Two months.

It had been two months, and though he did his best to distract himself, the withdrawal ate away at the corners of his vision. He craved it, dreamt of it, longed for it – and forever restrained himself. For two whole months, he had done so, and now, with just four weeks left until the summer ended and he was back in town (where he could finally, finally just give in to the urge) – now, he had to be faced with such ferocious temptation.

Draco swallowed hard, trying to disperse the saliva that had instantly rushed into his mouth upon that sweet smell reaching his nose. Curses echoed in his head, and he tried in vain to hold himself back, even as his hand lifted slowly, pulling the loose wooden slat to the side.

Cheese. Great wheels of it, stacked upon each other high up shelves, extending into the musty gloom farther than the eye could reach. Smelling so delectable, just sitting there, completely unguarded, right in front of him.

Draco swallowed again.

This hadn’t been his fault, really – he had been doing so well, having managed two whole months cold turkey, despite walking past this building every day on his way to the stables. There wasn’t quite enough demand for cheese for more than one worker to be necessary to make it, and Draco could quite easily have bribed or threatened that one person until he got his way, if he had so chosen. He hadn’t, though, because despite the almost overpowering need for more cheese brought on by his ‘detox’, Draco’s pride was far stronger. He would never be able to suffer knowing that one of the mere town peasants knew his secret. And anyway, who could trust them? It would be public knowledge by the next morning, the latest town joke.

So Draco had resisted the urge, and it had even begun to slacken lately – only to rush back in full force when, following a dropped apple off the road and just around the corner of the building, he discovered a loose slat in the wall. If he just pulled the board aside, Draco would be able to crawl through, straight into the cheese stocks.

Allow us to take a moment to consider before we condemn the young lad for his next actions. Though he greatly respected his family and of course the family name, and was the heir to all of Malfoy Farms, Draco did not as yet understand much of the business side of things. His parents were indulgent and far from ill; it would be a while before any inheriting would actually occur, so why not allow the boy to enjoy his formative years without burdening him with business? Due to this sort of reasoning and his own blatant (if somewhat reasonably founded, given his experience as the master of all he surveyed) assumptions that everything went exactly as he wished all the time, Draco was unaware of the consequences that the poor worker in charge of cheese would suffer, should any be discovered missing.

Not, of course, that he would care if he did. I believe it has already been established that Draco was a gigantic prat and was more than willing to let someone else take the fall for him. But in the interest of not condemning him, the reader might choose to say that he had been spoiled so thoroughly in his lifetime that such behaviour was only expected, and all the fault of the parents. Of course, this would bring the whole debate straight down to a nature versus nurture level, and while such a debate would doubtless be scintillating, it is hardly related to the outcome of this story. Thus, if they prefer not to delve into philosophy, readers may find it in their best interest to simply ignore all this prattle and continue reading for the action ahead.

Draco pushed the slat aside and wriggled through until he was standing in the dim storeroom, apple forgotten in the dirt outside. For long minutes, he merely stood there, breathing in the air and already tasting the delicious dairy product on his tongue.

The moment his eyes adjusted enough to avoid bumping into anything, the delighted boy began to walk quietly through the one-room building, passing several shelves until he reached the front, where cheese was actually made. He hid behind a shelf as he cautiously glanced around, but the building seemed completely deserted, and his eyes soon turned to the object of his desire. Among the various half-completed cheeses around the room, there was a decent-sized piece on the table, just waiting for him to eat it (while cheddar was far more simple fare than he was used to, it was cheese and Draco was feeling a bit too deprived to be picky).

So Draco did as the cheese asked, with many a muffled moan and much licking of fingers.

Self-restraint had never been his forte.

~*~*~*~*~

Ginny grumbled under her breath as she hauled a freshly-filled bucket of milk up the path. Though she didn’t often have to milk the cows herself, sometimes it was necessary if she wanted to fulfill her quota, and she always hated the task. Not to mention, the milk was heavy and she did not enjoy having to carry it all the way up here.

Especially when, upon arriving at the door of the cheese building, she heard strange noises very much akin to one engaging in intercourse, drifting out through the slightly open door.

Face turning scarlet immediately, Ginny did not hesitate to kick the door fully open as hard as she could, stomping inside and plunking the bucket down at her feet. Milk spilled onto her boots as she crossed her arms and glared into the shadows, searching for the culprits even as her eyes adjusted, ranting all the while.

“Come out here, you perverts! Who the hell does that in the cheese building for Chrissakes, and in the middle of the bloody afternoon! There’s plenty of fields out there if you’re so freaking desperate, but I work in here every day and I won’t tolerate knowing a pair of rowdy idiots are using my workplace as their little love nest –”

Ginny cut herself short as quickly as she’d begun, as her eyes finally focused on the figure across the room. Draco Malfoy stood there, alone, a piece of cheese clutched in his hands, his mouth full, and eyes wide.

Ginny blinked. “Erm. Draco… Malfoy?”

He unfroze at his name, a pale blush coloring his cheeks as he quickly swallowed what Ginny could only presume to be a bite of the cheese he held. The cheese that had, apparently, been the inspiration for those pornographic moans and groans from a moment ago. The cheese that she had spent far too long making, and would now have to replace. The cheese, which's absence she would have to explain to her boss.

“What the hell are you doing to that?” Ginny cried, storming forward and snatching the cheese from Draco’s unresisting hands. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to make that, you pillock?”

At this, the previously silent heir finally responded, albeit in a rather un-original manner. “What did you just call me?”

Ginny froze. Hate him she might, but he did hold her job security right in those annoyingly unblemished hands of his. However, he was insufferable, and he was stealing from his own stores. Surely she was right to attack such behaviour?

A further moment of reflection, and Ginny decided she didn’t care if she wasn’t being exactly prudent. It would be worth losing her job to finally put this conceited ass in his place.

“I called you,” she therefore said, glaring ferociously forward, “a pillock. Perhaps you’re not familiar with the term; it means dolt, dullard, dunce, simpleton, or if you prefer the simplest version (or, of course, if you can’t understand any of the others, either) – idiot. Who else but an idiot would sneak into the cheese building and steal from it, in the middle of the afternoon?”

Draco had by this time recovered enough poise to be shocked. This girl was sassing him – when she knew very well who he was. He began to wonder if such a twit would actually expect to get away with such behaviour. And she called him an idiot.

Safe in the knowledge that he was dealing with an insane person (whose tales of the Malfoy heir would never be believed), Draco decided to have a bit of fun. “Perhaps you would find it less offending should I come in the dead of night?”

Ginny, much to his surprise, smiled. Equally surprising – or perhaps alarming was the word – to him was the way her eyes glinted evilly. “No, I think not. I’ve been wanting a chance to tell you what I think of you for a long time.”

Draco noted her extreme malevolence with an added dose of mild surprise. He then yawned pointedly and surreptitiously eyed the cheddar still in Ginny’s hand.

Ginny flushed slightly at his scorn, and glared all the harder at him. “What?”

Draco shook his head. “Nothing. I simply find you incredibly boring. Do go on, I’m in need of a nap.”

“Why, you spoiled little – ”

“Look, erm, milkmaid, I have absolutely no interest in whatever it is you wish to say to me. Why don’t you just go… do whatever it is you do, and leave me alone?” He smirked infuriatingly (quite enjoying riling up the naïve chit), and Ginny clenched her fists. “After all, we both know there isn’t anything you can do to me.”

Draco’s smirk faltered almost imperceptibly, and he jumped slightly as Ginny abruptly slammed the cheese down on the table next to him. “Look, you idiot!” she snapped. “My name is Ginny Weasley, not 'milkmaid', and I am not another one of your cowardly peons, too afraid of losing their jobs to stand up for their own basic rights or pride! I hate you, you pompous dumbass, and if you think you can just bully your way out of trouble like always, you are wrong! There is nothing you can do that will make me let you waltz out of here, stealing the cheese I made, that I’m getting paid for – especially when you could buy all you wanted in the first place! What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?”

By the time she finished ranting, her face was right up in his. Her chest was heaving from the effort of so forcibly expelling so many words, and her cheeks were red for the same reason. Draco observed all this in silence, startled (again) by her vehemence and spirit. But not really startled enough to do anything about it. This girl was all worked up, but behind his surprise and slight embarrassment, Draco was quite calm. Ginny Weasley was, oddly enough, more interesting than aggravating. Perhaps it was because, as she had just pointed out, she did not bow to his whim. Perhaps it was simply the fact that, with her breath coming hard and fast, face so close to his, a single strand of vermilion-bright hair dangling free from the bun on the back of her head, Ginny Weasley the milkmaid was a stunningly beautiful young girl. Whichever, both – it didn’t matter. Draco didn’t care enough about this encounter to invest any real effort in it. Except for, perhaps, infuriating her beyond her boiling point, simply for the laughs.

The large chunk of cheddar, he suddenly noticed, was still clutched in her left hand, her fingernails squeezing into the rind in her fury. A small piece of cheese flaked free and fell to the floor as Draco watched.

Something must be done, and quickly.

“Well then, Ginny,” Draco smirked, tilting his head closer towards her own. Previously angled angrily up at him, the girl’s face shifted back in tandem with his forward movements. A flicker of nervousness crossed her face, and Draco barely paused to consider that perhaps the grin slowly stretching his lips was more than a bit evil.

His eyes darted from Ginny’s face to the helpless cheese, and back. Her lips were full and red, her complexion creamy save for the spread of freckles across her nose, lending her a youthful, innocent look. Coupled with her scowl, anyone not the object of her fury might have called it cute.

“What, exactly,” Draco asked in a silky voice, lips mere centimeters from her own, “Do you propose I do? Is there any way I can… make it up to you?”

Eyes that had (quite against the will of their owner) been slowly drifting shut snapped open. They blinked – once, twice – and then a slow smile curved freckled cheeks. Suddenly, Draco felt his role of power snatched away from him again, and though he of course resented a pleb being the one to do so, he had already come to expect it in the course of their short acquaintance.

Ginny angled her head just slightly to the left – noses no longer in risk of bumping, Draco noted (her grip on the cheddar: loosening), her tongue flicking out to slide across lips, moistening them in preparation. Preparation for the inevitable act to follow, that slow lean forward, centimeters shortening to millimeters, micrometers… Draco himself began to feel oddly affected.

At least, the boy supposed that this was what it felt like. Kissing had never done too much for him in the past, to be honest. It didn’t stretch his mind. It didn’t offer any new insight into the person you were interacting with. And of course, it lacked even the basic physical pleasure inherent in a simple slice of cheddar cheese, such as the one held in Ginny’s hand, the hand she was slowly lifting up in the air. No, kissing had never done much for Draco in the past, but although their mouths had not even connected yet, his lips already tingled, as if hers held some sort of static electricity, ready to jolt him into –

Draco’s thought process halted abruptly. Buzzing filled his head, his fingers clenched at his sides, and his mouth could do nothing but react to instinct: “What the hell are you doing, milkmaid, that’s mine!”

Ginny chewed slowly, humming slightly; a crumb stuck to the corner of her lip. Draco couldn’t even bring himself to care that he had sunk to vulgar profanities (terribly uncouth of him). He was far too focused on the little minx that had actually just eaten his cheese.

“Mmph,” she mumbled as though his outburst had not happened, still chewing luxuriously. Draco scowled. “Actually, I ca- umh, just a sec – I can think of something.”

And somehow, without quite understanding the mechanics behind it – brain still stuck at that simultaneously perplexing, disgusting, and oddly alluring image of Ginny the milkmaid using a finger to remove cheese from behind her teeth – Draco was recruited.

~*~*~*~*~

“No, no,” She was saying half an hour later, “You want to start at the top, and then squeeze down. Push it out.”

“This,” Draco replied with great dignity, “Is disgusting.”

“This,” She quickly countered, “is just the first step for making that cheese you seem to love so much, and your atonement for making me spill the milk I already got.”

“Not all of it,” Draco muttered under his breath, concentrating on the hard teat beneath his fingers and the mystery of how exactly he had begun to do what this girl told him.

“Fine,” Ginny growled, and glared at him from the next cow over. “Think of it as payment for the cheese you stole.”

“Oh yes, because I was the one to finish it off.”

“Hey – I was hungry, and – and it’s your fault for eating some of it in the first place!”

“Hardly. I own this place; I merely availed myself of my legal property – and was assaulted as a result – ”

“Hey, you don’t own this place yet. And what are you talking about, ‘assaulted’? I never touched you!”

“Yes, I noticed,” Draco couldn’t help but mutter, scowling down at the pitiful amount of milk in his pail. Quite aside from his distaste at being forced to sully himself performing such a task, it irked the boy that he wasn’t any good at it; Ginny’s pail was almost halfway full, whereas his was barely approaching the quarter-mark. “As for my legal status: while technically you speak the truth, I wield the same effective power of either of my parents around here, so perhaps it will do you some good to listen to your boss and shut up!”

The cow lowed in protest as Draco squeezed a bit too hard, eyes slitting in frustration. Ginny paused in her own chore, blinking at him. She opened her mouth to protest – then closed it, slowly, choosing to stand instead.

Draco tensed when she squatted down next to him, fingers gently wrapping about his own. Without severing their eye contact, Ginny arranged his fingers in the proper position, and slowly led him through the movement of squeezing milk out of an udder.

Her fingers were warm and slightly rough over his, the udder half-hard under them, her eyes cinnamon and intense. “Now relax,” she said softly, and his fingers did so, under her command rather than his own. A slow, warm feeling fluttered in his stomach, a delicate contentment spreading outwards.

Gorgonzola, he thought, and a smile touched his mouth, lifting one side.

It is impossible to guess what Ginny herself was thinking in that moment before she stood and moved away (though it is safe to guess that it was not an Italian blue cheese often used in risotto), but it has been confirmed that she smiled, too.

~*~*~*~*~

Pardon, fair reader, and allow us insert another comment from the author. This story is not a full recital, merely a recollection of a particular moment in a particular place and time, in which a story was changed. All we focus on tonight is these two in this particular time and place, nothing more. So do not be disappointed if the actions above seem subtle. As some speculate in chaos theory, a single flap of a butterfly’s wings in Bengal can set off a tornado in Texas.

Draco enjoyed a challenge, clever boy that he was (and milking a cow certainly qualified). He enjoyed pretty girls (suddenly, kissing seemed like a pleasant occupation as well), and he most certainly enjoyed cheese (eating it, usually; although making it with Ginny, while difficult and messy and frustrating, also felt rewarding somehow). And when confronted with all of these three things arrayed so nicely before him, well – he retreated in terror as swiftly as possible.

Of course, any romance reader can imagine that this did nothing to save the poor boy from the wicked poltergeist that Ginny’s expressive eyes had become, taunting and haunting him. Anyone can guess the sort of emotional turbulence he went through, as a single moment changed his entire life – so I won’t bother to go into that. Perhaps it happened like that, and perhaps it did not; perhaps he simply decided he wanted another nibble of cheese, or another lesson on how to make some for himself. Narrator I may be, but not quite an omniscient one. Motivations are merely guesswork.

Let it simply be said, then, that by the end of summer, a certain young heir found himself proud owner of several self-made cheeses, instruction courtesy of a strange milkmaid that seemed to have a fondness for insulting him.

And, if a humble author may speculate, she knew what she was teaching him, judging by the several young Malfoys that have made it their duty to single-handedly exhaust all the resources of any cows within a fifteen-mile radius of their home, with the enthusiastic help of their father, and rather disapproving bemusement of their mother.