Author's Note: It's finished! Finally! (Sorry; I'm a little giddy.) Thanks to all who've reviewed, but especially to where_is_truth for being the best beta I could have asked for. She helped me stumble through writing my first fic; any mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy.
***
When Ginny walked into the Great Hall the next morning, a carefully cast glamour hiding any evidence of her furious tears the night before, Draco was already there.
He was eating and did not immediately see her, so she took a moment to study him. Watching his hands as he cut his food with deft, graceful motions made her remember shivering at his touch, and when he lifted his fork to his mouth, the parting of his lips made her breathe unsteadily.
Now he had seen her. That platinum head tilted slightly as he appraised her, and after a moment, his chin jerked slightly, indicating the empty seat across from him.
An invitation or a challenge? Either way, Ginny was willing to accept, and she slid into the offered seat.
"Good morning," Draco said lightly, and she would have responded then, but he added two quick syllables that made her pause. "Ginny."
She could not help staring. He'd said her name before, and she'd mocked him for using it, but his tone was so different now. So familiar, even though she was certainly not used to hearing her name spill from those lips in that low, lazy timbre.
He had to know the effect his voice had – that silky purr was no accident. Neither was that look he was giving her, a silvery stare so piercingly direct Ginny was sure he could see her knickers.
Your green knickers, a mocking mental voice taunted. Feeling a bit Slytherin today, are we?
“No,” Ginny said out loud, flushing when Draco arched a pale brow.
“No?” he repeated,. “I haven’t asked you anything … yet.”
“By all means, Draco,” Ginny returned, feeling the heat recede from her cheeks. She could deal with Draco’s innuendo-laden banter, but not the silence that let her mind wander farther than his words went. “And what is it you might be asking me?”
Draco considered her, the little spitfire with the spark in her eyes, those sienna pools that he found himself both unable and unwilling to look away from. There were many questions that he could have asked her, many points on which his curiosity was yet to be satisfied, but he chose the most nagging one for this moment.
“What’s the story with you and Potter?”
He imagined that she looked relieved once he had asked, as if she wanted – needed, even – to answer this.
Her voice was soft but her words were steady as she began to speak.
“Really, there isn’t much to tell,” Ginny explained. “Ron’s been pushing us together a lot …” Here she had to pause and stifle a grin when Draco’s eyes narrowed. “He’s been pushing us together,” she continued, “but Harry never said anything to me. Until the first day of winter hols, that is. Even then, he really didn’t say anything straight out; he just hinted that he might not have minded what Ron was doing.”
“And you?” Draco had not meant to interrupt, but he found that he had to ask.
“Me?” Ginny tried not to think about what it could mean that Draco wanted to know what she felt for Harry. It might mean nothing more than simple curiosity, or possibly eagerness to find something to use against his enemy. But then surely Draco could sense her lack of interest in Harry. Even Harry should have been able to sense it – it fairly radiated from her pores.
“I knew it wasn’t right,” Ginny admitted after a moment of silence. “It didn’t feel right, but I didn’t know why. Well, I didn’t know why before last night. Harry and I … talked. And now I understand.”
They had both momentarily forgotten their surroundings, had forgotten that they were a Slytherin boy and a Gryffindor girl sitting together in the middle of the Great Hall. Draco had only been aware of Ginny’s presence since she’d entered, just as her attention was focused entirely on him. But now the murmurings from other students and the probing, pointed glances being directed their way had intruded into the moment, and the protective bubble was burst.
Draco sent a quelling glare around the room, smirking at the muted “eep” from Euan Abercrombie, and turned back to Ginny.
“I want to finish this,” he told her, and she wondered if he was referring to the conversation, the game they seemed to be playing, or something else entirely.
Either way, she thought they should finish, too, and so she stood when he did and they walked together toward the huge double doors leading out of the Hall. With the way things had gone for her thus far over the holiday break, Ginny was not at all surprised when she and Draco found themselves standing face-to-face with Harry Potter.
Harry could not quite muster a glare. He could only stare at Ginny, silently accusing her of something, and she felt her anger stirring again. She tamped it down, refusing to satisfy Harry with the response he clearly expected. Draco heard her sigh very softly, and the sound spurred an action that surprised all three of them.
He took Ginny’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and led her past Harry.
Who, of course, couldn’t leave things there.
“Malfoy,” he called, and Ginny thought he had probably intended to sound forceful and challenging. He managed neither.
Draco turned back, his smirk already in place. He’d given Potter the opportunity for a graceful exit – although why he had done so was a niggling question in the back of his mind – but if the git was too stupid to take it, there would be no second chance.
“She’s just using you,” Harry spat, fixing a venomous glare on Ginny. “She’s using you to get at me.”
Draco laughed, delighted with the opening he’d been given. Slytherins lived for these moments, and Draco was every inch a Slytherin.
“Is that so?”
Harry’s eyes were still defiant as they focused on Draco, and he nodded jerkily in response to the platinum-haired boy’s question.
“If that’s true –” Draco’s drawl was thoroughly amused, and the deliberate emphasis he’d placed on his first word said no, it was not possibly true, could not be farther from the truth, but he would indulge Harry for a moment.
“If that’s true,” he repeated, “then I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun being used.
“In fact, Potter,” Draco added with a significant, sin-filled glance at Ginny, whose hand he still held, “I’d highly recommend it.”
Harry and Ginny were both staring at Draco; the former with a frenzied hate, the latter with a new understanding.
Harry was the first to pull his eyes away, and then Draco turned back to Ginny.
“Come,” he said simply, and she didn’t hesitate.
Harry watched them walk away, watched to see Ginny be proven a fool when Malfoy dropped her hand and walked away.
He was the one who felt foolish when that did not happen.
***
Now they were alone. Together alone, Ginny thought, a shivery heat flooding her entire body. Shivery, maybe, because of what Draco had insinuated to Harry, and heat at the thought of those insinuations ever becoming reality.
Draco had guided her swiftly through the halls, and she had concentrated on the feel of his hand instead of where he was taking her. She was surprised, then, when he stopped and she realized they were standing at the entrance to Slytherin House. At least she assumed that’s where they were. She’d never actually seen the entrance, but clearly the violet-eyed witch in the portrait, who was alternating affectionate glances at Draco and appraising ones at Ginny, guarded the gateway to Slytherin.
Draco was watching her, waiting for a response.
“Aren’t we going in?” She was curious, certainly, but more than anything Ginny wanted him to know she was not afraid. Nervous, possibly, but more with anticipation than trepidation. Whatever was happening needed to stop. Right now they were playing, but that would only take them so far. If anything else was to happen – please let it happen -
they would need to set aside the coy banter and talk. Really talk. The thought of that conversation was twisting her stomach into hopeful knots.
And Draco was giving the password to the portrait, who gave a curt nod and opened to them. He kept his grip on Ginny’s hand – “Wards,” he murmured – and led her into what Ron referred to as the heart of darkness.
She was in Slytherin. Blinking once, Ginny tried to take in her surroundings. There was green, and there was silver, and besides that, she could have been in the Gryffindor common room, for all the comfortable couches and chairs. A laugh escaped her and she turned to Draco, her eyes twinkling.
“So this is how evil incarnate relaxes?”
He was amused, even pleased at how casually she’d walked into his House. He knew her brother – probably all her brothers – had lectured her on the evils of Slytherin and even of Draco Malfoy in particular, but it appeared that Ginny Weasley made up her own mind. Another thing to like about her, he thought, and it did not occur to him that he had stopped protesting the idea of liking her.
“You know,” he said slowly, trying to decide how this part should go, what the proper move was, “the minute your brother comes back, Potter will run to him and tell him exactly what’s going on, if he hasn’t already sent that owl of his.”
“Hedwig,” Ginny said absently. “I’m sure he’s already sent her. But what will he say?”
“What will he say?” Draco repeated.
“Well, you said Harry would tell Ron what’s going on, right?” Draco nodded assent and she went on. “But … what is going on, Draco? What is going on with us, between us? I don’t know what Harry would say, when I don’t even know myself.”
And there it was. Ginny had laid her cards on the table and there was no way to bluff his way out of this situation, had he even wanted to. It was time.
He let go of her hand then and instantly missed her warmth, but touching her made his head spin, and he had to think carefully about his words.
He sank into a plush green armchair and gestured Ginny into a seat that faced him. As she sat, he began to speak, never taking his grey eyes off her face.
“You were right when you said I’d never seen you, that all you were to me was just another Weasley,” Draco said honestly. It was a difficult admission to make, considering what he was about to say, but he would not lie to her. “I’d never noticed the way your eyes sparkle when you’re amused, and I was rather surprised to find out how clever you are.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that snowball hit me,” he told her, silently cursing the stupidity of that statement. A snowball? Stop talking. Stop talking right now.
“Don’t you mean since those two snowballs hit you?” Ginny teased, pretending she didn’t notice the emotions flitting across his face. He was talking, telling her things, and she would do nothing that might make him stop.
“That’s right, vixen, two snowballs. I was angry, and then I was confused, and then I didn’t know what to think. Especially after you told me you wanted me to see you. All I could think about at first was what you meant by that, and then all I could do was wonder why.”
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, why?”
“Why you wanted me, of all people, to see you,” Draco explained, watching her face closely. Now he had surprised her – those pretty chocolate eyes were widening. Apparently Ginny had formed enough of a prior impression of him to be startled when he showed a little modesty.
“At first, it was only because you were Draco Malfoy. A Slytherin. A self-proclaimed Weasley hater. I wanted someone to see me, and I figure that you were the last person in this school who ever would.” Ginny’s words spilled out of her in a rush, tumbling over each other as she hurried to get past this part. There was much more to say.
“A challenge, then?”
“At first,” Ginny stressed. “But only at first. I watched you, and I started to see all these little inconsistencies, things that didn’t line up with who I thought you were. And then I realized that I’d been stupid.”
She paused then, studying Draco’s face. He was taking in everything she’d said, fitting it in with what he already knew. Something flared in his eyes at her last words, and he held out a hand to stop her from saying more.
“You realized that we were the same.”
Those had been her next words, and so she nodded. Now that connection she’d imagined before was there again, a sort of silvery cord shimmering between them, and the urge to touch it, prove it was real – prove they were real – was undeniable. And so Ginny reached, but instead of brushing a cord, or slicing through air, her hand found Draco’s.
Palm-to-palm, they sat there in silence for a long moment. Her free hand twisted in her robes as she attempted to conceal a slight tremble that she thought came from being nervous and excited all at once. When it seemed right to speak, Ginny began.
“If only it were that easy, Draco,” she said wistfully, and let her hand drop.
He frowned, instantly feeling the lost contact. “And why isn’t it?” He wanted her. She wanted him. It seemed, at that moment, very easy. Draco knew about wanting.
Her short laugh was incredulous. “You’re forgetting something. Actually, you’re forgetting almost everything. Your father. My family. Our Houses.”
He started to interrupt her then, but she cut him off. “Last night.” This was easily the most important point Ginny had listed. She would take on the challenge of their families, their housemates – but only if Draco was willing to do the same. She would not kiss him in secret and be publicly resigned to longing looks.
It was good that she had removed her hand from his, as her suddenly sweat-slick palms would have belied the calm steadiness in her eyes. It seemed ridiculous to think they had never really spoken to each other before yesterday. Ginny could have easily believed this interlude had been playing out for weeks or months, as rapidly as her heart was thumping as she waited for him to respond.
Draco had heard the small quiver in her voice and understood instantly that last night was the key on which this thing hinged. If he wanted this, wanted her, he had to explain.
She was probably wondering if he was ashamed of her, remembering everything she’d ever heard him say about her family. Taking it back was useless – not only was it too late for that, but he’d meant those words, and Ginny knew he’d meant them.
The only thing that would work was the truth, and Draco rolled the unfamiliar syllables around on his tongue for a moment before he spoke, and the uncertainty in his tone made him think, at first, that someone else was speaking.
“I’m sorry.”
Ginny thought, too, that someone else must have spoken. Surely Draco had not apologized. She’d expected haughty denial of any wrongdoing, maybe a sneer, or even silence. But she’d already told Draco that nothing about their interaction had been as she’d expected. Why should this be any different?
They were simple words, but she could see on his face what it cost him to say that, to lay his pride at her feet. He was tense, searching her face as if he could read the crinkles at the corner of her eyes and know what she was thinking.
What Ginny was thinking was that it was hard to think with him looking at her like that. If he trusted her enough to do what would have been unimaginable only yesterday, then maybe …
It wasn’t everything, but it was a start. There was no rush to speak now; important things had been said and a silent understanding had been reached. Details could wait. She smiled at Draco, head bobbing in a small nod, and that seemed answer enough.
He stood in a graceful motion and walked to one of the doors off the common room. As it opened, he turned and winked at her, then disappeared through the door.
It had come to him suddenly, the urge to go outside, and it felt right. Where this had begun, where Ginny had forced him to notice her. It was the closest he could come to a public admission of his feelings. Of their relationship. No mental voices screamed opposition when he thought that word, and he knew. It was right.
Ginny watched the door curiously, and it was only a few seconds before he was coming back out, arms full of dark, heavy fabric.
Cloaks.
Draco held one out to her, a thick wool cloak, such a dark grey it was nearly black. She took it, running her fingers over the fabric, and looked up at him.
He was really beginning to like that sparkle in her eyes.
“I know they say Slytherins are cold-blooded, Draco, but I’m doing just fine.”
“So am I,” he said, eyeing her meaningfully and smirking when a faint blush colored her cheeks, “but you’ll need it. We’re going outside.”
It certainly wasn’t cold, so Ginny had to admit she was shivering for another reason. A grey-eyed, platinum-haired reason who had shrugged on his own cloak and was waiting for her to do the same.
She slipped the heavy garment over her shoulders and caught a faint hint of his cologne. Her lips parted slightly at the memories it triggered – seeing him, being close to him, touching him.
Quit gawking and get a move on, her mind nudged.
His smirk suggested that he knew what she’d been thinking as he led her out of Slytherin, up the stairs, and out into the brisk air. He didn’t take her hand as they walked, but when he held the door for her, their hips brushed as she slipped past and each drew in an audible breath.
That broke the tension, and Ginny slipped her hand into his, thinking it was a perfect fit.
“Will we be able to do this when everyone else is back?” she murmured as their feet crunched through the snow. She hadn’t wanted to chance ruining the moment by asking, but if she had to give this up, she had to know now.
Draco’s fingers curled around hers tightly, and those stormy grey eyes were very serious as he stopped and turned to look at her, tilting her chin up with his free hand.
“You’re not my guilty secret, Ginny.” He would have gone on and told her that no one could make Draco Malfoy feel guilty, and certainly not about this, but the look that statement earned him tore a small growl out of his throat, and he bent his head.
Kissing her was being helpless and in control all at once. Those sweet, soft lips parted for him and he threaded his hands through Ginny’s hair, needing something to hold onto and knowing his hands could find no better purchase.
Draco held her like that for a long moment, exploring her mouth slowly. Finally they broke apart, and he rested his forehead to hers. The smile he gave her held no trace of a smirk and he brushed a kiss to her brow as he straightened.
His arm stretched past her head, as if he intended to smooth her hair where his hands had tangled it. Ginny’s eyes drifted closed in anticipation of the touch.
She was more than slightly surprised when he pulled her hair to the side and slid a large chunk of snow down the back of her cloak. Her “eep” was vaguely reminiscent of Euan Abercrombie’s, and Draco was still smiling as he carefully smoothed down her hair and brushed the snow from his fingers.
She smiled back at him, and he forgot to watch her hands instead of her lips. He realized his mistake when Ginny very sweetly shoved her own chunk of snow into his face.
“So that’s how it is,” he said softly.
Ginny nodded emphatically. “That’s how it is.”
That sly grin was back on his face, making her woozy, and she heard him whisper “Good,” before he was kissing her again. Ginny hooked her leg around his, tugged swiftly, and they crashed gracelessly into the snow, never breaking their contact.
She felt his lips curve into a smirk beneath hers, and the last thing she remembered thinking before everything melted away was that a boy who could keep kissing you while he was falling was definitely worth the trouble.
***
When Ginny walked into the Great Hall the next morning, a carefully cast glamour hiding any evidence of her furious tears the night before, Draco was already there.
He was eating and did not immediately see her, so she took a moment to study him. Watching his hands as he cut his food with deft, graceful motions made her remember shivering at his touch, and when he lifted his fork to his mouth, the parting of his lips made her breathe unsteadily.
Now he had seen her. That platinum head tilted slightly as he appraised her, and after a moment, his chin jerked slightly, indicating the empty seat across from him.
An invitation or a challenge? Either way, Ginny was willing to accept, and she slid into the offered seat.
"Good morning," Draco said lightly, and she would have responded then, but he added two quick syllables that made her pause. "Ginny."
She could not help staring. He'd said her name before, and she'd mocked him for using it, but his tone was so different now. So familiar, even though she was certainly not used to hearing her name spill from those lips in that low, lazy timbre.
He had to know the effect his voice had – that silky purr was no accident. Neither was that look he was giving her, a silvery stare so piercingly direct Ginny was sure he could see her knickers.
Your green knickers, a mocking mental voice taunted. Feeling a bit Slytherin today, are we?
“No,” Ginny said out loud, flushing when Draco arched a pale brow.
“No?” he repeated,. “I haven’t asked you anything … yet.”
“By all means, Draco,” Ginny returned, feeling the heat recede from her cheeks. She could deal with Draco’s innuendo-laden banter, but not the silence that let her mind wander farther than his words went. “And what is it you might be asking me?”
Draco considered her, the little spitfire with the spark in her eyes, those sienna pools that he found himself both unable and unwilling to look away from. There were many questions that he could have asked her, many points on which his curiosity was yet to be satisfied, but he chose the most nagging one for this moment.
“What’s the story with you and Potter?”
He imagined that she looked relieved once he had asked, as if she wanted – needed, even – to answer this.
Her voice was soft but her words were steady as she began to speak.
“Really, there isn’t much to tell,” Ginny explained. “Ron’s been pushing us together a lot …” Here she had to pause and stifle a grin when Draco’s eyes narrowed. “He’s been pushing us together,” she continued, “but Harry never said anything to me. Until the first day of winter hols, that is. Even then, he really didn’t say anything straight out; he just hinted that he might not have minded what Ron was doing.”
“And you?” Draco had not meant to interrupt, but he found that he had to ask.
“Me?” Ginny tried not to think about what it could mean that Draco wanted to know what she felt for Harry. It might mean nothing more than simple curiosity, or possibly eagerness to find something to use against his enemy. But then surely Draco could sense her lack of interest in Harry. Even Harry should have been able to sense it – it fairly radiated from her pores.
“I knew it wasn’t right,” Ginny admitted after a moment of silence. “It didn’t feel right, but I didn’t know why. Well, I didn’t know why before last night. Harry and I … talked. And now I understand.”
They had both momentarily forgotten their surroundings, had forgotten that they were a Slytherin boy and a Gryffindor girl sitting together in the middle of the Great Hall. Draco had only been aware of Ginny’s presence since she’d entered, just as her attention was focused entirely on him. But now the murmurings from other students and the probing, pointed glances being directed their way had intruded into the moment, and the protective bubble was burst.
Draco sent a quelling glare around the room, smirking at the muted “eep” from Euan Abercrombie, and turned back to Ginny.
“I want to finish this,” he told her, and she wondered if he was referring to the conversation, the game they seemed to be playing, or something else entirely.
Either way, she thought they should finish, too, and so she stood when he did and they walked together toward the huge double doors leading out of the Hall. With the way things had gone for her thus far over the holiday break, Ginny was not at all surprised when she and Draco found themselves standing face-to-face with Harry Potter.
Harry could not quite muster a glare. He could only stare at Ginny, silently accusing her of something, and she felt her anger stirring again. She tamped it down, refusing to satisfy Harry with the response he clearly expected. Draco heard her sigh very softly, and the sound spurred an action that surprised all three of them.
He took Ginny’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and led her past Harry.
Who, of course, couldn’t leave things there.
“Malfoy,” he called, and Ginny thought he had probably intended to sound forceful and challenging. He managed neither.
Draco turned back, his smirk already in place. He’d given Potter the opportunity for a graceful exit – although why he had done so was a niggling question in the back of his mind – but if the git was too stupid to take it, there would be no second chance.
“She’s just using you,” Harry spat, fixing a venomous glare on Ginny. “She’s using you to get at me.”
Draco laughed, delighted with the opening he’d been given. Slytherins lived for these moments, and Draco was every inch a Slytherin.
“Is that so?”
Harry’s eyes were still defiant as they focused on Draco, and he nodded jerkily in response to the platinum-haired boy’s question.
“If that’s true –” Draco’s drawl was thoroughly amused, and the deliberate emphasis he’d placed on his first word said no, it was not possibly true, could not be farther from the truth, but he would indulge Harry for a moment.
“If that’s true,” he repeated, “then I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun being used.
“In fact, Potter,” Draco added with a significant, sin-filled glance at Ginny, whose hand he still held, “I’d highly recommend it.”
Harry and Ginny were both staring at Draco; the former with a frenzied hate, the latter with a new understanding.
Harry was the first to pull his eyes away, and then Draco turned back to Ginny.
“Come,” he said simply, and she didn’t hesitate.
Harry watched them walk away, watched to see Ginny be proven a fool when Malfoy dropped her hand and walked away.
He was the one who felt foolish when that did not happen.
***
Now they were alone. Together alone, Ginny thought, a shivery heat flooding her entire body. Shivery, maybe, because of what Draco had insinuated to Harry, and heat at the thought of those insinuations ever becoming reality.
Draco had guided her swiftly through the halls, and she had concentrated on the feel of his hand instead of where he was taking her. She was surprised, then, when he stopped and she realized they were standing at the entrance to Slytherin House. At least she assumed that’s where they were. She’d never actually seen the entrance, but clearly the violet-eyed witch in the portrait, who was alternating affectionate glances at Draco and appraising ones at Ginny, guarded the gateway to Slytherin.
Draco was watching her, waiting for a response.
“Aren’t we going in?” She was curious, certainly, but more than anything Ginny wanted him to know she was not afraid. Nervous, possibly, but more with anticipation than trepidation. Whatever was happening needed to stop. Right now they were playing, but that would only take them so far. If anything else was to happen – please let it happen -
they would need to set aside the coy banter and talk. Really talk. The thought of that conversation was twisting her stomach into hopeful knots.
And Draco was giving the password to the portrait, who gave a curt nod and opened to them. He kept his grip on Ginny’s hand – “Wards,” he murmured – and led her into what Ron referred to as the heart of darkness.
She was in Slytherin. Blinking once, Ginny tried to take in her surroundings. There was green, and there was silver, and besides that, she could have been in the Gryffindor common room, for all the comfortable couches and chairs. A laugh escaped her and she turned to Draco, her eyes twinkling.
“So this is how evil incarnate relaxes?”
He was amused, even pleased at how casually she’d walked into his House. He knew her brother – probably all her brothers – had lectured her on the evils of Slytherin and even of Draco Malfoy in particular, but it appeared that Ginny Weasley made up her own mind. Another thing to like about her, he thought, and it did not occur to him that he had stopped protesting the idea of liking her.
“You know,” he said slowly, trying to decide how this part should go, what the proper move was, “the minute your brother comes back, Potter will run to him and tell him exactly what’s going on, if he hasn’t already sent that owl of his.”
“Hedwig,” Ginny said absently. “I’m sure he’s already sent her. But what will he say?”
“What will he say?” Draco repeated.
“Well, you said Harry would tell Ron what’s going on, right?” Draco nodded assent and she went on. “But … what is going on, Draco? What is going on with us, between us? I don’t know what Harry would say, when I don’t even know myself.”
And there it was. Ginny had laid her cards on the table and there was no way to bluff his way out of this situation, had he even wanted to. It was time.
He let go of her hand then and instantly missed her warmth, but touching her made his head spin, and he had to think carefully about his words.
He sank into a plush green armchair and gestured Ginny into a seat that faced him. As she sat, he began to speak, never taking his grey eyes off her face.
“You were right when you said I’d never seen you, that all you were to me was just another Weasley,” Draco said honestly. It was a difficult admission to make, considering what he was about to say, but he would not lie to her. “I’d never noticed the way your eyes sparkle when you’re amused, and I was rather surprised to find out how clever you are.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that snowball hit me,” he told her, silently cursing the stupidity of that statement. A snowball? Stop talking. Stop talking right now.
“Don’t you mean since those two snowballs hit you?” Ginny teased, pretending she didn’t notice the emotions flitting across his face. He was talking, telling her things, and she would do nothing that might make him stop.
“That’s right, vixen, two snowballs. I was angry, and then I was confused, and then I didn’t know what to think. Especially after you told me you wanted me to see you. All I could think about at first was what you meant by that, and then all I could do was wonder why.”
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, why?”
“Why you wanted me, of all people, to see you,” Draco explained, watching her face closely. Now he had surprised her – those pretty chocolate eyes were widening. Apparently Ginny had formed enough of a prior impression of him to be startled when he showed a little modesty.
“At first, it was only because you were Draco Malfoy. A Slytherin. A self-proclaimed Weasley hater. I wanted someone to see me, and I figure that you were the last person in this school who ever would.” Ginny’s words spilled out of her in a rush, tumbling over each other as she hurried to get past this part. There was much more to say.
“A challenge, then?”
“At first,” Ginny stressed. “But only at first. I watched you, and I started to see all these little inconsistencies, things that didn’t line up with who I thought you were. And then I realized that I’d been stupid.”
She paused then, studying Draco’s face. He was taking in everything she’d said, fitting it in with what he already knew. Something flared in his eyes at her last words, and he held out a hand to stop her from saying more.
“You realized that we were the same.”
Those had been her next words, and so she nodded. Now that connection she’d imagined before was there again, a sort of silvery cord shimmering between them, and the urge to touch it, prove it was real – prove they were real – was undeniable. And so Ginny reached, but instead of brushing a cord, or slicing through air, her hand found Draco’s.
Palm-to-palm, they sat there in silence for a long moment. Her free hand twisted in her robes as she attempted to conceal a slight tremble that she thought came from being nervous and excited all at once. When it seemed right to speak, Ginny began.
“If only it were that easy, Draco,” she said wistfully, and let her hand drop.
He frowned, instantly feeling the lost contact. “And why isn’t it?” He wanted her. She wanted him. It seemed, at that moment, very easy. Draco knew about wanting.
Her short laugh was incredulous. “You’re forgetting something. Actually, you’re forgetting almost everything. Your father. My family. Our Houses.”
He started to interrupt her then, but she cut him off. “Last night.” This was easily the most important point Ginny had listed. She would take on the challenge of their families, their housemates – but only if Draco was willing to do the same. She would not kiss him in secret and be publicly resigned to longing looks.
It was good that she had removed her hand from his, as her suddenly sweat-slick palms would have belied the calm steadiness in her eyes. It seemed ridiculous to think they had never really spoken to each other before yesterday. Ginny could have easily believed this interlude had been playing out for weeks or months, as rapidly as her heart was thumping as she waited for him to respond.
Draco had heard the small quiver in her voice and understood instantly that last night was the key on which this thing hinged. If he wanted this, wanted her, he had to explain.
She was probably wondering if he was ashamed of her, remembering everything she’d ever heard him say about her family. Taking it back was useless – not only was it too late for that, but he’d meant those words, and Ginny knew he’d meant them.
The only thing that would work was the truth, and Draco rolled the unfamiliar syllables around on his tongue for a moment before he spoke, and the uncertainty in his tone made him think, at first, that someone else was speaking.
“I’m sorry.”
Ginny thought, too, that someone else must have spoken. Surely Draco had not apologized. She’d expected haughty denial of any wrongdoing, maybe a sneer, or even silence. But she’d already told Draco that nothing about their interaction had been as she’d expected. Why should this be any different?
They were simple words, but she could see on his face what it cost him to say that, to lay his pride at her feet. He was tense, searching her face as if he could read the crinkles at the corner of her eyes and know what she was thinking.
What Ginny was thinking was that it was hard to think with him looking at her like that. If he trusted her enough to do what would have been unimaginable only yesterday, then maybe …
It wasn’t everything, but it was a start. There was no rush to speak now; important things had been said and a silent understanding had been reached. Details could wait. She smiled at Draco, head bobbing in a small nod, and that seemed answer enough.
He stood in a graceful motion and walked to one of the doors off the common room. As it opened, he turned and winked at her, then disappeared through the door.
It had come to him suddenly, the urge to go outside, and it felt right. Where this had begun, where Ginny had forced him to notice her. It was the closest he could come to a public admission of his feelings. Of their relationship. No mental voices screamed opposition when he thought that word, and he knew. It was right.
Ginny watched the door curiously, and it was only a few seconds before he was coming back out, arms full of dark, heavy fabric.
Cloaks.
Draco held one out to her, a thick wool cloak, such a dark grey it was nearly black. She took it, running her fingers over the fabric, and looked up at him.
He was really beginning to like that sparkle in her eyes.
“I know they say Slytherins are cold-blooded, Draco, but I’m doing just fine.”
“So am I,” he said, eyeing her meaningfully and smirking when a faint blush colored her cheeks, “but you’ll need it. We’re going outside.”
It certainly wasn’t cold, so Ginny had to admit she was shivering for another reason. A grey-eyed, platinum-haired reason who had shrugged on his own cloak and was waiting for her to do the same.
She slipped the heavy garment over her shoulders and caught a faint hint of his cologne. Her lips parted slightly at the memories it triggered – seeing him, being close to him, touching him.
Quit gawking and get a move on, her mind nudged.
His smirk suggested that he knew what she’d been thinking as he led her out of Slytherin, up the stairs, and out into the brisk air. He didn’t take her hand as they walked, but when he held the door for her, their hips brushed as she slipped past and each drew in an audible breath.
That broke the tension, and Ginny slipped her hand into his, thinking it was a perfect fit.
“Will we be able to do this when everyone else is back?” she murmured as their feet crunched through the snow. She hadn’t wanted to chance ruining the moment by asking, but if she had to give this up, she had to know now.
Draco’s fingers curled around hers tightly, and those stormy grey eyes were very serious as he stopped and turned to look at her, tilting her chin up with his free hand.
“You’re not my guilty secret, Ginny.” He would have gone on and told her that no one could make Draco Malfoy feel guilty, and certainly not about this, but the look that statement earned him tore a small growl out of his throat, and he bent his head.
Kissing her was being helpless and in control all at once. Those sweet, soft lips parted for him and he threaded his hands through Ginny’s hair, needing something to hold onto and knowing his hands could find no better purchase.
Draco held her like that for a long moment, exploring her mouth slowly. Finally they broke apart, and he rested his forehead to hers. The smile he gave her held no trace of a smirk and he brushed a kiss to her brow as he straightened.
His arm stretched past her head, as if he intended to smooth her hair where his hands had tangled it. Ginny’s eyes drifted closed in anticipation of the touch.
She was more than slightly surprised when he pulled her hair to the side and slid a large chunk of snow down the back of her cloak. Her “eep” was vaguely reminiscent of Euan Abercrombie’s, and Draco was still smiling as he carefully smoothed down her hair and brushed the snow from his fingers.
She smiled back at him, and he forgot to watch her hands instead of her lips. He realized his mistake when Ginny very sweetly shoved her own chunk of snow into his face.
“So that’s how it is,” he said softly.
Ginny nodded emphatically. “That’s how it is.”
That sly grin was back on his face, making her woozy, and she heard him whisper “Good,” before he was kissing her again. Ginny hooked her leg around his, tugged swiftly, and they crashed gracelessly into the snow, never breaking their contact.
She felt his lips curve into a smirk beneath hers, and the last thing she remembered thinking before everything melted away was that a boy who could keep kissing you while he was falling was definitely worth the trouble.
The End.
sillysun is the author of 2 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 43 members. Members who liked Of Snowballs and Smirks also liked 1451 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 43 members. Members who liked Of Snowballs and Smirks also liked 1451 other stories.
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