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.
*****
"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.
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