Ginny sat up in bed, a scream idling at the top of her throat like a timid skier hesitating at the peak of an advanced slope. Instead of releasing the scream, a sigh fell out instead as a rush of relief warmed her body.
A dream. It had all been a dream. Harry showing up at the cabin, Ginny sending him away, the snogging she’d initiated with Malfoy… all a wonderful, horrific, non-realistic dream.
Ginny would never choose to spend her Christmas with Draco Malfoy, surely. Especially not if Harry had traveled all this way to ask her to come home. She would never willingly kiss Malfoy for hours, never let him press her into a sofa with his solid body, never let him shove his tongue into her mouth or his hands under her shirt…. And surely if she had let all that happen, Ginny would never actually enjoy it!
She threw the blankets aside and shoved her feet into her slippers, but she froze as she noticed the pile of gifts at the foot of her bed. Christmas had come, which meant that yesterday had been Christmas Eve. Dinner, Harry, snogging—the memories of the day before spun through her mind in a whirlwind. Not a dream! her brain shrieked at her. Red alert! It wasn’t a dream!
“No! No no no no no!” she moaned, her head falling into her hands.
Had she really chosen Malfoy over Harry last night? Had she really let Malfoy touch her?
Did she want him to do it again?
The sudden warmth that flooded her body at the thought suggested she did.
No. She wasn’t going to act on such a ridiculous desire. (The fact that she desired him at all was alarming enough to send her to therapy for sure.) They hadn’t done anything more than snog and grope like horny teenagers, and they certainly weren’t going to do it again. Ginny would make sure of it.
She’d just have to avoid Malfoy for the rest of her stay. Yes, that was the perfect plan. Ginny would just stay up here in her room until it was time for her to leave three days from now.
A distant sound resonated through the cabin from downstairs, and Ginny’s head lifted, trying to make it out. It happened again, and she realized someone was at the front door. Knocking. If she ignored it, surely they would go away.
But they didn’t. The knocks rang out in groups of threes—twice—thrice—quadruple times—each knock growing louder and more insistent than the last.
“Oh, all right already!” Ginny growled.
She prowled down the stairs and to the front door, but froze as another hand reached for the doorknob at the same moment she did.
Glancing up, she met Malfoy’s gaze, and all her convictions upon waking melted away like old snow. Her face heated at the memory of his hands on her. She’d let Malfoy touch her breasts. She’d let him dry hump her. Even worse… she’d dry humped him back!
Ginny could now answer the question of whether she wanted him to touch her again, but even more than that, Ginny wanted to die of mortification.
Draco knew exactly what Weasley was thinking when her face turned an utterly fascinating shade of red. Even her ears, peeking out from the fall of her equally red hair, were the same hue as a Quaffle.
The fact that he knew what she was thinking about only made Draco think about it, too. Now that his thoughts were drawn to last night’s hijinks, the entirety of Draco’s body burst into flames. His face had to be as red as hers. His hand, sitting on top of hers on the doorknob, was trembling as much as hers was.
“Malfoy—” Weasley said softly, but she was interrupted by another blasted knock on the door.
Draco wanted to know what she was going to say, but they had to get rid of the disturbance first. As he turned her hand, which turned the doorknob, he prayed to whichever deities wizards believed in that Potter hadn’t returned to plead his case again.
Weasley had chosen to stay at the cabin. With Draco. He’d tossed and turned in bed all night long as he tried to understand her choice. Potter had come and apologized for his misdeeds. He’d begged her to return to England with him. By the formula of Potter’s blessed life, she should have forgiven him and left with him. He should have been the victor.
But she’d stayed with Draco. Not only had she stayed, she’d kissed him. Touched him. Let him touch her. And worst of all… he’d enjoyed himself.
He just didn’t understand it.
Draco shoved a curious Snowball aside with his foot. Then the door swung open to reveal Mr. Gotti, the harried property manager he and Weasley had spoken to days ago upon realizing the cabin had been double-booked.
“Halo!” Mr. Gotti said, face red from exertion. He quickly turned his mid-air knock into an awkward wave.
“Mr. Gotti…. Won’t you come in?”
Draco side-eyed Weasley for her formality, and she shrugged with bewilderment.
“No, no, I won’t stay long,” Mr. Gotti said, panting in between words. He must have hiked all the way up to their cabin from the management office. Either that (and this hypothesis seemed most likely to Draco) or he’d put as much strength as possible into his knocks in order to get their attention.
“I just came to tell you that another guest canceled their reservation. I have an available cabin! I apologize once again for the inconvenience. Of course, both of you will receive a deduction for your stay due to our mix-up.”
Silence met Mr. Gotti’s announcement.
Draco attempted to piece together what he was trying to say. “Do you mean….”
“Yes, you do not have to share a cabin any longer. I can move one of you to an available unit immediately! I’ll help carry bags! Again, I am terribly, terribly sorry for….”
His words dried up because Draco and Weasley were looking at each other, eyes wide in—horror? Disappointment? Confusion?
“It seems we have a decision to make,” Draco said. He was looking at Weasley but the words were intended for both her and Mr. Gotti.
“Yes.” She turned back to their guest. “Mr. Gotti, we’ll stop by the management office when we’ve decided who should go.”
She began to close the door, and Mr. Gotti leaned forward. “Fine! Fine! But I cannot hold the cabin for longer than a day!”
Weasley waved him away dismissively, signaling that they understood the consequences of arguing for too long.
Then the door clicked shut with a quiet snick, and they were alone once more.
Snowball sneezed when the door closed against his nose and almost caught his whiskers. He turned to Servant with a reprimand, but Servant was staring deeply into Orange Fur’s face and didn’t care that Snowball had nearly been injured and was now disgruntled about it.
Well, Snowball knew how to get attention when Servant withheld it!
He rubbed his face and body against Servant’s ankles and foot coverings. Back and forth, back and forth, lulling the ingrate into a false sense of security until—
Snowball plopped over onto his side and reached for Servant’s ankle. Immediately, he sunk his teeth into flesh while his hind legs kicked ferociously at the foot covering, doing his very best to decapitate it. He’d fought foot coverings before. Some of them were mighty foes and not easily injured. But some of them had soft hides that shredded nicely under Snowball’s claws. When he destroyed those foot coverings, Servant always roared at him, his meows vicious and loud. But Snowball didn’t understand why some foot coverings produced such an aggressive reaction from Servant while other foot coverings did not.
“Snowball!” Servant hissed as he lifted his foot in the air, attempting to free it from Snowball’s clutches.
But he was a strong cat. The strongest cat he’d ever known, and Snowball held on. He held on even as the front part of his body lifted into the air with the foot.
Servant wiggled his foot until Snowball’s strength flagged and he plopped back onto the ground, tail slamming against the floor in agitation.
An amused noise came out of Orange Fur’s mouth. Neither Servant nor Snowball appreciated such noises coming from her while they battled for dominance.
“Snowball, go to—just go somewhere else!”
Snowball did not understand. Go? Leave Servant? Preposterous! Unthinkable! Impossible! Wherever Servant was, that was exactly, and coincidentally, where Snowball wanted to be.
But Snowball was tired from his fight, so he remained on the floor where he’d plopped over while Servant led Oranger Fur deeper into the room, further away from the battleground.
“Well?” Servant meowed, his front legs crossed over his chest.
Snowball could do that, too…. He did so now and primly crossed his paws in front of him.
“Do you want to go?” Orange Fur meowed back, her face shifting in agitation.
“No, I don’t want to go! I’ve been here this whole time. My stuff is here. You should go!”
There was that word again. Go. How Snowball loathed that word. It was always spoken in a command. Snowball never obeyed commands, but still. The very idea that Servant thought he could give commands at all was ludicrous.
Snowball expected Orange Fur to grow aggressive, for her namesake orange fur to rise in warning. Instead, her body seemed to deflate. Flatten, just as Servant’s body had when he’d lost the battle against the foot covering and plopped onto the floor.
“Do you want me to go?” Her meow was low and defeated.
“I—”
They stared at each other. Maybe they were playing the no blinking game. That couldn’t be true, however, because they did blink every now and then. But slowly.
Oh. Snowball spoke this language. Slow blinks meant I love you. Snowball slow-blinked at Servant on occasion, just to see if he’d return the gesture. Sometimes he did. Sometimes Servant stared back very assertively, and then he’d blink in a deliberately slow way that didn’t look natural one bit. It was enough to tell Snowball that he spoke just enough cat language to say I love you in a way Snowball understood.
“No,” Servant finally said, his voice soft and soothing. The same voice he used when Snowball fell asleep on top of him while he gently, so deliciously gently, stroked his head. The part right between Snowball’s eyes made him fall asleep every time Servant paid careful attention to it.
Servant’s voice was a caress, and it meant the opposite of go. It meant please stay even though you’re literally smothering me with your fur and also the weight of your body pressing down on my ribcage.
“I don’t want you to go,” Servant continued.
Snowball watched attentively now, waiting to see how Orange Fur would respond.
She sidled up to Servant warily. She put her paws on him. They both held their breaths, which seemed an odd thing to do, until Orange Fur pressed her mouth against his, and then their breaths exploded out of them. An urgency overtook them at that point. Their limbs entangled and their faces pushed against each other and they made noises similar to the ones they’d made the night before while Snowball had feasted on their forgotten dinner.
Snowball’s tail slapped against the floor. He put his head down on his paws and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of their faces bumping into each other flow into his ears and become the background music of his slumber.
He supposed Orange Fur could stay. After all, Snowball was always in need of new servants.
The End.
idreamofdraco is the author of 51 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 4 members. Members who liked Double-Booked for Christmas also liked 325 other stories.
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