A/N: A little holiday fic for you. I wrote it just letting the prompt take me where it will, and it ended up with a D & G who are a little bit frisky and hopefully are fun to read. Also when you start reading this, don't worry, the whole thing isn't done in rhymes (silly and clunky ones at that XD).
A Grown Witch's Christmas
'Twas the afternoon before Christmas, and all through Diagon Alley, not a single store was left unadorned by tinsel or holly. And in every display window, shiny baubles were hung to illuminate the latest trends like miniature suns. No doors were left without their festive wreaths to show while the cobblestone streets had been dusted with snow. All in all it would've made for a beautiful sight if not for the horde of last minute shoppers that made sanity take flight.
It is here that our story begins, devoid of any more rhyming shenanigans, because quite frankly our disgruntled heroine would just tell us to shut it.
For one Ginny Weasley, there was nothing wondrous about the madness before her. The crowd sweeping through the narrow streets of Diagon Alley on Christmas Eve resembled nothing short of a plague of rabid, flesh-eating pixies after the smell of blood, and that was if she was being generous.
Having fought off one of the horde for her latest purchase, Ginny hurriedly escaped the shop, praying to Merlin that no one had noticed that it was the star Chaser of the Falmouth Falcons who had all but wrestled a little old witch to the ground for the last bottled recording of Warbeck's latest album Baby One More Spell. In her defense it had been no sweet grandmother. The old witch had gone straight for the eyes, and only Ginny's trained reflexes had saved her. Therefore, totally justified. Ginny nodded to herself before proceeding to curse the obligations of the holidays.
Christmas used to be such a magical time. What the hell happened?
Of course she knew the answer. Growing up. Moving out. And finding out that I suck at being a grown witch. That's what.
A responsible adult, for one, wouldn't have left her Christmas shopping down to the day of. Furthermore, she wouldn't have slacked so much at keeping in touch with her family so as to worry they'd think she'd abandoned them if she came home with nothing to show she'd at least been thinking of them. Since money was no object these days, she no longer had the 'I'm broke' justification either.
The same situation had occurred last year, and she'd made a new year resolution to be a better daughter, sister, aunt—a better person all around, but then, well, shite happened, and she'd thrown herself back into her career with gusto.
But not again. This is it, Ginny swore after being nearly trampled by eight reindeers pulling a gaudy red sled manned by an old wizarding couple. She made a rude gesture at their retreating backs, feeling more like a Scrooge by the second. No one should be that into the holidays.
An all too familiar camera flash went off nearby. She spun around, already knowing it was too late. The opportunistic photographer was nowhere to be seen. Oh hell, Greene is going to kill me. The team's manager had been cutting a chunk of her salary as it was to deal with her PR disasters.
Glamour disguises would've been ideal for today, but increased security in the many high-end shops she had in mind made them too much of a hassle. Regardless, what was done was done. She had more immediate matters to handle.
With everyone on her gift list checked off, there was, thankfully, only the general gift for the family left. After jostling through the rowdy crowds outside, entering the Ambrosia Corner was like surfacing for air. Much as she loathed to admit it, exclusivity could be awfully nice at times. The price range of the goods in this particular shop was out of reach for even most above-average Wizarding families, leading to a smaller and calmer scene inside.
She declined the help of an eager shop assistant and strode straight for the wine section in the back of the sprawling shop. Her selection last year had gone over quite well with the family, and she hoped for a repeat, anything to make them too happy to remember to reprimand her for how neglectful she'd been. She felt guilty enough as it was.
The bottle she had in mind was the shop's specialty—Ambrosia's Brew. The nectar of the gods, its label audaciously proclaimed. Only a limited batch was produced each year, and Ginny could only hope that its outrageous price meant some was left for her this late in the year.
Please, please, please, she whispered to herself as she scanned the racks of wine. It's got to be here. Not it. Not it. Yes! There it was, a lone bottle remaining whose contents shone with flecks of gold. Her hand darted out for the wine as if it were a game-winning Quaffle possession.
The next thing she knew, another hand had claimed the bottom of the bottle while she had seized its neck. Slender fingers but the size of the hand clued her in that it was a male. That made no difference of course, given that she was quite used to brawling with wizards twice her size. Ginny slowly raised her gaze upwards, taking in information about her opponent as she went and slipping her game face on, ready for a fight.
Well-dressed. That's not a surprise. Looks fit under that robe though despite how pale he is. Tall, but I can use that to my advantage and—wait, what?
Game face gone, Ginny stared open-mouth at her would-be opponent.
"Draco Malfoy?" she exclaimed and immediately regretted the idiocy of the statement. Who else could it be? He wore his hair loose these days, no longer slicked back in that pompous manner that had only served to unflatteringly emphasize his pointed features. He'd filled out a great deal too—the intensity of the Auror training program had done the same for all of her schoolmates who'd stuck to it. Hair, eyes, and general features, however, were all still unmistakably Malfoy. Anyone who hadn't been around him since his Hogwarts days would've still recognized him, but she didn't even have that excuse, having seen him sporadically just this year alone at various Ministry-related events.
"Ginevra Weasley," he returned, neither disdainful nor mirroring her surprise but looking oddly grave.
Her astonishment, Ginny reasoned, was more about the fact that she hadn't expected to battle it out with someone she knew, and that sudden jump in the pit of her stomach was definitely merely the shock of discovery. Said feeling was rapidly passing, and the fact that her opponent was Draco Malfoy in the end changed nothing. Made it easier in fact. On her conscience, anyway.
She tightened her hold on the bottle, noting with annoyance that he had yet to let go. Plastering on her best beatific smile, the one that had gotten her through the worst of PR disasters, she said brightly, "Fancy meeting you here, but I've got to run, family holiday dinner to get to and all." She yanked on the bottle as a more than an obvious hint, but his hand maintained its firm grip.
"Yes, I'm certain they'll be waiting on you. Mothers are especially never happy when their children are late."
By Merlin though he maintained an impassive face, she could've sworn there was a smirk hiding behind that solemn mouth. His gaze had changed too, not so much grave now as determined. As expected, he wasn't going to make this easy for her.
Still smiling, teeth bared, she gritted out, "The bottle is mine, Malfoy."
"Are you sure about that? If it's yours, why haven't you taken it?" His lips twitched, confirming her suspicions. The bloke was surely having fun at her expense.
"Oh I will. Out of the graciousness of my heart I'm giving you the chance to back out gracefully. As a Malfoy, you are undoubtedly above a petty grocery squabble, but I assure you that I am not. We Weasleys are so very crass as you well know." She grinned back with the full force of her threat while silently channeling his way, Let go, damn it.
"There's a Prophet reporter trying to look inconspicuous behind you, by the way," he said with a nudge of his head.
Reflexively she spun to look only to notice the bottle being yanked from her hand just in time to retighten her grip and pull it back. It was completely off the shelf now, held in the air between them like some sort of trophy.
"That was dirty," she told him, sounding rather petulant to have nearly fallen for such a basic trick.
He didn't hide his smirk this time. "You should work on your bluff. On and off the field, you're fooling no one."
"How would you know?" Internally, she groaned at the pitiful comeback. It was worse given the fact that he'd nailed her weakness so precisely.
"Let's see...where to even start? How about your last ten minutes against Puddlemere? Not even those dunderheads for Beaters were fooled. Or the first quarter against the Chudley Cannons? Or—"
Ginny kept her hand clenched tightly on the bottle's neck in case this was another diversionary tactic on his part, but nonetheless, she rushed to defend her pride. "Okay one, not my fault my teammates were still hungover." Well, not entirely my fault anyway. "And for the record, Wilda Griffiths is a toad who got lucky. Two, the Cannons are hardly bottom feeders anymore, so what's your point?" She pushed on even as he was chuckling at her. "And three, why on earth do you know my games so well?"
Damn his self-control. She couldn't be sure at all that there'd been a slight tinge of color in his cheeks at her last question, which would've been swell to tease him about if true.
"I keep up with Quidditch in general, Weasley. Don't flatter yourself," he scoffed. "And if people notice you more, it might just have to do something with the fact that you're in the paper every week for every indiscretion short of a sex scandal."
Ginny could feel her cheeks flush a fierce red. She didn't regret what she'd done per say, but she couldn't exactly be proud of it either, and maybe that partly explained why she'd been so lousy about keeping in touch with her family. But it was going to be a new year. Things were going to change, and regardless, it wasn't Malfoy's place to lecture her.
One thing she knew for certain, over her dead body now was he walking away with her wine.
Her smile this time was sincere, and to her satisfaction, Malfoy took note and seemed a tad unnerved.
"I am giving you to the count of three," she told him with deathly calmness. "After that this bottle becomes mine one way or the other. If you want to end up in the paper with me under How Low Have They Fallen: Weasley Brawls with Malfoy over Bottle of Wine in Grocery Aisle then be my guest."
"One..." She spread her Cheshire Cat grin wider, relishing in the increasing uncertainty darting through his eyes.
"Two..." He narrowed his eyes again, and she knew that look well. Harry had complained to her before about how Malfoy's stubbornness could rival hers.
All right fine, you asked for it.
"Thr—"
"Watch out!" came a shrill, panicked shout from the direction of the store's front.
"Hurry! Get out!" screamed another voice.
With honed reflexes, Ginny moved instantly, whipping out her wand and sinking into a ready duel stance in one fluid motion. Malfoy was equally swift, unsurprising given his training, and it threw her off guard that his immediate action was to step in front of her, pressing her back into the shelves as if to shield her.
For a brief second, the Ambrosia's Brew was forgotten until it'd smashed into the polished granite floors with a resounding crash. She flinched from both the noise and sudden splash of liquid on her robes.
Her pride pricked to note how much faster Malfoy reacted, banishing the broken glass and spilt wine before she'd even quite registered what had happened. Then again, she supposed the stakes he trained for—life and death—were much higher than her own circumstances, however seriously she took her career.
"Are you all right?" he whispered, head cocked and attentive on the chaotic noise coming from the front of the shop.
"I'm fine," she said, struggling to squeeze out from behind him. "For Godric sake, Malfoy, let me out. Two wands are better than one, and I'm no slouch at spell work. Or do you need a reminder?"
He relented without further hassling, and she suspected that was only because he couldn't afford the distraction of their fighting. Her own mind was running like a galloping centaur. Were they under attack? And by whom?
"I have to get you out of here," she heard him mutter, almost inaudibly.
Of course she'd known he was in the business of catching criminals and saving people these days, but it was still rather odd to hear such intentions directed at herself from a Malfoy of all people, another crazy reminder of how much their world had changed since the end of the war.
"No need, Malfoy. Do I look in distress to you? We will do what it takes to stop whatever it is." Already she could feel the adrenaline flowing just like in the midst of a high-stakes game, her mind clearing to focus on sizing up the situation.
The look he sent her could almost be classified as pained. "I know you, so I'll save my breath, but stick close to me. I mean it."
His tone was hard, almost threatening, yet through it Ginny could hear the plea. This was serious. This was Malfoy as he'd been these past few years, someone that even Harry had come to trust to watch his back on a mission. How utterly bizarre it was to experience it firsthand.
Another shriek pierced the air. "No, no, no! Get away from me!"
The next voice they heard thundered over the shop's general panic in an angry, magically-amplified boom. "Who let them loose? Who? This is a refined establishment. You better hope I don't find out who you are, you rascal, because I'll be suing you into the hedgerows, see if I don't!"
Ginny turned to find Malfoy equally as puzzled as her before the logical explanation dawned on them both.
He straightened up, wand gripped angrily in his hand. "That fool better hope that I don't get to him first."
A sudden sound of jingle bells exploded around them. From a few aisles ahead of them came warning shouts. "Watch out back there!"
The only ones currently in their aisle, she and Draco tensed instantly, eyes scanning their surroundings for whatever the heck it was. The jingling bells seemed to come from all directions, settling into a distinct melody. A sense of dread crawled up her back as she felt the familiarity of the song on the tip of her tongue.
When the disembodied voice started singing, the recognition clicked. Oh bloody hell. The puzzlement on Malfoy's face grew in proportion to her own horror.
Berries are red,
Pine boughs are green,
Christmas's the time to pucker up,
If you know what I mean.
Ginny plunked her head into her hands with an audible smack. The day couldn't have possibly gotten any worse. No, scratch that, I didn't mean it, she hurriedly corrected lest the Fates be tempted.
"Care to tell me what you know, Weasley?"
She peeked at him from behind her fingers. His bewilderment had given away to a peeved exasperation, which would've made her laugh if not for the fact that she would be sharing his fate.
"Just wait. You'll see." George, how could you do this to me?
Just as Malfoy looked ready to rupture a blood vessel, soft and wet flakes of snow fell around them, causing both to look up. The mortification descending on Malfoy at the sight of the mistletoe dangling tauntingly above them would've been golden to behold, golden, if she wasn't stuck under it with him. Instead she blew out a breath and steeled herself for the inevitable, all the while squelching the weird little lurches in the pit of her stomach. Oh come on. It'll just be a kiss, a peck at that.
His grey eyes flitted from her to the red bow-adorned sprig and then back again.
She nodded grimly and sighed, internally swearing vengeance on her brother. "Pucker up, Malfoy. The sooner we get this over, the better."
That was enough to jar Malfoy from his shock. "No," he said, backing away from her.
"What do you mean no? Why do you think everyone was going ballistic? It's a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' product in case you weren't aware, i.e. consequences will be dire. Suck it up, Malfoy. What are we? Five-years-old? It's just a kiss." She rolled her eyes at him, studiously ignoring how his refusal had twisted her insides. This is Draco Malfoy, she reminded herself. Why on earth would you care?
"No." He took a step back, schooling his face back into his impassive mask.
She was glowering now. Who did he think he was? She advanced on him, closing the distance he'd put between them. "Give me a break," she scoffed. "I've landed on the Witch Weekly's cover twice this year alone. You could do a lot worse."
And so could I, a part of her spontaneously admitted. He's not half-bad these days. Nice broad shoulders. Fit. Wonder if that sharp tongue would—Ginny stopped mid-thought with a practically violent recoil—what on earth are you doing Ginny Weasley? Surely you weren't ogling a Malfoy?
Except now that she thought it, she couldn't help not to. A small voice simultaneously reminded her that it probably wasn't the first time. Oh Merlin. Shut up, brain. Shut up.
Malfoy was backing away again, and a coil of panic slithered through her. What if he didn't believe her? Or worse, what if he did but the thought of kissing her was so abhorrent that he preferred the consequences?
Oh no you don't. She was on him in a flash, hands fisted in the labels of his navy robes. His eyes sprung as wide as she'd ever seen them. He looked at her as if he thought her insane, an unmistakable flush of color in his cheeks.
"Let me make myself clear," she gritted through her teeth, leaning up on her toes while simultaneously pulling him down to her until their faces were centimeters apart. "I am not going to suffer through Christmas while green, covered-in-boils, sporting a clown nose, or any other heinous ideas George had in mind. Especially not when Harry is probably going to—never mind, that doesn't concern you. Just trust me that you definitely don't want to be the reason that I suffer."
She'd been intending to steal a peck with or against his will, anyway, just to get it done with, but the sudden furious narrowing of his eyes made her hesitate long enough for his hands to circle her hips and push her roughly away. Panic spiked through her as he started to turn around, knowing that if he ran, which it most definitely looked like he intended to do, she likely wouldn't be able to catch him. The enchanted mistletoe might have a room boundary parameter for all she knew, and it could be game over the moment he made it out of the shop.
Thus just like in every other moment of panic, Ginny acted as she'd always done—impulsively, recklessly, and with a single-minded determination. She flung herself at Malfoy, tackling him to the ground. He landed on his back with a pained oof of expelled air. She allowed a wince for her conscience before settling right into straddling him, her hand pinning him at the shoulder.
"Merlin's beard, Malfoy! We need just a peck and you're acting like Ron with a spider! Are you a grown wizard or not? And two, you are mad to be taking George's work so lightly. I'm doing you a favor here, I really am. Now quit it."
"I'm mad? Look at what you're doing! You're batshit insane," he shouted at her.
Sensing that he might attempt again to throw her off, she resettled herself on top of him to give herself a better grip.
"Oh fuck. For Salazar sake, stop moving. Just stop," he hissed, his eyes clenching close as his hands sprung up to hold her hips still.
She bit her lips and glanced down in worry that she'd hurt him with the tackle, which of course hadn't been her intention. "Did I—"
"I said don't move. Would it kill you to hold still for moment?" His hands tightened on her while his eyes remained close. There was the lightest sheen of sweat across his hairline and the pinkest of flush on his cheeks.
A surge of awareness returned to her, and Ginny found herself blushing furiously. Merlin help me, the situations I get myself into.
Deciding that the only gracious way out of the current one was to not acknowledge at all that it was a Situation, Ginny pressed on with her original purpose. Clearing her throat, she said as casually as she could manage, "So, have you come to your senses yet? Come on, Malfoy, it's just one measly little kiss." He'd fallen quiet, so she figured she'd try the persuasion route one more time even as she continued to size up her chances of stealing a kiss.
"It's not just a kiss," he snapped, his eyelids flying open. As soon as the words left his mouth, he closed his eyes again and swore leaving her to stare down at him in confusion. A short moment later, his grey gaze was piercing her once more. "Fine, you can have your damn kiss. Just remember that you asked for it." Something flashed in his eyes at the end of his words that made her sit back; it was like a warning that she had no idea what she was getting herself into.
At her hesitation, a corner of his lip tilted into a smirk. "What's the matter? If you want it, then come and get it." His eyes were laughing at her now, challenging her and mocking her at the same time.
Well, fine then. I will. Her gaze refocused on his lips. Had they always been so well-defined? This same mouth had goaded and teased her so many times but made her laugh too, and in a handful of circumstances these past couple years, they'd oddly also known exactly what to say to relight her spirit when she'd felt snuffed out.
She bent closer, planting her arms beside his head for support. A sharp inhale of breath reached her ears, but strangely, she couldn't be sure if it was Malfoy's or her own.
When there were only centimeters of space left between them, his rebuff replayed in her mind, and it was with a sudden fierceness that she angled her lips over his. I'll show you, she thought, leaning in with a vengeance.
But when her eyes fell closed, there were no more coherent thoughts, only sensations—the soft pressure as her mouth closed over his, a slip of her tongue impulsively darting out to wet and taste. A little salty, a little sweet, a hint of mint. And the smell of him, all spice and heat, where her nose brushed his skin left an impression in her mind like a fiery brand. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it wasn't this. In shock, she lingered without intending to.
It was then his lips pressing back against hers, nudging, caressing the upper, tugging the lower between his teeth, biting down sharply and soothing it the next second with a sweep of his tongue. She kissed him back, moving with a sudden need to claim, to brand. Her fingers dug into the silky strands of his fine hair, gripping them to better control the kiss. She felt his hand do the same to her hair while his other arm crushed her torso against him.
The moment dragged out before her lips at last unsealed from his and she pulled back, disoriented and confused, slowly exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. What was that about? Kissing Draco Malfoy wasn't supposed to be so...nice. No, no it wasn't—was it?
Malfoy slowly opened his eyes a moment after she did, and in that interminable span of time her attention ran from wondering if his lashes had always been so long to fixating once more on his lips. His gaze was strangely muted, softer than she'd ever seen them. There was a bizarre fluttering in the pit of her stomach as he continued to stare at her, his expression once more inscrutable. Rowena help me, I'm acting as if—she couldn't bear to finish the thought. It might just go down as the most mortifying realization of her life.
"You don't kiss like you hate it," she accused while trying to calm her own heart down.
His blasted lips stretched into a grin. "Just one measly kiss, you said."
"Touché. So I guess we're even."
"No, I think not. Admit it, we've been dancing around each other for months."
She thought she had a name for the new gleam in his eyes; it was entirely wicked. Her mouth had barely opened to protest when he claimed it, rolling her over in one fluid motion with dominating strength.
"This is payback for tackling me," he hissed.
His hand slipped underneath her winter cloak and stroked along the band of skin between her blouse and skirt just as he sucked particularly hard on her lower lip.
"And this is for teasing me at that last gala in your obscene little red dress, which clashed terribly with your hair, but you knew didn't you, you vixen? You wore it anyway because you knew the way it defined your smoldering little body would steal all the attention."
She drew in a shuddery breath, her moan embarrassingly loud as his knee pressed between her legs in a decidedly not so innocent manner.
Merlin this wouldn't do at all. With all her strength, she flipped them back over. The ease of the movement made her suspect that he let her, but no matter. There was nothing she wanted more right then other than wiping that self-satisfied smirk from his damn-kissable lips.
"It's all your bloody fault," she said, hands digging into his chest. "If you hadn't been shirtless when you caught me from that fall last year, I wouldn't be distracted all the damn time."
"No one forced you to ogle, did they?"
She rolled her hips with deliberate slowness. His hitched breath was music to her ears. "Stop being half-naked all the time if you don't want the attention."
"Stop seeking me out during training, then." His hand gripped the back of her head, and he yanked her down for a thorough kiss.
The next chance she got to speak, her reply was entirely breathless. "Shared facilities...how...was I... supposed to help it?"
His answer was a near growl. "Enough. What does it matter? Less talking, more..." He nudged his hips meaningfully up at her.
Her hips rolled involuntarily, and the friction against his growing arousal made her swallow, hard. Thoughts of him fully naked danced tauntingly in her mind, him holding her, filling up that aching need.
"Fuck," she breathed out.
"That's the idea." His grey eyes shown with unabashed lust, the undisguised need sending shivers through her. "I trust the only question left is: your place or mine?"
She sat back with a shaky laugh just as a flash of light went off. Her head whipped around only to catch as the culprit disappeared around the end of the aisle.
"Fuck!"
Malfoy trembled beneath her with no holds laughter. She smacked at his chest for good measure. "It's not funny, Malfoy!"
"Salazar, I love your dirty little mouth. Don't ever change. It's Draco by the way. I don't kiss any witch on last name terms." He nudged his head in the direction where the photographer had fled. "Also, congratulations on your first sex scandal."
"Are you forgetting who I was with?" She buried her face in her hands with a groan.
Underneath her, he tensed. "What's the matter, regretting it already? You were planning to go right back to Potter after all."
She lowered her hand, raising a bewildered eyebrow at his biting tone. "What are you talking about? You mean you don't regret it? Harry and I are long done, anyway. What does he have to do with anything?"
He looked equally confused now. "But you said—you mean you don't?"
She slapped her palms onto his chest. "You're impossible." She clambered off him and got to her feet, turning back to the wine as she tried to put her jumbled thoughts in order. Malfoy, or Draco as she supposed he was now, swiftly followed her, and it was but a second later that she felt his hand gripping her arm.
"We are not going back to pretending this never happened, Weasley. Not again."
"It's Ginny, Draco. I don't kiss wizards on last-name terms either, or bed them for that matter." She let a sly smile steal across her lips as her eyes scanned the racks of wine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him froze like a statue. It wasn't long, however, before he sidled up to her, one arm sweeping around her waist.
She leaned into him and heard his heavy sigh above her.
"You best know I won't play second fiddle to anyone. Do I make myself clear, Ginny Weasley?" It was that same tone again, both a threat and a secretive plea.
She laughed. "Of course not. That's hardly you. Now make yourself useful and help me pick out the next best option. It's your fault after all that the best wine is gone."
"Being ordered around all ready. Every Malfoy ancestor is rolling in their graves I'll have you know."
"Eh, you should've known interacting with a Weasley would bring you down a notch."
"Hmm...if it means going down on you, I suppose I don't mind as much." He'd leaned down to whisper the words, his lips brushing her ear with each utterance.
Ginny found her thoughts Stunned to oblivion. Holy harpies was he going to be the death of her.
"This one," he said, placing a rose-gold bottle in her hand. The quickness of his decision made her wonder if he'd merely chosen at random. "Now are we done here, Ms. Weasley? Because I do believe we have some unfinished business to attend to, rather pressing ones in fact."
There was no use squashing her smile. "Why yes, Mr. Malfoy, I do believe we are quite done here. Quite."
Author Notes:
Didn't get a chance to have this beta-read because I wanted it out for Christmas, so any comments and suggestions (or SpaG-catching) would be very helpful for me to decide what to modify or scrap, leave as is etc. I'm still meddling with a possible part II to this to more properly address the celebration part of the prompt this was written for, so you might just be seeing this upgraded to a two-shot. Thanks for reading and happy holidays!