Draco resisted the urge to throw himself to the ground as he reached the bench where Pansy waited for him, stretching one leg out in front of her. His chest was heaving, his legs were burning, and his whole body was shaking, though whether from the cold or the exertion, he had no idea. “Bloody hell,” he moaned, coming to a staggering halt. He bent over, his hands on his knees, wondering if he was going to vomit.
Pansy smiled, straightening from her stretch. “See? I told you could do it! Two miles, on your first try!”
“You—actually—do this—for fun?” Draco panted, reaching a hand out to steady himself on the bench.
“I’m surprised you’re so winded,” Pansy said dryly. “You were quite athletic back in school. You’ve been getting flabby, Draco. Don’t you at least play Quidditch anymore? Maybe you should find a local league somewhere.”
Draco managed to lift his head, barely, just enough to send her a glare. “I am not flabby!”
Pansy stretched an arm back behind her head, looking him over critically. “Could’ve fooled me.” She most definitely was not flabby; in fact, she was looking fitter than ever, Draco noticed, in her black running tights and bright pink track jacket. It was all the running, he supposed. It was too bad that he didn’t look at Pansy in that way anymore, or he might’ve asked her out.
“Anyway, running is fun,” Pansy said loftily. “Just ask Ginny.”
Draco’s heart stuttered a little in his chest then, and it wasn’t because of the exertion. He snatched up Pansy’s water bottle from the bench and scowled, turning his back on her as he chugged down the ice cold water.
“Oh, dear.” Pansy’s tone was mild, but Draco recognized the snide edge beneath it. “Have I touched a nerve?”
Draco grunted. He’d told himself, quite firmly, that he really didn’t care what Ginny was up to these days. But more than a month had passed since the last time he’d seen her, and he found he was ridiculously eager for any piece of news of her. Like he was dying of thirst, and any word of Ginny was as good as a single drop of water, the only thing that could save him.
He silently chided himself for being so melodramatic. Striving for a casual tone, he said, “So, uh…when was the last time you saw her, then? Ginny.”
“A few days ago,” Pansy said dismissively. “Why?”
Draco scowled. “No reason.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“You know perfectly well when,” Draco growled.
Pansy shook her head. The look in her dark eyes was half-exasperated, half-pitying. “You could just apologize, you know. Well, it might be better if you got down on your hands and knees and apologized, considering the way you treated her—”
“Look, I wasn’t exactly in the best mood then, all right?” Draco snapped irritably.
Pansy smirked. She flicked her towel at him as they started down the street, out of the park and back onto the high street. “That’s not what Michael Corner told me.”
“I meant in the morning,” Draco said sourly. He frowned, rubbing at the back of his thigh. Merlin, he’d probably pulled a muscle. “After all…that.”
“By ‘all that,’ do you mean when you got completely wasted and started taking your clothes off with Ernie Macmillan?”
“There were other people playing too,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “And I did not take off nearly as much clothes as Macmillan did. Even pissed, I have more of a sense of decency than that tosser.”
Pansy giggled. “Ooh, I wish I had been there. I’ve been trying to find out if anyone took pictures, but no luck yet.” She sighed, getting a hold of herself. “Anyway. Look, Draco, I get that you were tired and hungover, but that’s no excuse for what you said to Ginny that morning. Especially if it wasn’t true.”
“Who said it wasn’t true?” Draco barked.
“Well, I hardly think you’d be mooning over her all this time later if it was,” Pansy said dryly. She paused as they passed a smoothie shop on the street, then motioned for him to follow her inside. Annoyed, Draco did so.
“Look, it’s too late, all right?” Draco frowned and leaned against the counter as Pansy ordered a strawberry banana smoothie. “It’s been more than a month since then, and anyway…I…” He ran a hand over his sweaty hair.
Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You what?”
“I don’t see what I could do to make her forgive me,” he said in a rush. He flinched as soon as he’d said it, unwilling to believe that he’d just admitted that out loud. He didn’t say the rest of it, though. What he was really afraid of. Not just that Ginny might not be able to forgive him, but that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted her to. He did feel badly for the things he’d said—he hated the idea that he’d hurt her. Especially after she’d been there for him, at Christmas, when no one else was.
But he was afraid of what might happen if she did forgive him. Of what that might mean. For the both of them. After all, wasn’t that why he’d said those things to begin with? To push her away?
“Look, Draco.” Pansy accepted her smoothie from the barrista and fixed him with a knowing gaze. “You have to talk to her. That’s all it comes down to. You have to talk to her, and tell her you’re sorry.” She paused. “Though an extra gesture wouldn’t hurt.”
Draco peered at her suspiciously. “What do you mean, an extra gesture?”
Pansy shrugged. “Well, Valentine’s Day is coming up. Do something romantic.”
“Something romantic?” Draco groaned. “Like what, for Merlin’s sake? The only thing I know about Ginny Weasley and Valentine’s Day is that she sent Potter some stupid love poem once. But given she was eleven years old at the time, I doubt she’s still into that kind of thing. I mean, does Ginny strike you as the mushy-gushy, romantic type?”
“I don’t know,” Pansy mused. “You’d be surprised. A lot of girls who aren’t necessarily into that sort of thing can get sentimental around Valentine’s Day. I might have a few ideas for you.” She paused. “A gift couldn’t hurt, either.”
Ginny let out a long sigh as she unlocked the door to her flat and stepped inside. She felt as though she’d had a long day at work, even though she’d left early, and it wasn’t yet four o’clock. Still, it had been a long day, given that it was a Monday and also, Valentine’s Day.
She had completely forgotten about Valentine’s Day until she arrived in Diagon Alley this morning and was met by pink frippery, flowers, hearts, and candy in every window of every shop. Horrified and dismayed, she’d quickly disappeared into her office and hadn’t left all day, not even for her break or her lunch.
Ginny hadn’t really been much for Valentine’s Day in recent years. Ever since her sixth year at Hogwarts, ever since the hellish year. The three years previous to that, she’d had really nice Valentine’s Days, the first two with Michael Corner and the third with Dean.
But sixth year, she spent Valentine’s Day huddled in her dormitory, trying to forget the events of the previous day—what had possibly been one of the worst days of her life. Ever since then, she couldn’t seem to summon the enthusiasm she’d had for the holiday. She tried to ignore it, as best as possible. Which was only too easy to do this year, since it was the first year since sixth year that she didn’t have a date.
She intended to spend the rest of her day thoroughly pampering herself, first with a long, hot bubble bath, followed by a big pasta dinner and a glass of wine. But when she entered her small flat, she was met by a long, thin gift box sitting on her bed.
Ginny frowned, approaching the box warily, as though it might contain something dangerous and explosive. She had received such gifts from her brothers before, so it wasn’t a totally paranoid reaction. Still, she thought, it wasn’t likely that her brothers would send her a package wrapped all in pink, with a huge, red bow wrapped around it.
Ginny picked up the package—a bit awkwardly, given its size and length—and looked for a card, but there was none. Her curiosity finally overcame her caution, and she sat down on her bed, pulled the package across her lap, and tore the paper off.
The long box beneath the paper read Quality Quidditch Supplies.
Ginny’s eyes widened. “It can’t be,” she whispered. Furiously, she pulled at the packaging tape on the box and yanked it open.
It was the Nimbus 2010. The Nimbus 2010. Ginny gaped, making a rather weird, shrill, undignified sound in her throat, something halfway between a whimper and a shriek. She lay the open box flat out on her bed as she slipped onto the floor, kneeling, gazing at the broomstick reverently. She was almost afraid to touch it. Her hands hovered over it, her fingers twitching as she took in every inch of it—the golden-brown handle, the bronze-gilded foot grips and, written across the handle in silver lettering, the name Nimbus 2010.
When she finally got a grip on herself and lifted the broomstick out of the box, barely containing a girlish squeal, a small scrap of parchment floated out from the box. Ginny very carefully set the broomstick on her bed, as though it were a baby, and bent to pick up the parchment. It was the card she’d been looking for earlier, on the outside of the package. It read:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I hope that you like
The gift of this broom
Happy Valentine’s Day,
Draco
Ginny stared at the note, nonplussed. “What the fuck is this,” she said dumbly. “That doesn’t even rhyme!” Her eyes widened as she got past the ridiculousness of the poem and realized what she was looking at. This note was from Draco. The broomstick was from Draco. Draco Malfoy had bought her a broomstick worth hundreds of Galleons. For Valentine’s Day.
Perhaps she should have been touched by this sentiment. Perhaps, in spite of the horrid way he had treated her at New Year’s, she should have been moved that he had made such a gesture, obviously to try and make things up with her. But as she stared at the note in her hand and read the dumb poem over and over again, Ginny felt her ire rising. Who did he think he was, to think he could just buy her forgiveness? A broomstick and a stupid note, and that was all? Furious, Ginny marched over to her fireplace. After starting a fire in the grate with her wand, she took a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the flames, and shouted, “Malfoy Manor!”
When the familiar drawing room came into view, there was no one there. “Malfoy!” Ginny hollered. “Malfoy, are you there? Get over here this instant, you heartless git! I want a word!” She waited impatiently for a second or two, then tried again. “Oi! I know you’re there, you stupid prick! I got your stupid gift and if you don’t get over here right this instant, I’m going to—”
“Excuse me?” a refined, female voice said in answer. “You’re going to what?” The voice was followed by the form of a blond, elegant woman who stepped into view through the fireplace. Ginny recognized her.
It was Narcissa Malfoy. Draco’s mother.
Ginny swallowed, mortified. Her cheeks were burning. After spending that time with Malfoy at his manor over Christmas, she’d practically forgotten that his mother lived there too, when she wasn’t on holiday. “Oh, erm, hello, Mrs.—Mrs. Malfoy,” Ginny said faintly.
“Who are you?” Narcissa asked coldly. “And what do you want?”
“Well, erm.” Ginny cleared her throat. “My name is Ginny Weasley and, I, er, wanted a word. With Malf—with Draco, I mean. He, er, sent me a Valentine’s gift and I wanted to…thank him,” she ended lamely.
Narcissa eyed her impassively. Ginny could not say at all what the woman was thinking, though she did note a hitch in the woman’s eyebrow, perhaps the slightest hint that she was surprised. Draco made the same expression, sometimes, when he was surprised. “You wanted to thank him,” Narcissa echoed. “I see. Is that why you were calling him a heartless git and—what was it—a stupid prick?”
“Oh, well…” Ginny’s face was so hot, she was sure it was going to burn right off. She placed one hand on her cheek to make sure it hadn’t caught fire. “Well, I mean, I…just wanted to…talk to him. About it. About the gift, I mean.”
“So I gathered,” Narcissa said curtly. “He’s not here. Shall I have him contact you when he gets home?”
Wishing she could sink into the carpet, Ginny said weakly, “Erm, yes. Please. Thank you.” She glanced back at the broomstick on her bed. “I think he has my address.”
She had never been more grateful to end a conversation when the manor winked out of sight and the green flames in her fireplace died down.
She was too riled up to take her bath, so she went ahead and fixed her pasta dinner, even though it was a bit early. She downed a glass of wine while she cooked, and had just poured herself a second one to accompany her dinner when her fireplace burst into life behind her. She came out of the small kitchen, her plate of pasta and wine glass in hand, just as Draco Malfoy stepped out of the fireplace and into her flat, brushing ash off his robes. He took one look at Ginny and said, “Really, Weasley, I’m sure you’re grateful for the gift, but you didn’t have to fix me dinner.”
Ginny resisted the urge to throw the plate and wineglass at him and said, “What the hell are you doing here?” She was rather proud at how calm and controlled her voice came out.
Draco frowned. “My mother said you wanted to see me.”
“I wanted you to Floo me,” Ginny said through gritted teeth. She put her drink and her dinner aside on the table. “I didn’t want you to come here.”
Draco took a few steps towards her. “But I was going to come here anyway,” he said in a low voice, “to see if you liked my gift.”
Ginny rounded on him. “Liked it? Liked it? What do you think, you idiot? You think you can buy my forgiveness? You think you can say the awful things you said to me on New Year’s, and then just waltz back into my life six weeks later with a stupid broomstick, just like that?”
Draco looked from her to the broomstick, his expression mild. “So you didn’t like it,” he surmised. “Perhaps I should just return it.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Ginny said hastily, stepping between him and the broomstick as though he were some fiend, come to kidnap her puppy.
Draco smirked. “That’s what I thought.”
Ginny sighed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Look, of course I liked it. It’s the best broomstick on the market right now, and it’s just about the best present I could have received, since I plan on going out for the Harpies in the spring. But of course, I’m sure you knew that, didn’t you,” she accused. “Been talking to Pansy, lately?”
Draco coughed. “She might’ve said something.” Then he frowned. “But it wasn’t all her. I know you, Ginny. I know enough about you to know you were going to like the gift.”
“If you knew I was going to like it,” Ginny said sarcastically, “then why come to ask if I like it?”
“Because that’s not the real reason I came.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and dropped his gaze. “And you know it.”
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. He cut a very nice figure in his dark blue robes and black slacks. He’d grown his hair out a bit since she’d seen him last; it was just on the verge of being too long, a stray strand falling in front of his eyes when he bent his head. She remembered the feel of his hair, soft and smooth, brushing her fingertips as he’d kissed her, with her hand on his face.
She took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her voice was not as steady as she would have liked. “Apparently, I don’t know much about you at all, Malfoy,” she said. “Not as much as I thought I did, anyway.”
“Look, I didn’t mean all that, all right?” he said, his tone petulant. He scowled, but his cheeks had gone a bit pink. “Not really. I was tired and hungover, and—I’m—sorry.” He practically choked on the words. He swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “That’s what I came to say. I’m sorry.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, daring a glance up at her.
“You didn’t mean any of it?” Ginny heard the faintly accusatory note in her voice, and did not try to moderate it. “Are you sure about that?”
Draco sighed, sounding a little exasperated. He marched across the room, coming to stand by her small table. “May I?” he asked politely, indicating one of the chairs.
Ginny shrugged a shoulder in assent.
He shrugged out of his robe and hung it over the back of the chair before pulling it out to sit at the table. He glanced at her, as though waiting for her to sit too, but Ginny wasn’t going to sit with him. After a moment’s silence, he said bluntly, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wish I hadn’t. But I wasn’t lying when I said that anything I did for you, I did for myself. For my own selfish reasons.”
Ginny fiddled with the edges of her little cardigan, pulling it more tightly around her. “That night—you said you helped me because—” Her breath hitched in her throat. “You said when you saw me hurt… you hurt.”
Draco cleared his throat. “Also not a lie,” he said softly.
“Well, which is it, Malfoy?” Ginny demanded. “Both of those things can’t be true.”
“Of course they can,” he snapped back. “When I see you hurt, I hurt. If I helped you, it was only to make myself feel better, to stop my pain.”
Ginny shook her head, not really understanding. “That is so mixed up.”
Draco looked frustrated. “Look—let me start from the beginning, all right? Will you just—let me explain, let me tell it all, without interrupting? You’ve asked me why I helped you, and I want to explain, but—” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “There is no easy answer. All right?”
Ginny considered this. She bit her lip. She supposed it was only fair, because she had asked. There was a part of her that was a little afraid to hear the answer now, because it might hurt again, to hear his answer. But she nodded slowly. “All right.”
Draco inhaled deeply. “Do you know when I first began to notice you?” he asked. “I mean, really, really noticed you. When I first realized you had a name besides ‘the Weasley girl.’”
“No,” Ginny said flatly. “When?”
“Fifth year,” he said. “Fourth year, for you.”
“Let me guess,” Ginny said dryly, a little annoyed that it had taken him four years to learn her name. “When I cast the Bat-Bogey Hex on you in Umbridge’s office.”
“No, of course not.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Before that. When you beat out Cho Chang in the last Quidditch match of the season, and won Gryffindor the House Cup that year.”
Ginny stared at him. “You started noticing me when I beat Cho Chang?”
“Well, I guess I really started noticing you in the match before, when you beat Summerby, playing against Hufflepuff,” he conceded, “but I really noticed you after that match against Ravenclaw. It was supposed to be your stupid brother’s big loss, being the god-awful Keeper that he was—”
“This is you apologizing?” Ginny muttered under her breath.
“—and it was going to be glorious. Only you won the game, and then Gryffindor won the whole cup, again, even though Potter and your other brothers had been kicked off the team. It was all ruined,” he grumbled. “All because of you.”
Ginny goggled at him. “You were that upset about me catching the Snitch? Are you serious? Sweet Circe, what must your life be like, Malfoy?”
“Well, back then,” he said quietly, “it was rather nice and simple. So yeah, I noticed you then, and I was angry, and I learned your name just so I could focus on hating you personally. Every time I saw you, the whole rest of that year, I hated you. I hated your stupid red hair and your stupid freckle-face and your stupid laugh. And when you did cast that Bat-Bogey Hex on me, it just made me hate you ten times more.”
“Well, wonderful,” Ginny said angrily. “You hate me and everything about me. Good to know.”
“You said you’d let me tell it all,” Draco snapped, glaring.
Ginny sighed. “Go on, then.”
He glared at her once more, as though for good measure, and then sighed. “Anyway,” he said, “everything changed that summer.” He dropped his gaze and began fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. “Everything that had been nice and simple—well, it wasn’t nice and simple anymore. My dad went to prison—” His voice turned a little hoarse, and he cleared his throat “—and the Dark Lord started coming ‘round our house. And I—I took the Dark Mark and accepted a mission from him.” He said this all very quickly, and he stared at the table as he said it.
Ginny swallowed. “Right.” She knew all that, of course. It wasn’t news to her. But she still felt slightly stunned hearing it, at the reminder, of everything that had happened then, everything he had done.
“And I hated it,” he said bluntly. “For all that I bragged to everyone how great it was, that the Dark Lord had given me a chance… I just wanted things to go back to normal, Ginny. How things used to be, before—before my father went to prison. Before the Dark Lord returned. And… in the—I don’t know, the darkest moments that summer—when I was most scared or angry—I thought of you. I thought of how I hated you,” he added quickly. Then he sighed. “But…by the time I went back to school that year, it really wasn’t like that anymore. You had become… I thought of you when I afraid, or sad. You had become a sort of comfort to me, I guess.” He looked up at her, and for a moment, he looked like the vulnerable teenager he was describing. “Does that make sense?” he asked, a desperate catch to his voice.
Ginny nodded wordlessly, but the gesture felt mechnical, as though she didn’t really realize she was doing it. She felt numb inside, numb with shock. Truthfully, she had never thought much about Malfoy in school, not before her sixth year, anyway. So it was a shock to learn that he’d thought of her this way, that he’d thought of her so often, for months before she’d ever really thought much about him. And not just that he’d thought of her, but that she’d had such an impact on him, all without ever knowing it. It was difficult to process.
“Anyway.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, tousling it a little. “That only continued all through sixth year. I’d wake up in the morning, terrified, hardly having slept for nightmares. I’d wake up, and think that I couldn’t do it anymore. That I couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t go on trying to figure out how to get outsiders into the school. I didn’t even know how I could make it through the day.” He shrugged. “But then I’d see you, at breakfast, or in the hall, and… for a moment, I could forget about it all. For that moment, I could pretend it all wasn’t happening.”
Slowly, Ginny sank into the chair beside him. She felt so torn up, unsure how to feel about any of this. She couldn’t suppress a tiny prickle of…horror…at first. To think that she had helped Malfoy when he was trying to get Death Eaters into the school, even if she didn’t know it, even if it was only to make him feel better… Dumbledore had died because of what Malfoy had done that year; Bill had been scarred for life.
But she’d decided long ago not to hold that against him—had decided that, in fact, because of things Harry had told her, about Malfoy, that night. In the end, he hadn’t been able to kill Dumbledore, and he’d been terrified that his family would all be killed if he failed Voldemort.
So in the end… if the thought of her had helped him get through the day… she supposed there really had been no harm in it. She still could not quite fathom it, that the mere sight of her could have helped him. Feeling a little unsteady, she folded her hands tightly in her lap, afraid she might reach out and touch him otherwise.
“So when we came back seventh year, when the Dark Lord was in charge… that first time.” He met Ginny’s gaze, and she knew exactly what he meant by that first time. His eyes smoldered with anger. “When I came by Crabbe using the Cruciatus Curse on you in the corridor, for no reason… just because he thought it was funny…” He clenched his jaw, an ugly expression on his face. “Ginny, I can’t describe to you what I felt when I saw you in pain like that. I remember feeling so horrified that you weren’t screaming, I couldn’t understand why you weren’t screaming—”
Ginny closed her eyes, trying not to recall the pain. It had been more than she thought she could endure, but her determination not to scream had been all that had fueled her, all that had kept her alive, it felt like. She opened her eyes then and said, “So you stopped him.” She swallowed. “I remember I wasn’t sure if you really meant to. You said you were just impatient to get to Hogsmeade, but I was just the slightest bit suspicious—because of the way you looked at me.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know for sure until the second time. When Vaisey turned me in for setting that suit of armor on Carrow, and Snape called you in…” She trailed off, thinking back on it. Draco had been there; he’d seen it all. He knew she’d done it, and she knew he knew. “But when Snape asked you if it was me… you lied.”
“There’d been talk about getting rid of you.” Draco flexed and unflexed his fingers. “Having you expelled, and who even knows what that would have meant, that year… I knew it couldn’t be good. But more importantly, Ginny…” He shook his head. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving. Of you not being there.” His voice hitched. “You were still the only thing that made me feel anything good at all. I didn’t want you to leave.”
Ginny nodded slowly, beginning to understand. This was why he said he’d done it for himself, for selfish reasons. Because in his mind, he’d done it all so that he could keep her, so that he wouldn’t lose the one thing that had kept him going. Maybe that idea should have repelled Ginny, but strangely, it had the opposite effect. She felt a rush of sympathy for him, coupled with the gratitude she’d never been able to explain, yet never could quite bury, either. How could she hold any of his reasons against him, when she considered what he’d done for her?
“So of course I hid you when you snuck out that night and tried to come talk to me,” Draco went on, his tone a little bitter, “so the Carrows wouldn’t catch you out of your dormitory at night. And then—” He broke off, his eyes darting to her for half a second before he dropped his gaze awkwardly. “Well, then—you know.”
“The last time,” Ginny said softly. “When Harper and Vaisey cornered me and dragged me into that empty classroom.”
Draco drew a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he said, and she could hear suppressed anger in his voice. “Yeah, that.”
“It’s all right,” Ginny said. She was a little surprised how calm and steady her voice was. She hadn’t ever talked about this with anyone, told anyone. “You can talk about it. Nothing happened, anyway. Thanks to you.” She did reach out now, and laid her hand over his. “They didn’t hurt me.”
Draco made a disparaging noise, low in his throat. “You arm was all bruised up—”
“Please.” Ginny shook her head. “You know a few bruises are nothing compared to what they would have done to me. What they wanted to do to me.” She dropped her hand and sat back a little, watching him. “Malfoy…you can say all you want that you rescued me for your own selfish reasons. And I have been curious, I have been wanting to know why—in fact, it’s been driving me crazy. All this time. But in the end…it doesn’t really matter. I don’t care why. All I care about is that you did rescue me. That last time, you rescued me from something really, really horrible.”
“Because I would have killed those filthy pigs, Ginny!” He lurched to his feet so suddenly and violently that he knocked over his chair. “Because you were mine, my one thing, my one person. The only person at that whole school I cared anything about. And if they’d done what they meant to do, I would have killed them! That’s why I did it, okay? All of it, every time. It was only because I couldn’t bear it if you were gone, if you were hurt, if you were broken. But I’m not some bloody white knight in shining armor, and I never will be!”
Ginny rose too, anger sparking within her. “Do you really think that’s what I want, Draco? If I wanted a hero, if I needed a knight in shining armor, I would have stuck with Harry! But I didn’t, because I don’t want that, and I certainly don’t need it.”
“Right.” Draco laughed hollowly, but he looked at her with an appreciative gleam in his eye. “No, you don’t. Because you’ve always got everything handled, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Ginny felt the hint of a smile twitching at her lips, and she ducked her head sheepishly for a moment. “Yes, I do.” She raised her head as she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She reached up and took the collar of his shirt in her hands, in a gesture of reassurance. “That’s why I don’t need a hero, Draco. I just need…” She shrugged a shoulder. “Someone to get me out of trouble, now and then.”
He gazed down at her, his expression a little disbelieving. “And you want that person to be me?” he asked, his voice deep in his throat.
“Sure.” Ginny smiled. “You’ve done a pretty good job of it the past couple of years. So why not you?” Her grip on his collar tightened. “Unless you think you’re not up to the task.” She said this lightly, but she felt the true weight of it, as it hung in the air between them, this request, this challenge. The seconds that passed then felt like eons, and Ginny forced herself to keep her gaze locked on his, waiting for his response.
Uncertainty filled Draco’s gray eyes, uncertainty and doubt. But then he swallowed, and breathed in deeply, and slowly, painstakingly, the doubt faded into resolve. “Oh,” he said, and he also seemed to be striving for a light tone, “I think I’m up to it. I am a Malfoy, after all.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “How could I forget?”
Draco placed his hands on her arms tentatively, as though he were afraid she would break away. But she stood fast, her hands slipping up from his collar and around the back of his neck, where she interlaced her fingers, locking him within the circle of her arms.
“Ginny,” Draco said, “I am sorry. I never wanted to be the one that hurt you.”
“I know,” she whispered. “It’s all right. I forgive you.” Her grip around him tightened, and she narrowed her eyes. “But do it again, you tosser, and I’ll kick you to the curb.”
A familiar smirk came across his face. “Noted.” He bent his head, resting his forehead against hers. “I didn’t only come here to apologize, you know,” he said, with a mischievous tone in his voice. “I came to ask you something else as well.”
“You already asked if I liked your gift,” she reminded him.
“Consider this a follow-up question, then.” His hands slid down her arms, until they came to rest low on her waist. “Will you be my Valentine, Ginny Weasley?”
Ginny tried to suppress the ridiculous delight she took in hearing this from him. “I can’t,” Ginny protested, her voice teasing. “I’m determined to stay in for Valentine’s Day, you see.”
His hands found their way beneath her cardigan, and she could feel the heat of his touch through her thin camisole. Slowly, he ran his hands up her back. “Staying in sounds perfect to me,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Especially since you already made dinner and all. Can we have dessert first, though?”
Ginny felt a warm thrill run through her, and she leaned in, pressing herself up against him. “Draco Malfoy,” she said, her words little more than a whisper, “that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.”
Draco grinned devilishly in response, and hoisted her up into his arms. Then he kissed her fiercely, as though he had hungered for another kiss from her all these weeks, as Ginny had hungered for him. And as he carried her back to her bed, Ginny thought, with some satisfaction, that it turned out, for the fourth year in a row, that she did have a date this Valentine’s Day after all.
Author notes: Here is the original prompt for this fic:
ORIGINAL REQUEST
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic:
I would love to get a holiday type fic. It spans Christmas and New Years (maybe even Valentine's) where Ginny and Draco connect. Ginny is newly single, and doesn't want to go to the Burrow for the Holidays because Harry will be there, so she's a bit miserable, but moving on.
The tone/mood of the fic: A bit angsty in the beginning, but I want it to end with hope.
An element/line of dialogue/object you would specifically like in your fic: "Behind the power, the money, and the prestige, he's just lonely. We all are." Also I would love an appearance by Pansy as Ginny's best friend.
Preferred rating of the fic you want: Any, just don’t let smut overtake the plot.
Canon or AU? Canon, minus epilogue.
Deal Breakers (anything you don't want?): Rape
The End.
Jaden Malfoy is the author of 3 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 24 members. Members who liked Rescue Me also liked 709 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 24 members. Members who liked Rescue Me also liked 709 other stories.
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