Draco smiled at the welcome quiet of the Infirmary. Finally, Weasley’s sympathy squad had left, and she had drifted off to sleep before he’d had the chance to broach the subject of homework with the girl. His dubious luck seemed to have run out though, as Madame Pomfrey came bustling in, disturbing his serene contemplation on the merits of black bras under white school blouses, and insisting that the girl be roused, “else she shan’t sleep tonight and you need to get on with helping the girl catch up the classes she’s missed, thank you, Mister Malfoy.”
Stifling anything as undignified as a grumble, Draco made his way over to the sleeping girl, and was slightly mollified with a peek down her pyjama top before shaking her shoulder, just firm enough so as not to be gentle. She stirred slowly and Draco decided that being affronted by his enforced tutelage was a good choice of distraction from how very cute she was when she wasn’t speaking, or indeed, fully conscious. Finally, large brown eyes blinked up at him as the freckled female finally chose to rejoin the land of the living.
“Malfoy? What’d you wake me up for? Haven’t you got plundering and pillaging to see to?”
“Most amusing, Weasley. No, I’m stuck here to tutor you, as part of my punishment for being chosen Head Boy.”
Naturally, though he shuddered to think he should ever know what would come naturally to a Weasley, she seemed somewhat perturbed by this revelation. “Why isn’t Hermione here? She’d not mind at all, I’m sure.”
“Because,” came the drawled reply, “she’s already committed to tutoring half the lower school and has bullied the Ravenclaw prefects into divvying up the rest of them. Granger is, as she evidently loves to be, over committed already.”
A slightly frowny pout was all he received in reply, until she seemed to think better of it and relent. “Fine. I need to brush up on my Charms work anyway. You any good?”
Draco admirably kept from snorting. “Please, you think they award Head Boy on looks alone? Obviously not, as two of your brood somehow wrangled a spot. But yes, I’ll go over your Charms with you, since I’m sure the Headmaster’ll know if I haven’t helped you.”
She stifled a smile at his stuffy manner. “Thanks, Malfoy. D’you have a quill I can borrow, then?”
He looked at her in surprise. “A quill? Sod the theory, the way to get into charms is lots of practical application.” He then proceeded to drill her on an assortment of fourth, fifth and sixth year charms, rolling his eyes, but keeping mercifully quiet at most of her mistakes.
“Honestly, Weasley, I know you can claim the accident affected your fine motor skills, but try to keep your wand movements more precise. If you lose control of the wand, you lose the intent and direction of the spell, and it all goes pear shaped if you let that happen.” As if to demonstrate this, the apple she’d been trying to force into re-enacting Riverdance suddenly turned into a pear and toppled over, small legs ending in tiny tap shoes kicking pathetically in the air.
“Fine. Fine. More precise. How precisely does that change anything, Malfoy?” she bit out, the last syllable coming out as something of a growl.
“Come now, Weasley, manners don’t cost anything, and even your family can afford that. Besides, I already explained, if you’d deigned to listen to me before. The object you’re trying to charm can sense your intent and your confidence. Almost like a horse can sense whether you mean the orders you’re giving it. Precise wand movements encourage an air of decisiveness and confidence which make the object more conducive to being charmed.”
A swish and a flick later, and a non-verbal levitating charm saw the pear smacking Draco in the back of the head. Too tired to be bothered, and honestly glad he seemed to have gotten through to the brat, Draco laughed.
A look of shock registered on Ginny’s freckled features, and she even managed to drop the “pearpertrator” in surprise at the mirthful Malfoy before her.
“Are you feeling quite alright, Draco?” she asked, registering somewhere in the vague back reaches of her mind that his first name would be of greater comfort at a time when he was obviously emotionally disturbed.
“Obviously emotionally disturbed?” he chuckled, as Ginny realised with horror that she’d muttered those three words aloud. “Of course not, Ginny,” he replied, unconsciously returning the favour of using first names, “just over-tired and stressed about NEWTS. But never above a little…retaliation.”
The dangerous gleam that crept into his eye at the last word put Ginny on edge, but was not enough to warn her before the pear had suddenly exploded above her head, showering her in a fruity, pulpy mess. It soon escalated into all-out fruit basket war, as morsel after morsel was mercilessly turned into ammunition. Realising she was still not up to Malfoy’s standards as far as Charms went, Ginny decided to opt for her favourite subject, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and threw a silent leg-locker curse at her snickering, blond adversary. Evidently, she had not thought this through, as six-feet-plus of still chortling Slytherin suddenly toppled onto her bed, and she suddenly found herself crushed beneath a chuckling, fruit-covered young man.
Draco, however, had fewer problems with his newfound position, as it enabled him to see a rather tasty looking piece of banana sitting on the redhead’s pink lower lip. Giving in to the overwhelming instinct that came with having a rumpled, busty, young girl underneath him, he licked along the lip, gathering the morsel into his mouth before deciding the only gentlemanly thing to do would be to share. When they eventually stopped kissing, he opened his eyes to see a wry smile and raised red eyebrows before him.
“Charming, Malfoy,” she uttered in a fair imitation of his drawl.
“Indeed,” came his reply, before deciding that, as much as he liked her impression of him, he preferred it when her pouty little lips were otherwise engaged.
Perhaps Hagrid wasn’t quite the useless brute he’d pegged him as after all.
Stifling anything as undignified as a grumble, Draco made his way over to the sleeping girl, and was slightly mollified with a peek down her pyjama top before shaking her shoulder, just firm enough so as not to be gentle. She stirred slowly and Draco decided that being affronted by his enforced tutelage was a good choice of distraction from how very cute she was when she wasn’t speaking, or indeed, fully conscious. Finally, large brown eyes blinked up at him as the freckled female finally chose to rejoin the land of the living.
“Malfoy? What’d you wake me up for? Haven’t you got plundering and pillaging to see to?”
“Most amusing, Weasley. No, I’m stuck here to tutor you, as part of my punishment for being chosen Head Boy.”
Naturally, though he shuddered to think he should ever know what would come naturally to a Weasley, she seemed somewhat perturbed by this revelation. “Why isn’t Hermione here? She’d not mind at all, I’m sure.”
“Because,” came the drawled reply, “she’s already committed to tutoring half the lower school and has bullied the Ravenclaw prefects into divvying up the rest of them. Granger is, as she evidently loves to be, over committed already.”
A slightly frowny pout was all he received in reply, until she seemed to think better of it and relent. “Fine. I need to brush up on my Charms work anyway. You any good?”
Draco admirably kept from snorting. “Please, you think they award Head Boy on looks alone? Obviously not, as two of your brood somehow wrangled a spot. But yes, I’ll go over your Charms with you, since I’m sure the Headmaster’ll know if I haven’t helped you.”
She stifled a smile at his stuffy manner. “Thanks, Malfoy. D’you have a quill I can borrow, then?”
He looked at her in surprise. “A quill? Sod the theory, the way to get into charms is lots of practical application.” He then proceeded to drill her on an assortment of fourth, fifth and sixth year charms, rolling his eyes, but keeping mercifully quiet at most of her mistakes.
“Honestly, Weasley, I know you can claim the accident affected your fine motor skills, but try to keep your wand movements more precise. If you lose control of the wand, you lose the intent and direction of the spell, and it all goes pear shaped if you let that happen.” As if to demonstrate this, the apple she’d been trying to force into re-enacting Riverdance suddenly turned into a pear and toppled over, small legs ending in tiny tap shoes kicking pathetically in the air.
“Fine. Fine. More precise. How precisely does that change anything, Malfoy?” she bit out, the last syllable coming out as something of a growl.
“Come now, Weasley, manners don’t cost anything, and even your family can afford that. Besides, I already explained, if you’d deigned to listen to me before. The object you’re trying to charm can sense your intent and your confidence. Almost like a horse can sense whether you mean the orders you’re giving it. Precise wand movements encourage an air of decisiveness and confidence which make the object more conducive to being charmed.”
A swish and a flick later, and a non-verbal levitating charm saw the pear smacking Draco in the back of the head. Too tired to be bothered, and honestly glad he seemed to have gotten through to the brat, Draco laughed.
A look of shock registered on Ginny’s freckled features, and she even managed to drop the “pearpertrator” in surprise at the mirthful Malfoy before her.
“Are you feeling quite alright, Draco?” she asked, registering somewhere in the vague back reaches of her mind that his first name would be of greater comfort at a time when he was obviously emotionally disturbed.
“Obviously emotionally disturbed?” he chuckled, as Ginny realised with horror that she’d muttered those three words aloud. “Of course not, Ginny,” he replied, unconsciously returning the favour of using first names, “just over-tired and stressed about NEWTS. But never above a little…retaliation.”
The dangerous gleam that crept into his eye at the last word put Ginny on edge, but was not enough to warn her before the pear had suddenly exploded above her head, showering her in a fruity, pulpy mess. It soon escalated into all-out fruit basket war, as morsel after morsel was mercilessly turned into ammunition. Realising she was still not up to Malfoy’s standards as far as Charms went, Ginny decided to opt for her favourite subject, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and threw a silent leg-locker curse at her snickering, blond adversary. Evidently, she had not thought this through, as six-feet-plus of still chortling Slytherin suddenly toppled onto her bed, and she suddenly found herself crushed beneath a chuckling, fruit-covered young man.
Draco, however, had fewer problems with his newfound position, as it enabled him to see a rather tasty looking piece of banana sitting on the redhead’s pink lower lip. Giving in to the overwhelming instinct that came with having a rumpled, busty, young girl underneath him, he licked along the lip, gathering the morsel into his mouth before deciding the only gentlemanly thing to do would be to share. When they eventually stopped kissing, he opened his eyes to see a wry smile and raised red eyebrows before him.
“Charming, Malfoy,” she uttered in a fair imitation of his drawl.
“Indeed,” came his reply, before deciding that, as much as he liked her impression of him, he preferred it when her pouty little lips were otherwise engaged.
Perhaps Hagrid wasn’t quite the useless brute he’d pegged him as after all.
The End.
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