryffindor had noticed, but she was saying something to Potter. Peeves swooped into the Great Hall then, carrying an enormous bucket, which he proceeded to dump over said Gryffindor’s head.
She was sputtering, and those fire-bright locks were drenched, hanging heavy down her back. Potter fumbled for his napkin and offered it to her, and Draco scoffed at the ineffectual gesture. What was she supposed to do, dry that mane of hers with that absurdly small square? She looked absolutely ridiculous. He was enjoying the moment immensely until it struck him that he must have looked much the same earlier that afternoon.
Ginny appeared to be more annoyed than seriously angry as she dragged her small hands through her hair, attempting to squeeze out some of the moisture. She said something to Harry, stood from the table, and headed out of the Hall.
Following her was an unconscious decision. Draco slid from the bench and was moving toward the exit before the heavy doors had even swung shut after her.
She had already disappeared around a corner, but he could easily discern her path from the trail of water droplets on the stone floor. He walked quickly in that direction and soon saw a familiar figure starting up the staircase.
His lips had pressed together to form the "w" in weasel, so that he could halt her progress, but at the last instant his mouth twisted and the word Ginny heard was "Wait."
She turned when she heard it without knowing who had spoken. When she saw Draco at the foot of the stairs, her look of surprise at finding him there – was she expecting Potter? – was identical to his surprised expression as he found himself taking another step toward her.
He had to regain the upper hand. Two snowballs and a wink, and he was behaving like a mindless ponce instead of a Slytherin. Instead of a Malfoy.
He didn’t realize he was muttering those thoughts aloud, and Ginny had to giggle. Her soft laugh brought him back to himself, and that familiar smirk appeared on his face as he took in the sight of the bedraggled girl above him.
"Hello, Ginny," he drawled.
So, Ginny thought, Draco Malfoy has recovered his power of speech. Never mind that she was a soggy mess; he had followed her and initiated this little tête-à-tête, and she was not one to pass up an opportunity.
"Draco," she returned coolly, tucking several wet strands of hair behind her ear. "I wasn't aware you knew my first name, as you've never used it before. Should I congratulate you on your powers of observation, or do you have a piece of parchment stuck in your sleeve to help you along?"
He arched an eyebrow. Just as he’d thought, she was a spitfire. He grinned, and the decision was made. She was a worthy opponent, and the game would begin.
He didn't realize that it already had.
Steely gray eyes locked with warm brown, and he stepped onto the staircase just as Harry Potter came around the corner.
Draco was already feeling rather pleased with himself, and the sight of Potter's jaw dropping open only heightened his amusement.
"Malfoy! What are you doing with Ginny? Get away from her," Harry growled, his hand dropping to his wand.
This was far too easy.
"What am I doing with Ginny? Well, Potty, when I figure that out, I'll let you know – second thought, no, I won't – but I'll tell you this: I'm not doing anything she hasn't invited me to do." Draco's drawl was full of silky satisfaction, and his smirk widened as Potter’s face flushed a furious red. "Blushing like a Weasley there, Potter. Too bad red doesn’t nearly look as good as you as it does on Ginny."
As soon as Harry had appeared, Ginny had begun searching for something heavy to throw at him. Again? He was interrupting again? Gods, where was Hermione when she needed a good repelling charm? Her frustration was overwhelming, and if she managed to avoid a foot-stamping tantrum, she deserved a bloody Order of Merlin, First Class.
Then Draco spoke, and Ginny's fury was momentarily forgotten. His voice ... that tone ... his words. What was he on about? She hadn't invited him ... well, not directly. She supposed her actions outside could have been taken as some sort of invitation. If so, Draco seemed to have accepted it. Was that a compliment? Was he complimenting her hair? Self-conscious for the first time that day, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the still-wet mass.
Silvery eyes noticed her furtive motion, and Draco's pale hands reached out to gently tug Ginny's from her hair. He felt her tense at the contact and mimicked the teasing wink she'd sent his way in the Great Hall.
"Stop that," he said, his tone mild. "It doesn't matter."
What does? Ginny wanted to ask, but her thoughts were hopelessly scrambled from his touch. He was close enough for her to scent an appealing, woodsy smell that must be his cologne, and his thumbs had traced gentle circles on her palms before he'd released her hands. She was spinning, she was dizzy – it was delicious.
And Harry was watching her, suspicion mingling with a dawning awareness in those too-green eyes.
Green for jealousy, Ginny thought unkindly, but he has no right to be jealous.
She should probably say something. But what, and to whom?
"Harry," Ginny started, flushing when her voice came out as a hoarse croak. "I want to tell you ..."
"Yes," a cool voice interjected, "tell him." Ginny's head swiveled, and she met Draco's eyes, which were glinting in satisfaction.
"Tell me what?" Harry demanded. "Ginny, what's going on?"
Again, Ginny opened her mouth to try and explain, and again, fate intervened. The staircase creaked into motion, and she and Draco were borne away from Harry, who was left standing alone.
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