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If the school wasn’t exactly abuzz with delight at the prospect of a Hogsmeade weekend, it as at least in a state of anticipation. It had been storming and snowing and sleeting. All manner of unpleasant things were coming from the sky. That Herbology and Astronomy were frequently cancelled did not quite make up for the fact that Quidditch had been too, and none of them had seen the outside for weeks. Boredom and cabin fever were twisting the students’ sanity.
The prospect of a change in scenery was looking very good indeed.
That Friday, dinner was just winding down. Students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor – the tower dwellers - tended to linger over the hot chocolate that was laid out afterwards when the blizzards were blowing. The creaking and swaying of one’s bedroom was somewhat unnerving. It was said that the Slytherin Dungeon had its damp walls covered with ice. As such, the density of them lurking about the halls was unhappily higher than usual.
It was that evening that Draco Malfoy was handed a slip of parchment by a stoic Professor McGonagall. He pulled off the waxed seal and made a sound of mock outrage. Nobody was looking at him; the other Slytherins he was sitting with were too cold and miserable to care or enable him. He should have ignored it. However, being an arse had been deeply ingrained within his personality and it was now a force of habit; he craved a reaction. That the parchment represented a reaction was lost on him. It wasn’t the reaction he wanted, so it didn’t count. Now that consequences had materialised he realised how hurt he was by it. Getting to his feet, he stalked over to the muzzy cloud of red and gold and glowing, sickly goodness.
Harry was thoughtfully piling his hot chocolate with marshmallows as he listened to his friends talk. Hermione often gagged over the goopy mess that was his favourite beverage, but Hermione’s parents were dentists, thus, she was unable to have fun. A fluffy pink pillow of sugar fell to the plate as he noted Draco Malfoy was looking very unhappy. In fact, he was headed in their direction like a pointy storm cloud.
To Harry’s immense irritation, his rival had filled out over the summer. His shoulders, jaw and cheekbones had an enviable, masculine edge, his eyes seemed darker, his looks foxy rather than pointy. Apparently some girls thought that a pair of broad shoulders and poncy accent was all a bloke needed to redeem himself from a lifetime of being an obnoxious, malicious git.
He realised he was bristling as Malfoy drew closer. The Slytherin came to a halt just to Neville’s shoulder. Harry was certain that if Neville hadn’t marked their lack of chatter, he would have sensed the inherent evil that radiated in hot, dark waves from Malfoy’s every pore. Some gesture that Harry couldn’t quite remember for all it’s subtly conveyed that he wanted to sit. Neville shifted aside hurriedly and Malfoy took his seat, holding his robes away from Neville. Curiously, he didn’t care that Hermione was on his other side, wide eyed and seeming impossibly small next to his bulk. Ron was opening his mouth, vibrating with outrage at this unprecedented cross of their boundaries. Harry was astute enough to quiet him. Malfoy wasn’t looking at any of them. Even though they’d held such a great hatred between them for all these years, they may as well have not been there.
He was looking at Ginny.
She sat directly across the table from him. She had the determined look of one about the engage in a particularly challenging, delightful game. As such, the expression on her face was quite saucy. Harry began to bristle again, but the look faded once Malfoy had done nothing but stare at her with his smouldering grey eyes.
Finally, he slapped a formal looking piece of parchment on the table. It was a notification that formal complaints of sexual harassment had been made against him, from her and that commencing tomorrow, severe penalties would be brought down upon him if he was caught anywhere near her.
“What do you call this then?” he demanded, his voice a combination of hurt, confusion and mocking.
Ginny had read the note from the tabletop like the rest of them. Now she grabbed it, reading it again, brows drawn together. Hermione was blushing, avoiding eye contact. “Hermione,” she exclaimed. “You didn’t!”
“I apologise for nothing,” Hermione said staunchly. “Its characteristic of victims of abuse to be unable to talk to authorities about what they suffer-“
“A victim?” Malfoy seemed incredulous. “Weaslette? I don’t believe she ever could be. The world is her victim.”
“Oh thanks,” Ginny said sarcastically.
“You’re welcome,” Malfoy replied as if it really were a compliment, his attention sliding off Hermione like water off a duck’s back. “But I will fuck off you know. If you really, really do feel victimised.”
Ginny frowned once more, head cocking to one side, thinking.
“Ginny,” her brother reminded, “this is the part where you say yes please, and dance about for happiness.”
She remained silent. A smirk was beginning on Malfoy’s lips.
“Ginny!”
“Why would you be so distressed by it and not want it all to stop?” Hermione piped up, still defensive about her meddling. “The name calling? The degrading? The following and taunting? The lewd comments? The… the bottom grabbing.”
With each item, something in Ginny’s expressive face twitched, showing more and more reluctance, Malfoy’s smirk growing until it was a full blown, feral grin.
“What is the matter with you?” Ron spluttered.
“So you don't want me to go away?” Malfoy said lazily. “Good. I wouldn’t want to bother you anyway if you did.”
“What?” huffed Ron.
“That’s a win-win situation for her, so shut your trap,” Malfoy snapped.
“I don’t understand,” said Hermione, angrily.
“It’s a game,” Ginny offered quite feebly. “Right?”
“Right,” Malfoy nodded. “Its not like she doesn’t give me my fair share of black eyes and hurt feelings.”
“I’m not sure if it’ll be the same with everyone knowing,” Ginny said, frowning.
“We should probably make it formal then. Go out with me would you, Weaslette?” The lightest of blushes graced his cheeks as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d said. Like he was hoping to whatever subterranean deity he sacrificed things too that he hadn’t misjudged the situation.
“What?” The astonishment in her face was enough to pacify her brother, who sat back in satisfaction.
“Go out with me,” he tone was challenging, mocking even. But he was serious. "Go out with me this weekend at Hogsmeade."
“What possible reason can you give me to trick me in to such a thing?”
With little hesitation, Malfoy had a knee on the table, leaning over its entire width to seize Ginny by the back of her head, kissing her.
Ginny’s hands remained in her lap, her back straight, her head fairly level. But she didn’t push him away. From the look of things, she was kissing him back too. He was taking his life into his hands with this seductive gesture - Ginny was sitting next to her brother, and Malfoy was performing this perceived violation inches from Ron’s face. When Ginny gave a small satisfied sigh, the shock wore off. With and almighty roar, he shoved the Slytherin, sending him sprawling several yards away.
Malfoy got up, grinning. “Alright?” he said to Ginny.
Sighing in resignation, she nodded. “I suppose. Alright.” He winked at her, brushing himself off before turning on his tail and running. “If you’re going to chase him and beat him to a pulp, you’d better catch him before he hits his stride,” she told Ron mildly.
With a strangled howl of rage and confusion Ron took off, Harry on his heals. “And don’t hurt him too badly!” Ginny called after them. “I’m not done with him yet.”
The prospect of a change in scenery was looking very good indeed.
That Friday, dinner was just winding down. Students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor – the tower dwellers - tended to linger over the hot chocolate that was laid out afterwards when the blizzards were blowing. The creaking and swaying of one’s bedroom was somewhat unnerving. It was said that the Slytherin Dungeon had its damp walls covered with ice. As such, the density of them lurking about the halls was unhappily higher than usual.
It was that evening that Draco Malfoy was handed a slip of parchment by a stoic Professor McGonagall. He pulled off the waxed seal and made a sound of mock outrage. Nobody was looking at him; the other Slytherins he was sitting with were too cold and miserable to care or enable him. He should have ignored it. However, being an arse had been deeply ingrained within his personality and it was now a force of habit; he craved a reaction. That the parchment represented a reaction was lost on him. It wasn’t the reaction he wanted, so it didn’t count. Now that consequences had materialised he realised how hurt he was by it. Getting to his feet, he stalked over to the muzzy cloud of red and gold and glowing, sickly goodness.
Harry was thoughtfully piling his hot chocolate with marshmallows as he listened to his friends talk. Hermione often gagged over the goopy mess that was his favourite beverage, but Hermione’s parents were dentists, thus, she was unable to have fun. A fluffy pink pillow of sugar fell to the plate as he noted Draco Malfoy was looking very unhappy. In fact, he was headed in their direction like a pointy storm cloud.
To Harry’s immense irritation, his rival had filled out over the summer. His shoulders, jaw and cheekbones had an enviable, masculine edge, his eyes seemed darker, his looks foxy rather than pointy. Apparently some girls thought that a pair of broad shoulders and poncy accent was all a bloke needed to redeem himself from a lifetime of being an obnoxious, malicious git.
He realised he was bristling as Malfoy drew closer. The Slytherin came to a halt just to Neville’s shoulder. Harry was certain that if Neville hadn’t marked their lack of chatter, he would have sensed the inherent evil that radiated in hot, dark waves from Malfoy’s every pore. Some gesture that Harry couldn’t quite remember for all it’s subtly conveyed that he wanted to sit. Neville shifted aside hurriedly and Malfoy took his seat, holding his robes away from Neville. Curiously, he didn’t care that Hermione was on his other side, wide eyed and seeming impossibly small next to his bulk. Ron was opening his mouth, vibrating with outrage at this unprecedented cross of their boundaries. Harry was astute enough to quiet him. Malfoy wasn’t looking at any of them. Even though they’d held such a great hatred between them for all these years, they may as well have not been there.
He was looking at Ginny.
She sat directly across the table from him. She had the determined look of one about the engage in a particularly challenging, delightful game. As such, the expression on her face was quite saucy. Harry began to bristle again, but the look faded once Malfoy had done nothing but stare at her with his smouldering grey eyes.
Finally, he slapped a formal looking piece of parchment on the table. It was a notification that formal complaints of sexual harassment had been made against him, from her and that commencing tomorrow, severe penalties would be brought down upon him if he was caught anywhere near her.
“What do you call this then?” he demanded, his voice a combination of hurt, confusion and mocking.
Ginny had read the note from the tabletop like the rest of them. Now she grabbed it, reading it again, brows drawn together. Hermione was blushing, avoiding eye contact. “Hermione,” she exclaimed. “You didn’t!”
“I apologise for nothing,” Hermione said staunchly. “Its characteristic of victims of abuse to be unable to talk to authorities about what they suffer-“
“A victim?” Malfoy seemed incredulous. “Weaslette? I don’t believe she ever could be. The world is her victim.”
“Oh thanks,” Ginny said sarcastically.
“You’re welcome,” Malfoy replied as if it really were a compliment, his attention sliding off Hermione like water off a duck’s back. “But I will fuck off you know. If you really, really do feel victimised.”
Ginny frowned once more, head cocking to one side, thinking.
“Ginny,” her brother reminded, “this is the part where you say yes please, and dance about for happiness.”
She remained silent. A smirk was beginning on Malfoy’s lips.
“Ginny!”
“Why would you be so distressed by it and not want it all to stop?” Hermione piped up, still defensive about her meddling. “The name calling? The degrading? The following and taunting? The lewd comments? The… the bottom grabbing.”
With each item, something in Ginny’s expressive face twitched, showing more and more reluctance, Malfoy’s smirk growing until it was a full blown, feral grin.
“What is the matter with you?” Ron spluttered.
“So you don't want me to go away?” Malfoy said lazily. “Good. I wouldn’t want to bother you anyway if you did.”
“What?” huffed Ron.
“That’s a win-win situation for her, so shut your trap,” Malfoy snapped.
“I don’t understand,” said Hermione, angrily.
“It’s a game,” Ginny offered quite feebly. “Right?”
“Right,” Malfoy nodded. “Its not like she doesn’t give me my fair share of black eyes and hurt feelings.”
“I’m not sure if it’ll be the same with everyone knowing,” Ginny said, frowning.
“We should probably make it formal then. Go out with me would you, Weaslette?” The lightest of blushes graced his cheeks as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d said. Like he was hoping to whatever subterranean deity he sacrificed things too that he hadn’t misjudged the situation.
“What?” The astonishment in her face was enough to pacify her brother, who sat back in satisfaction.
“Go out with me,” he tone was challenging, mocking even. But he was serious. "Go out with me this weekend at Hogsmeade."
“What possible reason can you give me to trick me in to such a thing?”
With little hesitation, Malfoy had a knee on the table, leaning over its entire width to seize Ginny by the back of her head, kissing her.
Ginny’s hands remained in her lap, her back straight, her head fairly level. But she didn’t push him away. From the look of things, she was kissing him back too. He was taking his life into his hands with this seductive gesture - Ginny was sitting next to her brother, and Malfoy was performing this perceived violation inches from Ron’s face. When Ginny gave a small satisfied sigh, the shock wore off. With and almighty roar, he shoved the Slytherin, sending him sprawling several yards away.
Malfoy got up, grinning. “Alright?” he said to Ginny.
Sighing in resignation, she nodded. “I suppose. Alright.” He winked at her, brushing himself off before turning on his tail and running. “If you’re going to chase him and beat him to a pulp, you’d better catch him before he hits his stride,” she told Ron mildly.
With a strangled howl of rage and confusion Ron took off, Harry on his heals. “And don’t hurt him too badly!” Ginny called after them. “I’m not done with him yet.”
The End.
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This story is a favorite of 28 members. Members who liked Blizzards and Kisses also liked 1470 other stories.
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