(Taking a bit of a break from FOF, but it is doing fine :P Doing a oneshot with Ginny and Draco, because I thought it'd be interesting to see how they'd go together. It's set in the autumn of the seventh book. Some AVPM references, because I love it. I do not own any of this except the weird bits that I invented myself. Review? SML94)
Okay, I can admit to this one thing. I'm not the brightest button on the cardigan. Hang on. Maybe I mean that I'm depriving a village of an idiot.
No wait, I have it. I'm depriving a cardigan from a button.
Anyway, in a nutshell: I officially fancy Draco Malfoy.
This is not my fault. It's his, obviously. Also, actually, it's also Mother Nature's fault, because it happened when I was on my period and in Teen Witch Weekly which I 'borrowed' from Lavender (Yes, I know it's typical propaganda and I generally hate magazines, but I just…) apparently, When you are on your period, you gain excellent flirting skills, you acquire a new sexy walk which is because of your hips, and all the oestrogen means that you are unconsciously making yourself act extremely attractive.
Don't ask me! I don't analyze my flirting skills on the spot, and I don't exactly wonder whether my feet are walking in a sexy way, or something. Anyway, it's Malfoy's fault.
What would the threesome (ugh, innuendos) say?
Ron would essentially go mental, and rage: "Ginny! How could you do this to me? That dirty bastard faggot wanker twatty Malfoy! Why, I ought to kill him! And you too! I will now gnash my teeth and turn very red. FFFFFUUUUUU-"
Hermione would attempt to be logical and calm. "I think you need professional help. This is beyond my area of expertise. I think there was something similar to this in Hogwarts, A History."
And then of course, Super Potter himself would find out and well, he'd be all offended. "S'not faiiiiir! I'm supposed to be the hero! I'm saving all your bloody lives! I get chased around by various evil people, not to mention that old snake-man Voldie, the scar on my head is practically the next world wonder for everyone to ooh and aah at, I'm deprived and abused, AND I'LL TALK IN CAPITALS NOW BECAUSE I'M ANGRY! WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE TOGETHER GINNY! AND HAVE CHILDREN CALLED JAMES SIRIUS, ALBUS SEVERUS BECAUSE ACTUALLY SNAPE IS GOOD HOWEVER I DON'T BELIEVE SO YET WHICH DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE. THEN OUR LAST CHILD, CALLED LILY LUNA! NOT FAIR!"
And so on and so forth. You get the general idea. Come on, work with me.
I suppose I had better explain, even though I don't really want to.
Once upon a time there was a little girl called Ginny Weasley, and her supposed 'friends' had trotted off into some depressing countryside to search for evil objects that Voldie was using to kill off Harry. Whilst leaving poor little drab, plain and sixteen year old Ginny alone in her sixth year at Hogwarts. Why is it called Hogwarts anyway? It's made up of an animal and a blemish. You might as well call it….Pigfarts, for all I care! Same thing. It could be on Mars. That would be pretty damn good actually. You'd need moon shoes. We wouldn't be students. We'd be STARKIDS! Anyway, getting back to the subject at hand (oo er!)…
I'd just been explaining the basics of Portkeys to Seamus, who is all Irish charm. Okay, perhaps I wasn't explaining, I was discussing them. But anyway, he happened to ask, "Could a person be a Portkey?"
"Well, no. Because you see, if a person was to touch themselves…" and cue my slightly cruel glancing over at Neville, who was despairing over Potions homework, as per usual. Seamus, Dean and perhaps a couple of others snort at my witticism, and I roll my eyes. It's a crisp, autumnal afternoon/evening. It's about half six. And I am starving. Perhaps I should nip down to the kitchens. I do so, easily enough, as the boys are still snorting, and the girls are gossiping.
I'm greedy and I sneak some chocolate based foodstuffs, as well as some beautiful mini doughnuts. Some fizzy drinks. I'm pretending to be healthy down by a none-whomping willow by eating some apple based pastry. Healthy, indeed! Pastry bits are fluttering everywhere, all over me in that vexing way that pastry crumbs always do, but I'm all alone, so I don't really care right now.
In fact, you don't realise the immensity of the fuck that I do not give, to be honest. The day always seems to fly for me, though. It's the night that belongs to me, when everything matters. Night can be really fascinating, you know. Certain people change during the night.
They lose their self control. Unfortunately (or fortunately, you choose) I am no exception to this unwritten rule. Luna lives among the creatures of the night. Harry steps about the castle in his invisibility cloak. I once walked past Snape, who was staring out of the window at approximately twenty four minutes past four in the morning, with a crumpled lily on the floor next to him, broken.
Me? I ramble to myself, in my head. I lean against trees and want this void in my life to be gone. Well, now, Harry is gone, into depressing countryside. Contrary to popular opinion, he is not always on my mind. I do not sob into my pillow. I do not glide my wand over my wrist, murmuring a Sectumsempra spell. I just can't sleep some nights. It's not even night yet, and I'm going to drink an odd drink called Fanta Fruit Twist. It reminds me of fizzy pumpkin juice, I suppose. It's quiet and….nice. I really have a lot of contempt for that word, but once again, I'm on my own, and I do not care.
"Wait—don't tell me." A snide voice sneers, and I splutter. I brush my crumbs off my clothes, and raise my angry self up a centimetre or more, to defend myself against this intimidating intruder. Simple white-ish blond hair, and those dull grey eyes meet mine. I do not look away. It's only Malfoy. I can send a hex his way, before he says anything.
"Red hair," his hand reaches out to grab my wrists, preventing me from violently killing him, whilst the other slimy hand entangles itself in my hair, and he mockingly seems to take in the colour of it.
"Hand me down clothes," his hand now trails down, down, down, and he really is quite perverted. I aim a kick of course, but the idiot steps sharply out of my way.
"And a stupid complexion." The hand now is back on my face, trailing, trailing, and slips down my neck, which makes me shudder. It 'looks so wrong yet feels so right' in the fact that this is Draco fucking Malfoy, and he's also feeling me up. I'm pinned to a tree and his hand is going to be under my top in a minute if I don't do anything.
Do I want to do anything?
Malfoy is dangerous. His hand is moving. I'm swaying, and the truth is, I feel like part of me has died and gone to hell. Yes. Hell. Not heaven. Can you spell it? H-e-l-l.
Perilous and looming, dangerous and moving!
"You must be a Weasley…" he scrutinises me, as if I'm something he's never quite seen before.
"Ten points for observation, Malfoy." I shot at him.
"I do have a first name, you know. You are allowed to use it." The prat stands with a casual air, he's simply dripping with it. I want to dance, just to make him disconcerted.
I bought new underwear you know, light blue. I wore them just the other day. Love, oh, love. I gotta tell him how I feel about him. Shut up, brain.
"A Weasley, use a Malfoy's first name? That's just absurd. You might as well write a story about you and Harry getting it on!" I snorted there. Oh, how witty I am. Then I examine my nails. I glance up. "You're still here. Come on then, if you want to duel, whip it out. Your wand Malfoy, your wand."
His pale palm slowly went into his pocket, He's right handed, like me, I thought absent mindedly. He was deliberately going at snail speed, attempting to wind me up.
"You know…" he comments as if we are best friends, rather than the exact binary opposite, "You're probably frustrated. You know, sexually."
I cough and splutter and snort in the most undignified and offended way possible and exclaim, "What?"
"Since Potter, ahem, dumped you."
"Oh no. Oh God no. Are you suggesting we are….friends with benefits?"
"It's a possibility. I mean, I would…you know."
That's it. I leap at him, and I can fight like a Hippogriff. I scratch and I thump his chest and arms and I'm about to kick him where it really hurts when he grabs my arms. I wrench at his shirt because if he's going to bring me down, he's going down with me. I yank at his tie, and his shirt buttons give up. I scratch and hit and attempt to murder Malfoy. When I'm simply out of breath, I realise I've not used my wand for any of this, and I look at the damage I've inflicted on his skin. Wow, I've broken the skin there!
"My goodness, you're manly. Look at all your scars. They turn me on so much." I comment sarcastically. I was quite dignified for someone who was now lying sort of under Malfoy, with my skirt rucked up a little bit. It was a good thing my top button was undone or I would be strangled.
"You little bitch!" he declared, looking down at the torn shirt.
His face is an amusing contrast of horror at what I've done to his skin minus my wand, and being impressed at that, and something else. I don't know what it is and I don't want to know, either.
"You don't want me as your enemy…now shut up and kiss me." He murmurs and his head dips down, mouth open.
"I'm not falling for that Malfoy, I'm not stupid." I want to inflict so much pain that I have him begging for mercy. Just then, some third year Hufflepuffs come by, and we both know that if our identities are revealed, we are literally fucked. Well, not literally, but both our reputations would be fucked.
So with the fastest Silent spell known in my life, Malfoy has changed my hair to a medium black affair, and his is brown and wavy. He's not as pale. I'm about to say, "Bloody hell, how did you do that?" but he ah, distracted me. He also saved our reputations I suppose, which I should probably thank him for.
You see, the thing is…the spells were done in a split second and then well, he rammed me into the ground so hard that I cried out. Nobody heard me though, because Malfoy had cut off my breathing. He put his mouth on mine and let's just say, it wasn't a simple little peck on the mouth. It was very passionate, I suppose. I mean, thinking about it now…recounting it…
Stop. Remember it, Gin.
His mouth was open and so was mine and we moaned. I moaned because I couldn't breathe properly and his hands had easily gotten under my shirt and bloody hell—one was under my skirt. He was moaning I presume at having to stoop this low, to save both our reputations. His face was on my chest, and I was doing anything I could to breathe now, eyes screwed up. I dared peek.
Here I was, face to face, with a situation I never ever thought I'd see. When the Hufflepuffs skittered away, leaving the grounds empty except for us two, I peeled myself off Malfoy, shuddering, a horrible tingle running down my spine. I just backed away slowly, gripping onto the tree for some support.
He muttered something. I concentrated on making myself look decent. But then he said loudly to me, "I don't care about you. You expect me to think about you?"
"This was just a little incident." I agree quickly, flushed.
"Draco, wake up!" his hands are wringing, he's clearly agitated.
"We're mistaken…" I say, and our appearances go back to normal. Our hair, our clothes. Although I don't dare let my eyes drift down to a certain spot on Malfoy.
That would be a big big big mistake.
"What the hell is this?" he exclaims, as we just examine ourselves.
I gotta tell you how I feel about you.
"Well." I smile. "Looks like Malfoy's a little excited."
That makes him look down. Oh god. NO! He actually is!
"No!" I manage to get out in desperation. "I was being sarcastic! I was joking!"
"I don't care." He says now and a look passes over his face. A dark, dangerous look that I do not like the look of one bit. He steps forward. I've got nowhere to run. Do I want to?
Joke. Make a joke. Say something. Anything. I like your bed. Can I Slytherin?
"Hey, Draco…" I murmur. His eyes dart about.
"Your bedroom?" I suggest. He nods a quick, furtive nod.
I'm falling in love, falling in love, falling in love with Draco Malfoy.