She was not afraid.
Raindrops hit the diamond-paned glass at high speed and splattered into star-like shapes with a dull ping. The firelight caught the droplets, causing them to glint faintly as they slid lazily down the window like runners collapsing after a frantic race.
A bolt of lightning scored the floor with diamonds for the briefest moment, and the room's sole inhabitant shivered despite herself. Ginny was not afraid of thunderstorms. Not in the slightest.
Even so, she curled her feet underneath her hips and tucked her blanket around her legs, creating a little nest for herself in the corner of the sofa. The soft velvet of the plush couch smelled faintly of expensive cologne, and while she was tempted to refuge elsewhere, the whole room smelled faintly like expensive cologne, and there was nothing she could do about that.
Another bolt of lightning lit the dim room, and Ginny involuntarily glanced at the bed on the opposite side of the large room. The figure in it stirred as the crash of thunder followed the bright light by mere seconds, and she looked hurriedly back at the fire as he sat up.
"What are you doing?" he drawled sleepily. He drew a hand back through his messy hair as he spoke, and the firelight glinted off the blond strands in the same way that it caught the water droplets on the window.
She fixed her eyes on those droplets and coolly replied, "I couldn't sleep."
"Couldn't, or wouldn't?"
"You heard what I said," she muttered sullenly.
She heard the rustle of silk and linen as he moved the covers aside and climbed out of the large bed. He came to stand in front of her, and she scowled when his bare chest blocked her view of the window. He arched an eyebrow and folded his arms.
"I've found you on the sofa for nearly every morning this week."
She glared through him. "Oh?"
He grabbed her chin and forced her face upward until his eyes met hers. "I do not like your tone, Ginevra."
She pushed his hands away from her face and scooted sideways on the couch, until she could see the window again, determined to be angry with him. "I do not like your bed, Draco."
Another brilliant bolt of lightning struck with the full force of its thunder behind it, and she failed to catch the "Oh!" before it escaped from her lips.
"You're afraid of a thunderstorm," he mocked, a faint smirk edging at the corner of his mouth. "The brave, brave Gryffindor is afraid of a bit of thunder."
She threw him a glare and stared fixedly at the dark window. "I am not. I was startled."
"I've seen you in all shades of fear by now, and that was more than 'startled.'"
She was quiet for a long moment, and he sighed and unfolded his arms.
"We need to go back to bed. I'd rather not have to spell you to stay there, but I will," he said tiredly, the smirk gone from his voice and face. "My father will—"
"At least I'm not afraid your father will find me out of bed," she spat, enjoying his reaction as he rocked back, surprised by her sudden outburst. "There, startled?"
His upper lip curled and he grabbed one of her wrists and tugged sharply, forcing her to pitch forward and undo her tight nest of blankets. "Are you insinuating that I am afraid of him?"
She glared indignantly. "It's obvious that you're afraid of him—you're afraid of all of them, and—"
Another bolt of lightning and thunder sliced through her words, and she faltered. "—and you're not afraid of storms," Draco finished sweetly.
"No!" she cried. "I am not!"
He yanked her arm again and she slid out of the blankets and scrabbled to find footing before she landed on the floor. She barely caught herself, and he pulled her up to stand in front of him, encircling her waist with his other arm.
"You will not sleep on the couch," he said, and though his voice was soft, she glowered, resenting the command. He smelled more like his cologne than anything else in the room, and he was holding her too possessively to make squirming away an option, but that wasn't about to stop her from trying.
"I will not sleep in the bed," she cried, her little but very necessary mutiny reaching its crux. She attempted vainly to extricate herself from his arms by pushing against his chest with both hands. He sighed angrily and wrapped his other arm around her, effectively pinning her arms against her sides and her cheek to his bare skin as he held her in what looked like a tight embrace.
As the youngest Weasley, Ginny was no stranger to being pinned, and set about attempting to stamp on his bare feet when another bolt of thunder was followed by a strong gust of wind that set small hailstone racketing off the rain-stained window, and she went still in his arms for the space of a long, slow breath.
"Say what you like about my father," Draco said quietly, "but you know I'm only afraid for you."
She gave a halfhearted wriggle and shuddered against him as her small rebellion died in the face of that great and looming truth. "I know," she whispered.
He loosened his hold and she dropped her forehead to his chest, inhaling the faint scent of leftover cologne on his skin.
"Then don't give him excuses to question me about our . . . situation," he murmured, and when she stiffened in his arms, he added, "please."
He dropped a gentle kiss on the crown of her head as another wild bolt of lightning and thunder crashed down so loudly that the diamonds in the windows shook—and perhaps only slightly less imperceptibly, Ginny shook in Draco's arms.
"I'm not afraid," she said stoutly, meeting his eyes and daring him to contradict her. "You've seen me go through battles and torture and executions, and you know that I'm not afraid of them."
Draco sighed, rolling his eyes, and pushed her in the direction of the bed.
Another gust of hail-driven wind slammed into the side of the manor and the room lit up brilliantly, illuminating Ginny's frantic leap onto the heavy silk coverlet, and Draco chuckled outright.
"Yes, I'mwell aware that you're not afraid of battles and torture," he said meaningfully, climbing in after her and pulling the covers over them both.
"And, for the record, I'm not afraid of your father and the rest. I don't care how long I have to play prisoner."
"Mmhmm," he breathed. "Because you're playing prisoner."
Ginny sighed, watching the windows, half aware of Draco's steady, regular breathing, and did her best to match hers to his despite the growing storm.
She was not afraid.
A/N: This is a birthday present for Bree (Lunar Fire) and it is NOT eight months late. *dances* Happy birthday, darling. I hope it was a lovely one. :D
The birthday girl's prompt was "Oh! Thunder!" and be "dark, but with witty banter." I'm not sure I did very well at that last one (dark and witty is hard!) but I'm pretty sure I got the thunder part right. ;) Oh, and the word "scrabbled" is somewhere in there, because she finds it sexy. :P
Also, I love reviews. Just throwin' that out there.