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A/N – Well, I just sort of had to prove to myself that I could still write haha, and this one-shot is the result. By far my longest yet. Hope you like it!
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Spices and Fresh Cut Grass
Ginny tried very hard not to look at him, or even acknowledge his presence at all, for that matter. It was rather difficult with him slouched only feet away, long legs stretched out in front of him, but she thought she did an alright job of it. It didn’t hurt that he was busy doing exactly the same thing, so the challenge was quite lessened for both sides.
The Great Hall sprawled out empty around them, tables and benches all cleared away but for the two chairs they sat in. It was odd, the huge room so hollowed out, every noise echoing and every breeze whispering around the two silent students. The quiet seemed almost a tangible thing.
But, of course, being Draco Malfoy, he just had to ruin that lovely, unspoken compromise to maintain the silence. “We’re never going to get out of here.”
“You don’t say.”
He raised a patronizing eyebrow. “I hope you realize that this is entirely your fault.”
Ginny stared incredulously. “Mine? How is any of this my fault?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t me yelling and making a spectacle, was it now?”
She stood abruptly, moving to the window, putting her back to him because she knew that if she stayed within range, she would hex him. “You provoked me, and you know it.”
He laughed, a mirthless, scoffing sound. “And your point, Weasley? You still didn’t have to react that way.”
Knowing that they could keep this particular argument up for days, she switched to a new and more immediate subject. “We’d better get started. It’s going to take some work, and I for one have a life I’d like to get back to as soon as possible.”
She turned in time to see him stretching out further, hands folding neatly behind his head as he regarded her. Amusement showed through in his eyes. “We?”
She folded her arms. “Yes, Malfoy, we. I’m not planning out this entire bloody ball on my own. I may have caught the professors’ attention, but if not for you, I wouldn’t have been ‘making a spectacle.’ You’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to do all the work.”
He raised his chin just slightly. “Do I look like the type who knows the first thing about planning these ridiculous functions?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “That’s what females are for, and even though I personally can’t tell for sure, I’ve been told you are, in fact, a female.”
Ginny shut her eyes, taking in a breath shaky with rage and releasing it slowly before trusting herself to speak. “Look, I’m not the type of girl that really gets into these kinds of things either. I’d much rather a good round of Quidditch myself. But here we both are, and if it doesn’t get done, we’re not leaving. I really don’t think there’s much choice, so get off your lazy arse, and start enchanting stuff.”
His lips quirked into their infamous smirk. “Start enchanting stuff? Just what, pray tell, am I enchanting, and what am I enchanting it into?”
Ginny loosed a noise of frustration and collapsed back on her chair, rubbing her palms over her face. “I don’t have a bloody clue.”
And she didn’t. Really, what was McGonagall thinking? In what dimension was planning out the decoration, food, and, in short, everything for the school’s annual ball appropriate punishment for fighting in the halls? It was just laziness on the professor’s part, Ginny decided. It was the only plausible explanation.
“Well,” Malfoy said, “you get on that, and let me know when you come up with something.” He promptly closed his eyes, sliding even further down his chair.
Ginny glared at the older boy. “I don’t think so! That’s the hardest part! Once I have some sort of design, I’ll be able to do all the wand work…it’s just the coming up with a plan that’s the trick.”
Malfoy didn’t deign to open his eyes, simply waved his hand in the air. “Right. Terrible trouble, that. I wish you the best of luck, Weasley.”
Her mouth opened to snap something quite colorful back at him, but at the last moment she decided to keep silent. Rising to his bait was what landed her here in the first place. Grumbling under her breath, she pushed herself out of the chair and began a slow circuit around the room.
It was huge. This was not new knowledge, of course—that was why it was called the “Great” Hall, after all. For the first time, though, she came to realize just how “great” the place was. How was she supposed to decorate the whole thing, let alone make it look good? The entire student body would blame her if their beloved dance got all mucked up because of her. Well, her and Malfoy.
She glanced over to the blond boy, for all appearances completely at ease. Something told her that the disapproval of his peers wouldn’t bother him in the least. Nothing much at all seemed to bother him, come to think of it. So really, it was all up to her. Just wonderful.
She stopped in the very middle of the room, huffing in a way that spoke volumes of her mood, hands on hips. “This is impossible.”
If he heard her, he chose not to answer, or even crack open his eyes. She stuck out her tongue at him, not caring how immature the action was…it made her feel better, anyway.
Right, well, obviously the great lazy prat was going to be of no help, so she would just have to get started on her own. Tables. Everyone needed tables at a ball…dance…thing. Round tables were the usual as far as she could remember, and since she wasn’t exactly aiming to wow anyone with her astounding creativity, round tables it would be. A few flicks of the wand later, and Ginny stood surrounded by plain, wooden, perfectly circular tables.
She frowned, tapping her wand against her nose. Well, that wasn’t right. They shouldn’t be right in the middle; that was for dancing. Sighing, she levitated them all to one corner, summoning up matching chairs. Her frown deepened—something still wasn’t right. Ah, yes, tablecloth.
“So what color scheme should we go with?” she called over her shoulder, studying the undecorated tables dubiously.
His voice drifted to her on a cloud of sarcasm. “Color scheme? Do I look like a bloody queer to you?”
She gave a soft, woe-is-me moan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How have you managed to avoid murder so long, Malfoy?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Besides, it can’t be that hard,” he said, finally opening his eyes. “My mum does this sort of thing on a weekly basis. You throw up some frills, have fairy looking things float around chiming bells, all that.”
Ginny stared at him, only vaguely aware that her mouth was open. “What? Your mum does this sort of thing all the time?”
He shrugged noncommittally.
Outrage boiled up in her. “Then why aren’t you bloody well helping?! If your mum does this so much, you had to have seen her do it at least once!”
He raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“So you have experience! That’s more than I can say!”
He sighed as if he were being forced to explain something painfully simple to an even more painfully slow person. “Weasley, you’ve also seen people Apparate all your life. Didn’t mean you could do it the first time ‘round too, did it?”
She rolled her eyes. “This is different, and you know it.”
“Whatever you say.” By the way he leaned back again, eyes closing, she knew he didn’t plan on helping any more than before.
Ginny looked out over the room, the emptiness of the place making her heart drop in the face of what was left to accomplish. She turned back to Malfoy, an idea sparking at the back of her mind.
“You’re a Slytherin, yeah?”
He opened his eyes. “No, I’m actually a Hufflepuff. I’ve done a marvelous job of hiding the fact, haven’t I?”
“Shut it. Slytherins are into deals, right? I scratch your back, you scratch mine…like that?”
He straightened, almost imperceptibly, but enough to tell her that he was intrigued. He smiled lazily. “Well, we’re more the blackmailing sort if at all possible, but we do bargain, yes.” He cocked an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?” His eyes trailed over her, a light smirk on his lips. “If you’re offering your services, sorry to crush your dreams, love, but I’m not interested.”
She flushed with indignation and embarrassment. “I’m not offering my services, you great git!” She took a moment to collect herself. “Look, you’re not doing so well in potions, are you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Says who?”
“Says my brother. He says even with Snape’s favoritism, you’re barely managing to scrape your Outstanding.”
“Well, your brother’s about as dim as you, Weasley, so I wouldn’t put too much stake on what he says.” Malfoy settled back again, crossing his arms in a defensive position.
“Just hear me out. It’s about to get a lot tougher—Hermione’s been studying ahead for her NEWTs, and I’ve helped her quiz. It’s insanely hard…but, I don’t know, I just…get it. I’ve got a knack for potion making.” She shrugged. “If you want to keep your Outstanding, you’re going to need a tutor. My guess is you don’t want anyone knowing, though, including whoever would be doing the teaching.”
“Get to your point,” he snapped.
“I could do it, tutor you I mean. I already know anyway, and what’s more, I can keep my mouth shut about it.”
His eyes remained fixed on hers for long moments, unblinking. “So I help you with all this,” he gestured to the room, “and in return you keep my grades up without running your gob?”
“That’s the gist of it, yes.”
His demeanor remained tense. “And I should trust you because we’ve always been such pals, right?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Unlike you, I actually have these things called morals. You can trust me to keep up my end of things.”
Long moments passed in which not a word was spoken, his eyes unreadable as they regarded her intently. At last, he stood with deliberate grace, slowly crossing over to her and stretching out his hand.
Shocked into hesitation, it took Ginny a moment before she finally grasped his outstretched hand, feeling the strong grip of his fingers close around her much smaller ones as he shook firmly.
He ended the surprisingly civil gesture almost the second it began. She noted irritably that he rubbed his hand off on his shirt as he turned to survey the room. Merlin, she wasn’t diseased.
“Right, well, first thing’s first,” he said. “We need a theme.”
Ginny looked doubtful. “Theme?”
He nodded. “Every party my mum’s ever thrown has had a theme. It could be as simple as a repeated color, or it could be seasonal, or anything, really. So what do you want?”
Ginny shrugged. “How am I supposed to know?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “What sort of girl are you, Weasley?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “The sort that’s grown up with six older brothers.”
It could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn that a smile actually flitted over his face before he replaced it with a more appropriate scowl.
“We’ll just use mum’s last theme, then,” he said, squinting at the windows. “Lord knows she wrote over three pages about it in her last letter…I think I could recreate it easily enough.”
“What is it?” Ginny straddled one of the seats, resting her chin on her hands, propped up at the elbows by the back of the chair.
He glanced at her, his eyebrows rising just slightly when he saw what position she now sat in, but oddly enough, he chose not to comment. “Gold and silver.”
She smiled a little. “Like Gryffindor and Slytherin, huh? A color from each house.”
“In my mum’s case, it was more like money, but think of it however you want.”
He turned and pointed towards the tables Ginny had already summoned, muttering something under his breath. Seconds later, each one was draped in snow white cloth embroidered by intricate designs of gold with accents of silver.
Ginny was sure her jaw was somewhere around her feet. “How do you even know how to do that?”
Malfoy gave no answer aside from a brief glare. He raised his wand again, and layers of sheer, gauzy cloth, both silver and gold, swathed a window to make the most beautiful curtains Ginny had every laid eyes on.
She blinked. “I really do want to know where you learned this stuff. What sort of boy are you?” she asked, mimicking his earlier question and wearing a smirk very like his own.
His eyes flashed, lips forming a tight line. “Look, Weaselette,” he said, Ginny’s smirk abruptly turning into a frown at the nickname, “do you want my help or not?”
She sighed in a way that bordered on a groan. “Fine, fine. Go on.”
He turned back to the next window, outfitting it in the same gold and silver veiling. Ginny watched, fascinated by the transformation and simply content to let him have at it. That was, until he lowered his wand and arched an eyebrow at her. She frowned a little at the expression, thinking she really needed to learn how to do it one day.
“Are you planning on just sitting there looking less than pretty the entire time?” he asked, voice falsely polite.
Making a conscious effort not to lose her temper, she retorted, “Well, I certainly don’t know any of these fancy little decorating spells you’re so handy at, Miss Malfoy.”
His eyes narrowed to near slits. “Just summon another long table against that wall,” he pointed, “and maybe a few chandeliers.”
Ginny glanced skeptically at the enchanted sky-ceiling. “Chandeliers? How?”
Malfoy followed her gaze, then rolled his eyes when he realized her hesitance. “Bloody hell, Weasley, it’s magic. Make them float or something.”
The second his back turned, she made a rude gesture, but obediently rose and summoned up the table. That done, she looked doubtfully at her wand a moment, then shrugged and made her first attempt at summoning a floating chandelier. Initially, she thought it actually worked quite well. An impressive glass chandelier appeared high up near the ceiling directly over Malfoy, throwing bits of sunlight every which way and hovering just as it was supposed to. Then it suddenly plummeted, and everything happened at once.
She screamed out a warning to Malfoy, who jumped in the midst of his spell casting, whipping around and inadvertently targeting her rather than a window. He followed her horrified gaze just in time to see the huge glass fixture hurtling towards him, and with reflexes she couldn’t help but admire, literally leapt out of its path. The thing crashed to the stone floor with ear shattering force, shards scattering around it in a broad halo.
The deafening impact was followed by just as absolute a silence. Ginny’s wide eyes kept flicking back and forth between Malfoy, still prone on the ground, and the ruined chandelier. Her mind silently screamed that this was why professors should handle these things.
“What the bloody hell?!”
Ginny cringed, finding an irate Malfoy, apparently recovered, climbing to his feet, the glass crunching loudly under his shoes. Almost by reflex, she took out her wand, and with a murmured spell, vanished all the broken shards.
“What the bloody hell?!” he demanded again, running his hands over his torso as if to check and make sure he was still in one piece.
She opened her mouth to explain, but stopped when he looked right at her, his furious expression slowly turning into one of amusement. Her mouth closed, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. “What?”
“Interesting attire, Weasley,” he drawled, looking positively gleeful by this point. “It would seem that you are a female after all.”
Baffled, Ginny looked down at herself…and promptly shrieked. Where her uniform and robes had once been, Ginny now found a length of the all too sheer gauze that Malfoy had been using as curtains wrapped around her, making a sort of strapless gown.
“What the bloody hell?!” she yelled, diving under the nearest table.
The blessedly long tablecloth she currently hid behind blocked her view of Malfoy, but she could certainly hear his laughter, and her cheeks burned with humiliation. After he finally got his guffaws under control, he gasped out, “That’s what I said!”
She pressed her hands against her eyes, wanting to find a hole somewhere to crawl into. Summoning up her courage, she called through the cloth barrier, “Why am I dressed in this?”
“Well, when you tried to murder me with that chandelier, I sort of missed the window,” he explained.
“Sort of?”
He chuckled. “Okay, completely missed. Happy?”
“NO!”
She could almost sense him rolling his eyes as he said, “Just come out, Weasel.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Malfoy?” she snapped, gazing mournfully at herself. The curtain-gown wasn’t exactly transparent, per se, but it was certainly a far cry from opaque.
He snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. Just cover up with the tablecloth or something if you’re going to be such a prude about it.”
She grudgingly took his advice, yanking the tablecloth down so that she could wrap it around herself. “I am not being a prude,” she argued as she crawled out from beneath the table. “I mean, did you see that thing?”
He smirked, eyes shining with something unrecognizable. “Oh yes, believe me…I saw.”
She felt her cheeks glowing again, and quickly turned away, jutting out her chin and forcing herself to walk calmly over to where she had dropped her wand. She bent down to pick it up cautiously, careful not to lose her grip on the tablecloth serving as her only decent garment. Malfoy was obviously very entertained by this display.
She straightened with as much dignity as she could muster, pointedly ignoring the smirking blond as she secured the tablecloth around her like she would a bath towel.
“Do you want me to try the chandeliers again?” She found she could not meet his eyes when she spoke the question.
“You’re not going to go change?” he asked.
Ginny heaved a regretful sigh. “No. Remember what McGonagall said?” She jabbed a thumb towards the closed doors. “Those aren’t opening until we’re done, so much as I’d like to, I can’t.”
“You’re not going to be of much use in a tablecloth, even if it is hilarious,” he pointed out.
She laughed shortly. “Yes, well, next time I drop a chandelier on your head, try not to turn my clothes into curtains.”
He seemed to contemplate something, a slight frown on his face. Finally, he shrugged off his robe and held it out. “Here. You can wear this.”
Ginny eyed the garment suspiciously, hand unconsciously rising to clutch her tablecloth closer.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Merlin, I was just wearing it, and it’s not like I could have planned this. I think it’s safe.”
Hesitantly, she reached out and took the proffered robe. She raised her eyebrows at him and said, “Well, turn around then. I’m not changing with you watching.”
He rolled his eyes again, but complied without comment. Waiting a moment to make sure he wouldn’t try and peak, she took off both tablecloth and gauze material, letting them fall to pool around her feet. Feeling a flush build from her toes to her temple as it fully hit her that she stood only feet away from Draco Malfoy, completely nude, she hastily tugged on his robe.
It was thick and warm, a sharp contrast to the worn, slightly ragged robes she usually wore. A pleasant new scent enveloped her senses, falling around her as surely as the soft fabric had. It reminded her of spices and newly cut grass, made her feel instantly at ease, like she had come home. She realized less than a second later that the scent must be Malfoy’s, and had to resist the urge to slap her hands over her mouth in horror.
“Are you done yet, Weasley?” he demanded, hands shoved in his pockets and one foot tapping.
His sharp voice jarred her back to the present, though it couldn’t fully remove the stunned feeling in her mind. How could someone so foul smell so heavenly?
“Yeah, I’m done,” she finally answered him.
He turned back, now dressed only in a crisp white shirt and black trousers, and Ginny couldn’t help but stare. It wasn’t that he looked all that different. She had seen him dressed just like this dozens of times, in fact. But with his robes brushing against her bare skin at every shift of her body, and his alluring scent still assaulting her sensibilities, Ginny found he looked very different indeed. She swallowed.
“I’ll finish up with the windows, and then do the chandeliers myself,” Malfoy was saying, oblivious to her increasingly alarming thoughts. “Call me crazy, but I don’t exactly trust you with those anymore. Summon up a stage for the band instead.”
“Band?” she asked, immediately cursing herself for how stupid that sounded.
Malfoy turned to look at her, expression condescending. “Yes, Weasley, band. You know, for music.”
She nodded. “Right. Sorry. I’ll…uh, get on it.”
He raised his eyebrows, studying her for a moment with a slight frown, then shrugged and went back to curtain-conjuring. Ginny exhaled slowly, watching his smooth movements with envy and, to her consternation, appreciation. When had he stopped gelling back his hair? She had never noticed before, but she had to admit…it was better this way, free and soft. He had grown into his features at some point, too, his shoulders broader, chest more filled out, face less pointy.
Merlin help her, but Draco Malfoy was…good looking.
He turned around, catching her staring with eyes wide with dismay.
“Weasley?”
She blinked rapidly a few times. “Yeah?”
“The stage. Did you plan on getting to that any time soon?” He smirked. “Or are you just that enamored of me?”
“No!” she cried, eyes going even wider. His eyebrows shot up, taken aback by her strong reaction. She mentally cursed, then said, “I mean, I was just thinking. About something…where to put it. I was just thinking about where to put it.” She winced at her own feeble excuse.
Malfoy eyed her skeptically. “Are you alright?”
She nodded vigorously. “Like I said…just didn’t know where the stage should go….”
He didn’t look convinced, but suggested, “Here’s a novel idea—the front of the room.”
She laughed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Oh, right! The front.”
He blinked. “Has anyone ever told you that you are completely barmy, Weasley?” He shook his head. “I knew you were thick, but Merlin, you’re bloody off your rocker too.”
When her only reply was to stare determinedly at her feet, he made a noise of derision and went back to the windows. Ginny wanted to smack her head against the wall, but only just refrained. Instead, she decided to completely ignore any thought she had experienced since the chandelier fell, and started summoning a stage.
Ignoring her recent revelations turned out to be much more of a challenge than she had originally anticipated. The smell of him, clinging to the robes that were her only barrier against nakedness, was a constant reminder of them, and occasionally she would hear him mutter to himself in the cutest way. Of course, as soon as she thought that, she wanted to scream in frustration and outrage. After all, what right did that prat have, giving her his amazing smelling clothes and making her see him in this terrifying new light? It was probably another one of his diabolical plots, that’s what it was.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was getting unreasonable, but it was much easier to be mad at him, no matter what the reason. She was good at that—she had years of practice, after all. Who knew? Maybe he even charmed these robes to be a sort of…aphrodisiac or something. Like love potion, only cologne that made a girl go weak at the knees. That would explain everything, and the longer she considered it, the less crazy and more likely it sounded. The miserable ferret, it would be just like him.
Finished with her summoning, and much calmer now that she was thoroughly enraged at Malfoy once again (as it should be), she hopped up to sit on the new stage. Malfoy just finished conjuring up the last chandelier, and turned to look at her own handy work.
“Done?” he asked as he strode over.
Ginny openly glared. “Yes.”
If he noticed her sudden increased hostility, he gave no indication. “And it’s sturdy enough?”
“It’s fine.”
He raised himself up to sit beside her on the stage, shocking Ginny so badly that she completely forgot she was supposed to be furious with him. His scent was stronger now, increased by his proximity, and it made her want to squirm. What was he doing, willingly resting so near to her?
He reclined back on his elbows, surveying the room with eyebrows knit ever so slightly in thought. Ginny glanced down at him and then away just as quickly, biting her lip and trying her damnedest to act natural. She didn’t need him thinking she was a freak…not that she suddenly cared what he thought about her. She caught herself smoothing down her hair and quickly snatched her hand away from her head—no, she didn’t care at all.
“I’ll be honest,” he said after long moments of silence. “I’m not exactly sure what should come next. I had to help mum do the curtains and table decorations at one of her parties, which is how I knew that much, but now….”
Unsure how to respond, and not particularly trusting her voice on any count, Ginny looked around the room until her eyes finally settled on one window. “Oh, wow, the sun’s already down.”
He lifted his head to look, then let it fall back with a groan. “Bugger. Your bloody head of house is mad if she thinks we’re going to finish all this tonight.”
“Well, the dance isn’t for another few days. Maybe she was exaggerating on not letting us out until it was all the way done. She was pretty angry.”
Malfoy smirked. “Just a bit, yeah. Don’t know why.”
“You don’t know why?” Ginny looked at him incredulously, though her voice caught just a second when he stretched out fully on his back. With a will of their own, her eyes lingered across his lean form before snapping firmly back to his face. She swallowed and tried again. “You had me in a full body bind in the middle of the corridor!”
He laughed, a smile Ginny had never appreciated for the marvel it was appearing on his pale face. “I can’t believe you didn’t block that.”
“I was distracted,” she muttered.
“By what?”
Ginny fought an internal war over her next move for long moments, then eventually, if hesitantly, leaned back on her elbows next to the fully prone Malfoy. “What you said beforehand. It made me angry.”
“That was obvious by how loud you were bloody screeching. I think only dogs could hear you towards the end.” He put his hands behind his head so that he could see her, a tiny smile appearing on his lips at her scowl. “What did I say, anyway?”
She considered, then after struggling with her memory for some time, sighed and collapsed all the way flat on her back. “I don’t even remember. Knowing you, something about my family or Harry or something.”
Ginny was powerfully aware that they were both lying on their backs, side by side, so close that she could reach over and touch him should the whim strike her. Not that it would.
“Probably,” he agreed. “Next time, though, do try and control your temper. I don’t fancy going through this sort of thing again.”
“Or you could just not provoke me,” she pointed out. “I swear, it’s like you hunt me down. If you weren’t you, I’d think you had an interest in me.”
She meant it teasingly, but he instantly sat up, moving off the stage.
“Please, Weasley, the thought absolutely repulses me,” he called over his shoulder as he strode towards the door.
She watched his retreating back in confusion. “It was a joke, Malfoy! If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly sweet on you either!” She stubbornly ignored the annoying voice in her head bringing up all the little things she had been noticing about him since accepting his robe and inhaling his cologne.
She saw his shoulders tense at that, but he didn’t pause in his walk to the exit. He tugged futilely on the doors a few times, then banged on it with his fist. Ginny was at a complete loss. Where was this out of the blue anger coming from? She couldn’t help but think that it was uncharacteristic of the usually unaffected Slytherin.
“I told you that we couldn’t get out until we finished…or at least until Professor McGonagall comes back to let us out,” she reminded him.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, then finally walked back, some of the ire in his eyes cooled back to their normal slate appearance. Ginny was momentarily surprised she even remembered how his eyes usually looked, but forced such dangerous thoughts from her mind.
“We might want to do a little more work on this whole ball thing,” she suggested.
He leaned against the stage, crossing his legs at the ankles. “I told you—I don’t know where to go from here.”
Ginny let her gaze wander around the room. “Well, there’s food, but we should save that for last so it’ll be fresh…”
The doors suddenly swung open, admitting a gust of air and a tight-lipped Professor McGonagall. The woman eyed their progress so far with a shrewd gaze, arms crossed and entire demeanor no-nonsense. Finally, she said, “Good work so far. You can finish the job tomorrow, same time, but for now you two should be getting to your respective dormitories.”
Malfoy was already heading for the exit as Ginny quietly murmured her assent to the professor. He was moving fast, and she didn’t catch up to him until they were already halfway to the dungeons.
“Malfoy, would you stop a second?!”
He slowed, then turned to face her with arms folded across his chest. “What is it now?”
She took a moment to regain her breath, then said, “I just wanted to know if you have a free period tomorrow after lunch.”
One golden eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly, but after considering her a moment, he inclined his head. “Yes. What’s it to you?”
“Well, I do too, and I thought maybe we could meet in the library and start your tutoring. Most students will be in class then, so you wouldn’t have to worry so much about being seen….” Ginny suddenly felt very foolish, like she were some schoolgirl asking a boy on a date.
His expression turned sour, but he nodded nevertheless. “Fine.”
She shifted awkwardly. “Right, err, I guess I’ll see you then.” She plucked absently at her attire, which reminded her of the matter of returning them. “Oh, and I’ll owl you back your robes in the morning.”
He nodded again, once, then spun on his heel and was off. Ginny followed him with her eyes until he receded into the gloom of the dungeons, the smell of him staying with her from his borrowed clothes. She sighed softly, her mind such a tangle of conflicting emotions that she didn’t even notice when she hugged his robes to her more tightly, lowering her nose into the fabric.
Later that night, she chose not to examine her reasons for sleeping in the garment.
- - - - -
“No wonder you’re having a hard time of it,” Ginny snapped. “You complain more than you work!”
If it had been any other person, Ginny would have sworn it was a pout Malfoy wore. He slipped further down into his seat, looking like he was trying to vanish the parchment in front of him with only his eyes.
“It’s boring,” he complained.
Ginny couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Don’t let Snape hear his prize student say that; you’d be failing for sure. And just so you know, you sound like you’re ten.”
He glared at her. “And just so you know, you’re about the worst tutor ever.”
She sighed. He wasn’t cooperating, but there was no point in telling him so. It was his pride, she knew, acting as a wall between him and the perceived shame of actually benefiting from a Weasley’s help.
“Look, I’m going to go look up some stuff on planning parties for tonight. Just make sure those exercises are finished by the time I get back.”
Not waiting for his response, Ginny got up from the table and resisted the urge to run from the moody boy. Today, back in her own clothes and free of his intoxicating cologne, she felt her emotions reverting back to normal. Certain things, like his looks and sharp intelligence (if he bothered to try), would come to her attention from nowhere, but she was doing pretty well with ignoring these sporadic cases of insanity. For the most part, anyway.
She tucked a strand of hair back from her face, squinting at the many titles on the shelves before her, but not really paying attention. She had to admit that it worried her that lately she kept finding him amusing. The boy possessed an undeniable wit, even if it usually manifested itself in cruel taunts and stinging comebacks. It was still irrefutably there, and Ginny found herself laughing out loud around him more than once.
The world had to be ending. It was the only conclusion she could come to, or at least the only one she would allow herself to even consider.
She sighed, trailing her fingers across the book spines as she searched half-heartedly. Her mind was just starting to wander again when a bright blue volume caught her eye, the gold lettering of the title reading, How to Plan the Social Event of the Season.
Well, she thought, there you go. Her elation quickly tempered, though, when she realized that her outstretched fingertips didn’t even come close to reaching it. She scowled, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. Now what?
She turned around to go retrieve her wand, left, perhaps unwisely, on the table with Malfoy, but halted when she found herself facing the boy himself. She cried out in alarm, taking a stumbling step backwards, and probably would have hit her head against the bookshelf if not for him reaching out to grab her shoulder.
She grasped his wrist gratefully, steadying herself, then quickly let go when she realized what she was doing. His hand, too, dropped quickly.
“What were you doing?!” she demanded, a little distracted by how far back she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. Was he always that tall?
“I finished your inane ‘exercises’ and got bored.” He shrugged.
She sighed, gathering her wits back about her. “Well, make yourself useful then.” She turned around, pointing to the blue book. “Could you get that down for me?”
She expected him to wait for her to move out of the way, but before she could, she felt his chest brush against her back, sliding as he rose onto his toes to reach the elusive volume. That damned spice and cut grass smell wrapped around her again, and her head clouded despite herself.
He lowered back down from his toes, a bit more slowly than necessary, she thought. Or was that just her imagination?
“’How to Plan the Social Event of the Season’?” he read aloud, scoffing.
She turned around, snatching the book out of his hands. “Well, we may not be planning the ‘social event of the season,’ but it’ll still help with this stupid punishment.”
He shrugged, expressing just how much he cared.
Ginny edged a little to the left, her back against the books, to put some distance between them. His nearness made her inexplicably uncomfortable. “So, um, did you say you finished the exercises?”
He nodded. “Bloody tiresome things, those.”
She smiled. “I know, but they help. Or at least they help me.”
He didn’t answer, so she made her way back to their table. His completed parchment was indeed sitting there, and she picked it up, eyes moving back and forth over his bold cursive.
“Wow, Malfoy, you only got two wrong!” she told him, grinning.
“Do try and sound less shocked, Weasley,” he drawled, pulling out a chair that he promptly reclined back in.
She laughed before thinking better of it and sat down next to him. “Okay, look here,” she instructed, pointing to the first one he had incorrect. “If you had added the mandrake here, it would have melted the basic cauldron you would have been using. See?”
He gave a noncommittal grunt that Ginny assumed meant, “No, but I’m too proud to admit it.”
She sighed. “Here, I’ll explain.” She looked around for her quill, spotting it on Malfoy’s other side. “Could you hand me that?” she asked, indicating the quill.
He raised one eyebrow slowly, a light, mischievous smile playing along his lips that instantly brought her guard up.
“No, I don’t think so, actually.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said, no,” he repeated.
“Why the hell not?”
He shrugged, examining his nails disinterestedly.
Through gritted teeth, she snapped, “Fine,” then stood and leaned over him to retrieve it herself.
Her face was very near his, the drugging smell of him easy to detect, and she had to clench her jaw as she stretched out her hand to pick up the quill.
“You know,” his voice was soft, making her freeze in place, “you really should think about charms for that complexion,” he commented, his voice practically against her ear, making her want to shiver even as her temper flared in rage. “I knew it was bad, but from this close I can see it’s positively horrendous.”
That was it! She turned quickly, ready to yell, to curse, to hex, to whatever. Only it didn’t quite happen that way, because when she moved to face him, her lips touched his. She might have held the inadvertent kiss for seconds or hours, she couldn’t be sure. The thunder in her ears and the currents of heat rushing through her veins distracted her, confused and muddled, but eventually she remembered that this was most definitely wrong, and jerked away.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, too scared to even look at his reaction. “Oh, God, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, then without another word or even a glance, rushed from the room.
- - - - -
Detention with Malfoy that night was the most awkward occasion Ginny Weasley had ever endured. For whatever reason, he didn’t mention a word of the incident, for which Ginny was exceedingly grateful, if not thoroughly bewildered, but the seconds still stretched into hours each.
They worked from the book Ginny had found and Malfoy had gotten down, mostly without speaking, and never with eye-contact. She had no clue if he would have met her eyes or not, but try as she might, she couldn’t even bring herself to glance at his.
Still, the end of the night did eventually arrive, the entire ball set up and ready to go, and Ginny was out of the room almost before McGonagall finished telling them that they were free to go.
Ginny still shuddered at the memory even now as she regarded herself in the full length mirror, getting ready for the very ball she helped plan. She did a slow spin, the gold dress robes she wore contrasting nicely with her pale skin and red hair, though she chose it more because it was in accordance with the theme. Her hair was up in a loose twist, secured by a series of silver and gold pins and clips, and her make-up subtle. Completing the turn, Ginny gave a little sigh and made her way down to the Great Hall.
The place was already packed, and Ginny was struck with just how amazing the place looked. She knew it was mostly Malfoy’s doing, but she couldn’t help but feel a flush of pride at the elegant beauty of the room. Laughter and chatter floated around her, the smell of the food she herself prepared adding a pleasant aroma to the place, and the band was playing well, a fun tune that encouraged most of the students to take advantage of the spacious dance floor. She moved towards the far wall, spotting a group of familiar faces.
The night spent itself quickly; when it was almost over, Ginny decided that the evening had gone quite well. She had spent most of the time joking with her friends or dancing to the more upbeat songs, and even a few slow ones. All in all, the night was a success. The band announced that they were going to play one last song, and seconds later, a slow, lazy melody picked up.
Waving for her friends with dates to go on, Ginny began weaving through the dancing couples to get a glass of punch. She stopped when arms encircled her waist from behind, a warm, hard body pressed firmly against her back.
A mouth lowered very near her ear and whispered, “Dance with me.”
She laughed, squirming a little from the tickle of the mystery boy’s breath on her neck. The whisper had been so low that she couldn’t tell who the person was, exactly, but she assumed it was Seamus—he was just the type to mess around like this.
Laying her hands over his, she sighed in mock resignation and said, “Oh, I suppose if you insist.”
The grip around her waist loosened just a little, and she turned around. Her smile immediately died on her lips when she found herself looking not into Seamus’s dancing eyes, but Draco’s mercury pools.
“Malfoy?!”
He smirked, one eyebrow cocked in challenge, and stepped back, taking her hands and gently pulling her to the floor.
“What are you doing?!” she demanded, eyes searching desperately for an escape.
“Dancing,” he answered mildly, coming to a halt and tugging her closer. One of his arms went around her waist, his hand resting low on her back, and the other hand clasped hers. “You did agree,” he reminded her.
“I-I thought you were Seamus!” she stuttered. What in the hell was going on with the universe?
He shrugged, leading her into a graceful if simple waltz. “Nevertheless.”
“That’s not fair!”
He chuckled. “You’re speaking to a Slytherin, love.”
Ginny was speechless for long moments, hardly able to believe this was really happening. They weren’t pressed together, exactly, but they were most definitely touching, and his hand on her back seemed to burn…she couldn’t decide if it was a bad sort of heat or not, though.
Finally, she managed to ask, “But…why?”
He didn’t hesitate, answering with all the uncaring arrogance he was known for. “I wanted to.”
She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. “But, you hate me!”
His hand on her back pushed her just a tiny bit closer. “Never said that, did I now?”
“You always torture me though! Calling me ugly, or stupid, or crazy, or—“
He took his hand out of hers long enough to place a finger against her lips, silencing her. “Can I help it that you’re so sexy when you’re angry?” he murmured.
Ginny’s eyes grew to twice their size, her lungs suddenly empty of air.
He slid his finger to her cheek, then down her neck, eyes following the path, and she shivered despite herself.
“That gorgeous flush you get,” he continued, “the way your eyes turn so bright, how you start breathing all heavy…” he trailed off, removing his finger from her throat and taking her hand again, resuming their dance.
Ginny noticed that he pulled her closer yet, but she couldn’t bring herself to protest. His cologne teased at her again, daring her to get closer to him, to breathe him in deeply and get her fill, and the fingers on her back were making small circles. Ginny felt like the world had turned inside out and upside down all at once. Worst of all, though, was that she found she was thoroughly enjoying every confusing second of it.
So stunned she could do little more than focus on the sensations he created in her, she didn’t realize the song, and with it the ball, ended until he slowed them to a stop.
He lowered his face then to talk quietly in her ear, both of his hands drifting to her waist. “You still have your end of the deal to uphold, Weasley. I’ll meet you tomorrow after lunch for tutoring.”
Then, with no warning whatsoever, he moved his mouth over those last few inches and covered hers. Her heart threatened to shatter her ribs, and her midsection twisted in on itself—it would have been unpleasant if only it didn’t feel so incredibly, indescribably right.
His tongue lightly traced the seam of her lips, making her temperature rise a few degrees, but just when she opened her mouth to him, he pulled back, self-satisfied smirk fully in place.
“Tomorrow after lunch,” he repeated, and just as suddenly as he had appeared to sweep her onto the dance floor, he turned and sauntered off.
Ginny smiled softly, absently touching her fingers to her lips, and decided that maybe Draco Malfoy wasn’t such a bad sort after all. And as she walked back to her dormitory, she fancied she could still smell spices and freshly cut grass.
- - - - -
A/N – A little fluffy, and probably horribly clichéd…but I had fun writing it, so ah well. I couldn’t resist writing the ever popular dance fic haha.
Oh, and I just want to repeat that this was a one-shot, since whenever I write one, I tend get several reviewers that don’t realize that.
Thanks for reading!
- - - - -
Spices and Fresh Cut Grass
Ginny tried very hard not to look at him, or even acknowledge his presence at all, for that matter. It was rather difficult with him slouched only feet away, long legs stretched out in front of him, but she thought she did an alright job of it. It didn’t hurt that he was busy doing exactly the same thing, so the challenge was quite lessened for both sides.
The Great Hall sprawled out empty around them, tables and benches all cleared away but for the two chairs they sat in. It was odd, the huge room so hollowed out, every noise echoing and every breeze whispering around the two silent students. The quiet seemed almost a tangible thing.
But, of course, being Draco Malfoy, he just had to ruin that lovely, unspoken compromise to maintain the silence. “We’re never going to get out of here.”
“You don’t say.”
He raised a patronizing eyebrow. “I hope you realize that this is entirely your fault.”
Ginny stared incredulously. “Mine? How is any of this my fault?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t me yelling and making a spectacle, was it now?”
She stood abruptly, moving to the window, putting her back to him because she knew that if she stayed within range, she would hex him. “You provoked me, and you know it.”
He laughed, a mirthless, scoffing sound. “And your point, Weasley? You still didn’t have to react that way.”
Knowing that they could keep this particular argument up for days, she switched to a new and more immediate subject. “We’d better get started. It’s going to take some work, and I for one have a life I’d like to get back to as soon as possible.”
She turned in time to see him stretching out further, hands folding neatly behind his head as he regarded her. Amusement showed through in his eyes. “We?”
She folded her arms. “Yes, Malfoy, we. I’m not planning out this entire bloody ball on my own. I may have caught the professors’ attention, but if not for you, I wouldn’t have been ‘making a spectacle.’ You’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to do all the work.”
He raised his chin just slightly. “Do I look like the type who knows the first thing about planning these ridiculous functions?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “That’s what females are for, and even though I personally can’t tell for sure, I’ve been told you are, in fact, a female.”
Ginny shut her eyes, taking in a breath shaky with rage and releasing it slowly before trusting herself to speak. “Look, I’m not the type of girl that really gets into these kinds of things either. I’d much rather a good round of Quidditch myself. But here we both are, and if it doesn’t get done, we’re not leaving. I really don’t think there’s much choice, so get off your lazy arse, and start enchanting stuff.”
His lips quirked into their infamous smirk. “Start enchanting stuff? Just what, pray tell, am I enchanting, and what am I enchanting it into?”
Ginny loosed a noise of frustration and collapsed back on her chair, rubbing her palms over her face. “I don’t have a bloody clue.”
And she didn’t. Really, what was McGonagall thinking? In what dimension was planning out the decoration, food, and, in short, everything for the school’s annual ball appropriate punishment for fighting in the halls? It was just laziness on the professor’s part, Ginny decided. It was the only plausible explanation.
“Well,” Malfoy said, “you get on that, and let me know when you come up with something.” He promptly closed his eyes, sliding even further down his chair.
Ginny glared at the older boy. “I don’t think so! That’s the hardest part! Once I have some sort of design, I’ll be able to do all the wand work…it’s just the coming up with a plan that’s the trick.”
Malfoy didn’t deign to open his eyes, simply waved his hand in the air. “Right. Terrible trouble, that. I wish you the best of luck, Weasley.”
Her mouth opened to snap something quite colorful back at him, but at the last moment she decided to keep silent. Rising to his bait was what landed her here in the first place. Grumbling under her breath, she pushed herself out of the chair and began a slow circuit around the room.
It was huge. This was not new knowledge, of course—that was why it was called the “Great” Hall, after all. For the first time, though, she came to realize just how “great” the place was. How was she supposed to decorate the whole thing, let alone make it look good? The entire student body would blame her if their beloved dance got all mucked up because of her. Well, her and Malfoy.
She glanced over to the blond boy, for all appearances completely at ease. Something told her that the disapproval of his peers wouldn’t bother him in the least. Nothing much at all seemed to bother him, come to think of it. So really, it was all up to her. Just wonderful.
She stopped in the very middle of the room, huffing in a way that spoke volumes of her mood, hands on hips. “This is impossible.”
If he heard her, he chose not to answer, or even crack open his eyes. She stuck out her tongue at him, not caring how immature the action was…it made her feel better, anyway.
Right, well, obviously the great lazy prat was going to be of no help, so she would just have to get started on her own. Tables. Everyone needed tables at a ball…dance…thing. Round tables were the usual as far as she could remember, and since she wasn’t exactly aiming to wow anyone with her astounding creativity, round tables it would be. A few flicks of the wand later, and Ginny stood surrounded by plain, wooden, perfectly circular tables.
She frowned, tapping her wand against her nose. Well, that wasn’t right. They shouldn’t be right in the middle; that was for dancing. Sighing, she levitated them all to one corner, summoning up matching chairs. Her frown deepened—something still wasn’t right. Ah, yes, tablecloth.
“So what color scheme should we go with?” she called over her shoulder, studying the undecorated tables dubiously.
His voice drifted to her on a cloud of sarcasm. “Color scheme? Do I look like a bloody queer to you?”
She gave a soft, woe-is-me moan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How have you managed to avoid murder so long, Malfoy?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Besides, it can’t be that hard,” he said, finally opening his eyes. “My mum does this sort of thing on a weekly basis. You throw up some frills, have fairy looking things float around chiming bells, all that.”
Ginny stared at him, only vaguely aware that her mouth was open. “What? Your mum does this sort of thing all the time?”
He shrugged noncommittally.
Outrage boiled up in her. “Then why aren’t you bloody well helping?! If your mum does this so much, you had to have seen her do it at least once!”
He raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“So you have experience! That’s more than I can say!”
He sighed as if he were being forced to explain something painfully simple to an even more painfully slow person. “Weasley, you’ve also seen people Apparate all your life. Didn’t mean you could do it the first time ‘round too, did it?”
She rolled her eyes. “This is different, and you know it.”
“Whatever you say.” By the way he leaned back again, eyes closing, she knew he didn’t plan on helping any more than before.
Ginny looked out over the room, the emptiness of the place making her heart drop in the face of what was left to accomplish. She turned back to Malfoy, an idea sparking at the back of her mind.
“You’re a Slytherin, yeah?”
He opened his eyes. “No, I’m actually a Hufflepuff. I’ve done a marvelous job of hiding the fact, haven’t I?”
“Shut it. Slytherins are into deals, right? I scratch your back, you scratch mine…like that?”
He straightened, almost imperceptibly, but enough to tell her that he was intrigued. He smiled lazily. “Well, we’re more the blackmailing sort if at all possible, but we do bargain, yes.” He cocked an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?” His eyes trailed over her, a light smirk on his lips. “If you’re offering your services, sorry to crush your dreams, love, but I’m not interested.”
She flushed with indignation and embarrassment. “I’m not offering my services, you great git!” She took a moment to collect herself. “Look, you’re not doing so well in potions, are you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Says who?”
“Says my brother. He says even with Snape’s favoritism, you’re barely managing to scrape your Outstanding.”
“Well, your brother’s about as dim as you, Weasley, so I wouldn’t put too much stake on what he says.” Malfoy settled back again, crossing his arms in a defensive position.
“Just hear me out. It’s about to get a lot tougher—Hermione’s been studying ahead for her NEWTs, and I’ve helped her quiz. It’s insanely hard…but, I don’t know, I just…get it. I’ve got a knack for potion making.” She shrugged. “If you want to keep your Outstanding, you’re going to need a tutor. My guess is you don’t want anyone knowing, though, including whoever would be doing the teaching.”
“Get to your point,” he snapped.
“I could do it, tutor you I mean. I already know anyway, and what’s more, I can keep my mouth shut about it.”
His eyes remained fixed on hers for long moments, unblinking. “So I help you with all this,” he gestured to the room, “and in return you keep my grades up without running your gob?”
“That’s the gist of it, yes.”
His demeanor remained tense. “And I should trust you because we’ve always been such pals, right?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Unlike you, I actually have these things called morals. You can trust me to keep up my end of things.”
Long moments passed in which not a word was spoken, his eyes unreadable as they regarded her intently. At last, he stood with deliberate grace, slowly crossing over to her and stretching out his hand.
Shocked into hesitation, it took Ginny a moment before she finally grasped his outstretched hand, feeling the strong grip of his fingers close around her much smaller ones as he shook firmly.
He ended the surprisingly civil gesture almost the second it began. She noted irritably that he rubbed his hand off on his shirt as he turned to survey the room. Merlin, she wasn’t diseased.
“Right, well, first thing’s first,” he said. “We need a theme.”
Ginny looked doubtful. “Theme?”
He nodded. “Every party my mum’s ever thrown has had a theme. It could be as simple as a repeated color, or it could be seasonal, or anything, really. So what do you want?”
Ginny shrugged. “How am I supposed to know?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “What sort of girl are you, Weasley?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “The sort that’s grown up with six older brothers.”
It could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn that a smile actually flitted over his face before he replaced it with a more appropriate scowl.
“We’ll just use mum’s last theme, then,” he said, squinting at the windows. “Lord knows she wrote over three pages about it in her last letter…I think I could recreate it easily enough.”
“What is it?” Ginny straddled one of the seats, resting her chin on her hands, propped up at the elbows by the back of the chair.
He glanced at her, his eyebrows rising just slightly when he saw what position she now sat in, but oddly enough, he chose not to comment. “Gold and silver.”
She smiled a little. “Like Gryffindor and Slytherin, huh? A color from each house.”
“In my mum’s case, it was more like money, but think of it however you want.”
He turned and pointed towards the tables Ginny had already summoned, muttering something under his breath. Seconds later, each one was draped in snow white cloth embroidered by intricate designs of gold with accents of silver.
Ginny was sure her jaw was somewhere around her feet. “How do you even know how to do that?”
Malfoy gave no answer aside from a brief glare. He raised his wand again, and layers of sheer, gauzy cloth, both silver and gold, swathed a window to make the most beautiful curtains Ginny had every laid eyes on.
She blinked. “I really do want to know where you learned this stuff. What sort of boy are you?” she asked, mimicking his earlier question and wearing a smirk very like his own.
His eyes flashed, lips forming a tight line. “Look, Weaselette,” he said, Ginny’s smirk abruptly turning into a frown at the nickname, “do you want my help or not?”
She sighed in a way that bordered on a groan. “Fine, fine. Go on.”
He turned back to the next window, outfitting it in the same gold and silver veiling. Ginny watched, fascinated by the transformation and simply content to let him have at it. That was, until he lowered his wand and arched an eyebrow at her. She frowned a little at the expression, thinking she really needed to learn how to do it one day.
“Are you planning on just sitting there looking less than pretty the entire time?” he asked, voice falsely polite.
Making a conscious effort not to lose her temper, she retorted, “Well, I certainly don’t know any of these fancy little decorating spells you’re so handy at, Miss Malfoy.”
His eyes narrowed to near slits. “Just summon another long table against that wall,” he pointed, “and maybe a few chandeliers.”
Ginny glanced skeptically at the enchanted sky-ceiling. “Chandeliers? How?”
Malfoy followed her gaze, then rolled his eyes when he realized her hesitance. “Bloody hell, Weasley, it’s magic. Make them float or something.”
The second his back turned, she made a rude gesture, but obediently rose and summoned up the table. That done, she looked doubtfully at her wand a moment, then shrugged and made her first attempt at summoning a floating chandelier. Initially, she thought it actually worked quite well. An impressive glass chandelier appeared high up near the ceiling directly over Malfoy, throwing bits of sunlight every which way and hovering just as it was supposed to. Then it suddenly plummeted, and everything happened at once.
She screamed out a warning to Malfoy, who jumped in the midst of his spell casting, whipping around and inadvertently targeting her rather than a window. He followed her horrified gaze just in time to see the huge glass fixture hurtling towards him, and with reflexes she couldn’t help but admire, literally leapt out of its path. The thing crashed to the stone floor with ear shattering force, shards scattering around it in a broad halo.
The deafening impact was followed by just as absolute a silence. Ginny’s wide eyes kept flicking back and forth between Malfoy, still prone on the ground, and the ruined chandelier. Her mind silently screamed that this was why professors should handle these things.
“What the bloody hell?!”
Ginny cringed, finding an irate Malfoy, apparently recovered, climbing to his feet, the glass crunching loudly under his shoes. Almost by reflex, she took out her wand, and with a murmured spell, vanished all the broken shards.
“What the bloody hell?!” he demanded again, running his hands over his torso as if to check and make sure he was still in one piece.
She opened her mouth to explain, but stopped when he looked right at her, his furious expression slowly turning into one of amusement. Her mouth closed, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. “What?”
“Interesting attire, Weasley,” he drawled, looking positively gleeful by this point. “It would seem that you are a female after all.”
Baffled, Ginny looked down at herself…and promptly shrieked. Where her uniform and robes had once been, Ginny now found a length of the all too sheer gauze that Malfoy had been using as curtains wrapped around her, making a sort of strapless gown.
“What the bloody hell?!” she yelled, diving under the nearest table.
The blessedly long tablecloth she currently hid behind blocked her view of Malfoy, but she could certainly hear his laughter, and her cheeks burned with humiliation. After he finally got his guffaws under control, he gasped out, “That’s what I said!”
She pressed her hands against her eyes, wanting to find a hole somewhere to crawl into. Summoning up her courage, she called through the cloth barrier, “Why am I dressed in this?”
“Well, when you tried to murder me with that chandelier, I sort of missed the window,” he explained.
“Sort of?”
He chuckled. “Okay, completely missed. Happy?”
“NO!”
She could almost sense him rolling his eyes as he said, “Just come out, Weasel.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Malfoy?” she snapped, gazing mournfully at herself. The curtain-gown wasn’t exactly transparent, per se, but it was certainly a far cry from opaque.
He snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. Just cover up with the tablecloth or something if you’re going to be such a prude about it.”
She grudgingly took his advice, yanking the tablecloth down so that she could wrap it around herself. “I am not being a prude,” she argued as she crawled out from beneath the table. “I mean, did you see that thing?”
He smirked, eyes shining with something unrecognizable. “Oh yes, believe me…I saw.”
She felt her cheeks glowing again, and quickly turned away, jutting out her chin and forcing herself to walk calmly over to where she had dropped her wand. She bent down to pick it up cautiously, careful not to lose her grip on the tablecloth serving as her only decent garment. Malfoy was obviously very entertained by this display.
She straightened with as much dignity as she could muster, pointedly ignoring the smirking blond as she secured the tablecloth around her like she would a bath towel.
“Do you want me to try the chandeliers again?” She found she could not meet his eyes when she spoke the question.
“You’re not going to go change?” he asked.
Ginny heaved a regretful sigh. “No. Remember what McGonagall said?” She jabbed a thumb towards the closed doors. “Those aren’t opening until we’re done, so much as I’d like to, I can’t.”
“You’re not going to be of much use in a tablecloth, even if it is hilarious,” he pointed out.
She laughed shortly. “Yes, well, next time I drop a chandelier on your head, try not to turn my clothes into curtains.”
He seemed to contemplate something, a slight frown on his face. Finally, he shrugged off his robe and held it out. “Here. You can wear this.”
Ginny eyed the garment suspiciously, hand unconsciously rising to clutch her tablecloth closer.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Merlin, I was just wearing it, and it’s not like I could have planned this. I think it’s safe.”
Hesitantly, she reached out and took the proffered robe. She raised her eyebrows at him and said, “Well, turn around then. I’m not changing with you watching.”
He rolled his eyes again, but complied without comment. Waiting a moment to make sure he wouldn’t try and peak, she took off both tablecloth and gauze material, letting them fall to pool around her feet. Feeling a flush build from her toes to her temple as it fully hit her that she stood only feet away from Draco Malfoy, completely nude, she hastily tugged on his robe.
It was thick and warm, a sharp contrast to the worn, slightly ragged robes she usually wore. A pleasant new scent enveloped her senses, falling around her as surely as the soft fabric had. It reminded her of spices and newly cut grass, made her feel instantly at ease, like she had come home. She realized less than a second later that the scent must be Malfoy’s, and had to resist the urge to slap her hands over her mouth in horror.
“Are you done yet, Weasley?” he demanded, hands shoved in his pockets and one foot tapping.
His sharp voice jarred her back to the present, though it couldn’t fully remove the stunned feeling in her mind. How could someone so foul smell so heavenly?
“Yeah, I’m done,” she finally answered him.
He turned back, now dressed only in a crisp white shirt and black trousers, and Ginny couldn’t help but stare. It wasn’t that he looked all that different. She had seen him dressed just like this dozens of times, in fact. But with his robes brushing against her bare skin at every shift of her body, and his alluring scent still assaulting her sensibilities, Ginny found he looked very different indeed. She swallowed.
“I’ll finish up with the windows, and then do the chandeliers myself,” Malfoy was saying, oblivious to her increasingly alarming thoughts. “Call me crazy, but I don’t exactly trust you with those anymore. Summon up a stage for the band instead.”
“Band?” she asked, immediately cursing herself for how stupid that sounded.
Malfoy turned to look at her, expression condescending. “Yes, Weasley, band. You know, for music.”
She nodded. “Right. Sorry. I’ll…uh, get on it.”
He raised his eyebrows, studying her for a moment with a slight frown, then shrugged and went back to curtain-conjuring. Ginny exhaled slowly, watching his smooth movements with envy and, to her consternation, appreciation. When had he stopped gelling back his hair? She had never noticed before, but she had to admit…it was better this way, free and soft. He had grown into his features at some point, too, his shoulders broader, chest more filled out, face less pointy.
Merlin help her, but Draco Malfoy was…good looking.
He turned around, catching her staring with eyes wide with dismay.
“Weasley?”
She blinked rapidly a few times. “Yeah?”
“The stage. Did you plan on getting to that any time soon?” He smirked. “Or are you just that enamored of me?”
“No!” she cried, eyes going even wider. His eyebrows shot up, taken aback by her strong reaction. She mentally cursed, then said, “I mean, I was just thinking. About something…where to put it. I was just thinking about where to put it.” She winced at her own feeble excuse.
Malfoy eyed her skeptically. “Are you alright?”
She nodded vigorously. “Like I said…just didn’t know where the stage should go….”
He didn’t look convinced, but suggested, “Here’s a novel idea—the front of the room.”
She laughed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Oh, right! The front.”
He blinked. “Has anyone ever told you that you are completely barmy, Weasley?” He shook his head. “I knew you were thick, but Merlin, you’re bloody off your rocker too.”
When her only reply was to stare determinedly at her feet, he made a noise of derision and went back to the windows. Ginny wanted to smack her head against the wall, but only just refrained. Instead, she decided to completely ignore any thought she had experienced since the chandelier fell, and started summoning a stage.
Ignoring her recent revelations turned out to be much more of a challenge than she had originally anticipated. The smell of him, clinging to the robes that were her only barrier against nakedness, was a constant reminder of them, and occasionally she would hear him mutter to himself in the cutest way. Of course, as soon as she thought that, she wanted to scream in frustration and outrage. After all, what right did that prat have, giving her his amazing smelling clothes and making her see him in this terrifying new light? It was probably another one of his diabolical plots, that’s what it was.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was getting unreasonable, but it was much easier to be mad at him, no matter what the reason. She was good at that—she had years of practice, after all. Who knew? Maybe he even charmed these robes to be a sort of…aphrodisiac or something. Like love potion, only cologne that made a girl go weak at the knees. That would explain everything, and the longer she considered it, the less crazy and more likely it sounded. The miserable ferret, it would be just like him.
Finished with her summoning, and much calmer now that she was thoroughly enraged at Malfoy once again (as it should be), she hopped up to sit on the new stage. Malfoy just finished conjuring up the last chandelier, and turned to look at her own handy work.
“Done?” he asked as he strode over.
Ginny openly glared. “Yes.”
If he noticed her sudden increased hostility, he gave no indication. “And it’s sturdy enough?”
“It’s fine.”
He raised himself up to sit beside her on the stage, shocking Ginny so badly that she completely forgot she was supposed to be furious with him. His scent was stronger now, increased by his proximity, and it made her want to squirm. What was he doing, willingly resting so near to her?
He reclined back on his elbows, surveying the room with eyebrows knit ever so slightly in thought. Ginny glanced down at him and then away just as quickly, biting her lip and trying her damnedest to act natural. She didn’t need him thinking she was a freak…not that she suddenly cared what he thought about her. She caught herself smoothing down her hair and quickly snatched her hand away from her head—no, she didn’t care at all.
“I’ll be honest,” he said after long moments of silence. “I’m not exactly sure what should come next. I had to help mum do the curtains and table decorations at one of her parties, which is how I knew that much, but now….”
Unsure how to respond, and not particularly trusting her voice on any count, Ginny looked around the room until her eyes finally settled on one window. “Oh, wow, the sun’s already down.”
He lifted his head to look, then let it fall back with a groan. “Bugger. Your bloody head of house is mad if she thinks we’re going to finish all this tonight.”
“Well, the dance isn’t for another few days. Maybe she was exaggerating on not letting us out until it was all the way done. She was pretty angry.”
Malfoy smirked. “Just a bit, yeah. Don’t know why.”
“You don’t know why?” Ginny looked at him incredulously, though her voice caught just a second when he stretched out fully on his back. With a will of their own, her eyes lingered across his lean form before snapping firmly back to his face. She swallowed and tried again. “You had me in a full body bind in the middle of the corridor!”
He laughed, a smile Ginny had never appreciated for the marvel it was appearing on his pale face. “I can’t believe you didn’t block that.”
“I was distracted,” she muttered.
“By what?”
Ginny fought an internal war over her next move for long moments, then eventually, if hesitantly, leaned back on her elbows next to the fully prone Malfoy. “What you said beforehand. It made me angry.”
“That was obvious by how loud you were bloody screeching. I think only dogs could hear you towards the end.” He put his hands behind his head so that he could see her, a tiny smile appearing on his lips at her scowl. “What did I say, anyway?”
She considered, then after struggling with her memory for some time, sighed and collapsed all the way flat on her back. “I don’t even remember. Knowing you, something about my family or Harry or something.”
Ginny was powerfully aware that they were both lying on their backs, side by side, so close that she could reach over and touch him should the whim strike her. Not that it would.
“Probably,” he agreed. “Next time, though, do try and control your temper. I don’t fancy going through this sort of thing again.”
“Or you could just not provoke me,” she pointed out. “I swear, it’s like you hunt me down. If you weren’t you, I’d think you had an interest in me.”
She meant it teasingly, but he instantly sat up, moving off the stage.
“Please, Weasley, the thought absolutely repulses me,” he called over his shoulder as he strode towards the door.
She watched his retreating back in confusion. “It was a joke, Malfoy! If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly sweet on you either!” She stubbornly ignored the annoying voice in her head bringing up all the little things she had been noticing about him since accepting his robe and inhaling his cologne.
She saw his shoulders tense at that, but he didn’t pause in his walk to the exit. He tugged futilely on the doors a few times, then banged on it with his fist. Ginny was at a complete loss. Where was this out of the blue anger coming from? She couldn’t help but think that it was uncharacteristic of the usually unaffected Slytherin.
“I told you that we couldn’t get out until we finished…or at least until Professor McGonagall comes back to let us out,” she reminded him.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, then finally walked back, some of the ire in his eyes cooled back to their normal slate appearance. Ginny was momentarily surprised she even remembered how his eyes usually looked, but forced such dangerous thoughts from her mind.
“We might want to do a little more work on this whole ball thing,” she suggested.
He leaned against the stage, crossing his legs at the ankles. “I told you—I don’t know where to go from here.”
Ginny let her gaze wander around the room. “Well, there’s food, but we should save that for last so it’ll be fresh…”
The doors suddenly swung open, admitting a gust of air and a tight-lipped Professor McGonagall. The woman eyed their progress so far with a shrewd gaze, arms crossed and entire demeanor no-nonsense. Finally, she said, “Good work so far. You can finish the job tomorrow, same time, but for now you two should be getting to your respective dormitories.”
Malfoy was already heading for the exit as Ginny quietly murmured her assent to the professor. He was moving fast, and she didn’t catch up to him until they were already halfway to the dungeons.
“Malfoy, would you stop a second?!”
He slowed, then turned to face her with arms folded across his chest. “What is it now?”
She took a moment to regain her breath, then said, “I just wanted to know if you have a free period tomorrow after lunch.”
One golden eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly, but after considering her a moment, he inclined his head. “Yes. What’s it to you?”
“Well, I do too, and I thought maybe we could meet in the library and start your tutoring. Most students will be in class then, so you wouldn’t have to worry so much about being seen….” Ginny suddenly felt very foolish, like she were some schoolgirl asking a boy on a date.
His expression turned sour, but he nodded nevertheless. “Fine.”
She shifted awkwardly. “Right, err, I guess I’ll see you then.” She plucked absently at her attire, which reminded her of the matter of returning them. “Oh, and I’ll owl you back your robes in the morning.”
He nodded again, once, then spun on his heel and was off. Ginny followed him with her eyes until he receded into the gloom of the dungeons, the smell of him staying with her from his borrowed clothes. She sighed softly, her mind such a tangle of conflicting emotions that she didn’t even notice when she hugged his robes to her more tightly, lowering her nose into the fabric.
Later that night, she chose not to examine her reasons for sleeping in the garment.
- - - - -
“No wonder you’re having a hard time of it,” Ginny snapped. “You complain more than you work!”
If it had been any other person, Ginny would have sworn it was a pout Malfoy wore. He slipped further down into his seat, looking like he was trying to vanish the parchment in front of him with only his eyes.
“It’s boring,” he complained.
Ginny couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Don’t let Snape hear his prize student say that; you’d be failing for sure. And just so you know, you sound like you’re ten.”
He glared at her. “And just so you know, you’re about the worst tutor ever.”
She sighed. He wasn’t cooperating, but there was no point in telling him so. It was his pride, she knew, acting as a wall between him and the perceived shame of actually benefiting from a Weasley’s help.
“Look, I’m going to go look up some stuff on planning parties for tonight. Just make sure those exercises are finished by the time I get back.”
Not waiting for his response, Ginny got up from the table and resisted the urge to run from the moody boy. Today, back in her own clothes and free of his intoxicating cologne, she felt her emotions reverting back to normal. Certain things, like his looks and sharp intelligence (if he bothered to try), would come to her attention from nowhere, but she was doing pretty well with ignoring these sporadic cases of insanity. For the most part, anyway.
She tucked a strand of hair back from her face, squinting at the many titles on the shelves before her, but not really paying attention. She had to admit that it worried her that lately she kept finding him amusing. The boy possessed an undeniable wit, even if it usually manifested itself in cruel taunts and stinging comebacks. It was still irrefutably there, and Ginny found herself laughing out loud around him more than once.
The world had to be ending. It was the only conclusion she could come to, or at least the only one she would allow herself to even consider.
She sighed, trailing her fingers across the book spines as she searched half-heartedly. Her mind was just starting to wander again when a bright blue volume caught her eye, the gold lettering of the title reading, How to Plan the Social Event of the Season.
Well, she thought, there you go. Her elation quickly tempered, though, when she realized that her outstretched fingertips didn’t even come close to reaching it. She scowled, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. Now what?
She turned around to go retrieve her wand, left, perhaps unwisely, on the table with Malfoy, but halted when she found herself facing the boy himself. She cried out in alarm, taking a stumbling step backwards, and probably would have hit her head against the bookshelf if not for him reaching out to grab her shoulder.
She grasped his wrist gratefully, steadying herself, then quickly let go when she realized what she was doing. His hand, too, dropped quickly.
“What were you doing?!” she demanded, a little distracted by how far back she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. Was he always that tall?
“I finished your inane ‘exercises’ and got bored.” He shrugged.
She sighed, gathering her wits back about her. “Well, make yourself useful then.” She turned around, pointing to the blue book. “Could you get that down for me?”
She expected him to wait for her to move out of the way, but before she could, she felt his chest brush against her back, sliding as he rose onto his toes to reach the elusive volume. That damned spice and cut grass smell wrapped around her again, and her head clouded despite herself.
He lowered back down from his toes, a bit more slowly than necessary, she thought. Or was that just her imagination?
“’How to Plan the Social Event of the Season’?” he read aloud, scoffing.
She turned around, snatching the book out of his hands. “Well, we may not be planning the ‘social event of the season,’ but it’ll still help with this stupid punishment.”
He shrugged, expressing just how much he cared.
Ginny edged a little to the left, her back against the books, to put some distance between them. His nearness made her inexplicably uncomfortable. “So, um, did you say you finished the exercises?”
He nodded. “Bloody tiresome things, those.”
She smiled. “I know, but they help. Or at least they help me.”
He didn’t answer, so she made her way back to their table. His completed parchment was indeed sitting there, and she picked it up, eyes moving back and forth over his bold cursive.
“Wow, Malfoy, you only got two wrong!” she told him, grinning.
“Do try and sound less shocked, Weasley,” he drawled, pulling out a chair that he promptly reclined back in.
She laughed before thinking better of it and sat down next to him. “Okay, look here,” she instructed, pointing to the first one he had incorrect. “If you had added the mandrake here, it would have melted the basic cauldron you would have been using. See?”
He gave a noncommittal grunt that Ginny assumed meant, “No, but I’m too proud to admit it.”
She sighed. “Here, I’ll explain.” She looked around for her quill, spotting it on Malfoy’s other side. “Could you hand me that?” she asked, indicating the quill.
He raised one eyebrow slowly, a light, mischievous smile playing along his lips that instantly brought her guard up.
“No, I don’t think so, actually.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said, no,” he repeated.
“Why the hell not?”
He shrugged, examining his nails disinterestedly.
Through gritted teeth, she snapped, “Fine,” then stood and leaned over him to retrieve it herself.
Her face was very near his, the drugging smell of him easy to detect, and she had to clench her jaw as she stretched out her hand to pick up the quill.
“You know,” his voice was soft, making her freeze in place, “you really should think about charms for that complexion,” he commented, his voice practically against her ear, making her want to shiver even as her temper flared in rage. “I knew it was bad, but from this close I can see it’s positively horrendous.”
That was it! She turned quickly, ready to yell, to curse, to hex, to whatever. Only it didn’t quite happen that way, because when she moved to face him, her lips touched his. She might have held the inadvertent kiss for seconds or hours, she couldn’t be sure. The thunder in her ears and the currents of heat rushing through her veins distracted her, confused and muddled, but eventually she remembered that this was most definitely wrong, and jerked away.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, too scared to even look at his reaction. “Oh, God, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, then without another word or even a glance, rushed from the room.
- - - - -
Detention with Malfoy that night was the most awkward occasion Ginny Weasley had ever endured. For whatever reason, he didn’t mention a word of the incident, for which Ginny was exceedingly grateful, if not thoroughly bewildered, but the seconds still stretched into hours each.
They worked from the book Ginny had found and Malfoy had gotten down, mostly without speaking, and never with eye-contact. She had no clue if he would have met her eyes or not, but try as she might, she couldn’t even bring herself to glance at his.
Still, the end of the night did eventually arrive, the entire ball set up and ready to go, and Ginny was out of the room almost before McGonagall finished telling them that they were free to go.
Ginny still shuddered at the memory even now as she regarded herself in the full length mirror, getting ready for the very ball she helped plan. She did a slow spin, the gold dress robes she wore contrasting nicely with her pale skin and red hair, though she chose it more because it was in accordance with the theme. Her hair was up in a loose twist, secured by a series of silver and gold pins and clips, and her make-up subtle. Completing the turn, Ginny gave a little sigh and made her way down to the Great Hall.
The place was already packed, and Ginny was struck with just how amazing the place looked. She knew it was mostly Malfoy’s doing, but she couldn’t help but feel a flush of pride at the elegant beauty of the room. Laughter and chatter floated around her, the smell of the food she herself prepared adding a pleasant aroma to the place, and the band was playing well, a fun tune that encouraged most of the students to take advantage of the spacious dance floor. She moved towards the far wall, spotting a group of familiar faces.
The night spent itself quickly; when it was almost over, Ginny decided that the evening had gone quite well. She had spent most of the time joking with her friends or dancing to the more upbeat songs, and even a few slow ones. All in all, the night was a success. The band announced that they were going to play one last song, and seconds later, a slow, lazy melody picked up.
Waving for her friends with dates to go on, Ginny began weaving through the dancing couples to get a glass of punch. She stopped when arms encircled her waist from behind, a warm, hard body pressed firmly against her back.
A mouth lowered very near her ear and whispered, “Dance with me.”
She laughed, squirming a little from the tickle of the mystery boy’s breath on her neck. The whisper had been so low that she couldn’t tell who the person was, exactly, but she assumed it was Seamus—he was just the type to mess around like this.
Laying her hands over his, she sighed in mock resignation and said, “Oh, I suppose if you insist.”
The grip around her waist loosened just a little, and she turned around. Her smile immediately died on her lips when she found herself looking not into Seamus’s dancing eyes, but Draco’s mercury pools.
“Malfoy?!”
He smirked, one eyebrow cocked in challenge, and stepped back, taking her hands and gently pulling her to the floor.
“What are you doing?!” she demanded, eyes searching desperately for an escape.
“Dancing,” he answered mildly, coming to a halt and tugging her closer. One of his arms went around her waist, his hand resting low on her back, and the other hand clasped hers. “You did agree,” he reminded her.
“I-I thought you were Seamus!” she stuttered. What in the hell was going on with the universe?
He shrugged, leading her into a graceful if simple waltz. “Nevertheless.”
“That’s not fair!”
He chuckled. “You’re speaking to a Slytherin, love.”
Ginny was speechless for long moments, hardly able to believe this was really happening. They weren’t pressed together, exactly, but they were most definitely touching, and his hand on her back seemed to burn…she couldn’t decide if it was a bad sort of heat or not, though.
Finally, she managed to ask, “But…why?”
He didn’t hesitate, answering with all the uncaring arrogance he was known for. “I wanted to.”
She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. “But, you hate me!”
His hand on her back pushed her just a tiny bit closer. “Never said that, did I now?”
“You always torture me though! Calling me ugly, or stupid, or crazy, or—“
He took his hand out of hers long enough to place a finger against her lips, silencing her. “Can I help it that you’re so sexy when you’re angry?” he murmured.
Ginny’s eyes grew to twice their size, her lungs suddenly empty of air.
He slid his finger to her cheek, then down her neck, eyes following the path, and she shivered despite herself.
“That gorgeous flush you get,” he continued, “the way your eyes turn so bright, how you start breathing all heavy…” he trailed off, removing his finger from her throat and taking her hand again, resuming their dance.
Ginny noticed that he pulled her closer yet, but she couldn’t bring herself to protest. His cologne teased at her again, daring her to get closer to him, to breathe him in deeply and get her fill, and the fingers on her back were making small circles. Ginny felt like the world had turned inside out and upside down all at once. Worst of all, though, was that she found she was thoroughly enjoying every confusing second of it.
So stunned she could do little more than focus on the sensations he created in her, she didn’t realize the song, and with it the ball, ended until he slowed them to a stop.
He lowered his face then to talk quietly in her ear, both of his hands drifting to her waist. “You still have your end of the deal to uphold, Weasley. I’ll meet you tomorrow after lunch for tutoring.”
Then, with no warning whatsoever, he moved his mouth over those last few inches and covered hers. Her heart threatened to shatter her ribs, and her midsection twisted in on itself—it would have been unpleasant if only it didn’t feel so incredibly, indescribably right.
His tongue lightly traced the seam of her lips, making her temperature rise a few degrees, but just when she opened her mouth to him, he pulled back, self-satisfied smirk fully in place.
“Tomorrow after lunch,” he repeated, and just as suddenly as he had appeared to sweep her onto the dance floor, he turned and sauntered off.
Ginny smiled softly, absently touching her fingers to her lips, and decided that maybe Draco Malfoy wasn’t such a bad sort after all. And as she walked back to her dormitory, she fancied she could still smell spices and freshly cut grass.
- - - - -
A/N – A little fluffy, and probably horribly clichéd…but I had fun writing it, so ah well. I couldn’t resist writing the ever popular dance fic haha.
Oh, and I just want to repeat that this was a one-shot, since whenever I write one, I tend get several reviewers that don’t realize that.
Thanks for reading!
The End.
Hearts Cadence is the author of 15 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 56 members. Members who liked Spices and Fresh Cut Grass also liked 1553 other stories.
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