A/N: Written for the 100quills challenge on lj. Prompt #42 Friendship.

Well, who would've thought? wondered Ginny Weasley as she leaned against the door frame to the girls' changing room, her arms crossed as she stared thoughtfully across the field at the small figure darting around in the air.

"What are you doing down there, Weasley?" shouted the figure, pausing in his antics as he noticed her standing by herself on the side of the field. "Get your arse up here!'

She grinned easily, unfolding her arms as she pushed herself off the door and grabbed her broom, ambling slowly towards the middle of field. "Hold your hippogriffs, Malfoy!" she hollered back, enjoying herself immensely as he shot her a very rude hand gesture.

"You said you'd be here at eight," said Draco crossly, as he flew closer to her and halted, his broom humming quietly as it held him in midair.

"Yeah, well, I got hung up, didn't I?" said Ginny, shifting her weight on her broom so that she was more comfortable. She glanced over at the teenager next to her, and rolled her eyes as she noticed his sulk. "Oh stop pouting, you spoiled brat," she laughed. "There are other things in my life other than Quidditch, you know."

"This isn't about Quidditch," muttered Draco as he leaned forward, shooting his broom up to follow her.

She ignored him. She knew very well that it wasn't about Quidditch any more, never mind that that's what it had all started with.

She had come down to the field, at the beginning of her Fourth Year, trying to find time to practice. She had hoped to be ready for the Gryffindors' Quidditch tryouts, but even with the spare practice she managed to squeeze in during the summer, she knew it would be pointless to tryout unless she was positive she was ready. After all, she didn't want Harry to see what a dunce she was on a broomstick, did she?

She had headed down to the Quidditch Field at the first possible moment, glancing over her shoulder numerous times to make sure she wasn't being followed. It was her dream to surprise everyone - especially Harry Potter - with her wonderful Quidditch talents, and the only way to do that was to make sure no one noticed her making her way done to the field.

Ginny had arrived, hopeful, determined, ready to go, and paused at the edge of the field, her newfound strength draining away as she saw someone else already flying around on the field. She paused, ready to turn around, when suddenly it occurred to her that the field was large, and that there was more than enough room to share. And so, she continued on, squaring her shoulders, and praying the other occupant wouldn't be anyone she knew.

She got her wish - kind of. She certainly didn't know Draco Malfoy - though she had heard many a tale from her brothers' lips - and she wondered, briefly, if it was worse that it was him or not.

Ah, well, she shrugged, swinging her leg over her broomstick and darting into the air. It was only a one-time thing, anyway.

He had spotted her, and, like she dreaded, flown over to see who would dare impose on his practice time. "Weasley?" he asked, pulling up short, his expression morphing into one of surprise before quickly changing into a scowl. "What are you doing here?"

She rolled her eyes, and tightened her grip on the handle. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm here to practice, same as you. The field is large; you can simply stay on that side, and I'll stay on this side."

His dark gray eyes glinted furiously. "I was here first!"

"Oh, please," said Ginny, glaring at him. "Don't be such a prat. If you don't want to share, then you can just leave."

He accelerated at a surprising speed, leaning forward on his broom as he aimed it straight at her. She yelped, pulling her broom up sharply and missing him by inches. "I was here first," said Draco through gritted teeth, turning his broom to glare up at her.

She gaped at him, shocked. "I cannot believe this! They said you were narrow-minded and spoiled, but honestly!" Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Fine then."

He smirked, but she continued before he could speak. "I challenge you to a Quidditch match. The winner gets the field."

He opened his mouth, ready to retort that it was already his field to begin with, but the glint in her eyes stopped him. Suddenly he knew it was more than just the Quidditch field. It was about skills. He narrowed his eyes, his mouth a thin frown. "Deal."

It was a close game. They decided to forgo the Snitch and the Bludgers, instead moving back and forth with the Quaffle. Ginny had the advantage here; she was naturally a good Chaser. However, Draco's broom was a faster, newer model, and he was had a larger frame, which he used maliciously to block her and make her drop the Quaffle.

Finally, breathing hard, they landed, sparing each other dark glances.

"Fine," panted Ginny, her hands on her knees as she bent over, trying to catch her breath. "You win. You can use the bloody field."

Draco, whose face was tinged pink from the exertion, and who had, at last, managed to control his breathing, scowled darkly as he realized the match had been pointless; he no longer wanted to use the field. "Stupid bint," he muttered, brushing roughly past her.

She glared after him, and crossed her arms. Merlin, was she thankful she would never have to practice on the same field with him again.

Except that she did. The next week, on a Tuesday afternoon, she headed down to the pitch, determined to do some serious Seeking. And once again, Malfoy had beaten her down.

"I bet I can catch the Snitch first," said Ginny boldly, once he had landed on the ground and opened his mouth, ready to yell at her again.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then, "Fine."

They decided, to be fair, they would release the Snitch and wait at least three minutes before taking off.

"It's stupid that you like Potter," said Draco after two minutes and thirty-three seconds. (Ginny was the timekeeper.)

She looked up, shocked, when suddenly he abruptly jumped to his feet and swung his leg over his broom.

"Right then," he said, looking up. "That's long enough. Be prepared to lose, Weasley."

She jumped up and threw her broom out, speeding after him.

--

He won again.

He stared at her after the game, once they were on the ground once more, a triumphant smirk on his face. It reassured her to know that he was back to normal - even if normal for him was being a thickheaded prat. "Told you."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Malfoy. You won't have to play with me ever again. You can find someone 'worthy' of you."

He crossed his arms, a contemplative look on his face as he watched her turn around and start trudging up to the castle, broomstick dragging behind her...

The next time, she beat him to the field first. They decided to switch off this time, and used the Quaffle once more. Everything was fine (Ginny could already tell a big improvement from when she first started three weeks ago) until they touched ground.

"He's more trouble than he's worth," offered Draco carelessly as he packed the Quaffle back into the case.

Ginny glanced up from where she had bent over, tying her trainers, confused. Then suddenly it dawned on her. "What's it to you?" she demanded, standing straight and glaring defiantly at him.

He glanced up at her impassively. "Nothing," he replied in a bored tone. "I just think you could do better than Harry bloody Potter."

She snorted, crossing her arms, a disgusted look on her face. "And by that do you mean... you?"

He laughed cruelly, his sneer back in place. "A Pureblood wizard like me would never soil my reputation, much less my skin, with scum like you."

That ended that conversation.

When they met again, for the fourth time, on a late Saturday night, Ginny decided it had gone too far.

"You need to choose one day a week and stick with it," she announced, sticking her nose in the air as she observed him as haughtily as she could (she had a theory that if she acted like she deserved respect, she would, in due time, receive it).

"First of all," said Draco, turning to look over his shoulder to glare at her. "You do not order a Malfoy to do anything."

She frowned. So much for her theory.

"And secondly, I get Monday nights."

She opened her mouth angrily to challenge him, and closed it again. There was no use arguing with him, he had beaten her in every single match so far. "Right. I get Wednesdays then."

"Here," said Draco, shoving a bat in her hands.

She looked down. "What's this for?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I need to strengthen my arms."

I pity those who are chosen to play Beater, thought Ginny five minutes later as she once again made an extreme roll in midair to dodge a Bludger he had just hit in her direction.

"You're supposed to hit it back, dimwit!" he yelled.

"I can't!" she screamed back, ignoring her messy hair as it tumbled out of the ponytail holder. "You're hitting it too hard!"

"Oh good grief, Weasley," he cried, flying closer. "It's not that hard, here--" he made a move to take her bat from her.

"No! You have your own bat, use that to demonstrate!"

"Give - it - here!" grunted Draco, struggling to take the bat.

"No!" yelped Ginny, and then, she screamed as he let go of the bat suddenly and she was falling, falling to her death, her arms reaching to hold on to something--

"Stop screaming, Weasley," reprimanded a soft voice in her ear as suddenly warm arms clutched her, one under her legs, one under her neck. "You're giving me a headache."

She sobbed frantically, her arms immediately going up to wrap around his neck, Malfoy or no. "You - you--"

"Shh," he said quietly, and, instead of landing, continued to fly slowly around the pitch. "It's all right. Calm down."

"I could've died," she cried, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. "But you - you saved me! E-even though I'm a Weasley!"

He sighed heavily, and she shivered as she felt his chest move and, subconsciously snuggled closer. "You think I would have just let you die?"

She remained silent, until at last her feet were firmly placed on the ground. "Thank you," she said softly, staring at the ground. When she finally brought up the courage to glance up, he was gone.

It took her two and a half weeks before she was able to finally convince herself to go back to the Quidditch pitch, and, by that time, she had long forgotten that Monday nights were Malfoy's.

"I thought I'd see you here again," came the cool drawl from behind her. She had been standing on the edge of the pitch, clutching her broom tightly, and now she spun around, eyes slightly wider than usual. "You Gryffindors never know what's good for you."

"Malfoy," she breathed, staring up at him, blinking dazedly.

He brushed past her airily. "I already have one house elf, Weasley, don't become another just because I did something stupid like save your worthless life."

This caught her attention. She turned angrily, following his arrogant, lean form with her glinting brown eyes. "Stupid? Two weeks ago you said I--"

He turned around and raised a single eyebrow. "Are you here to practice or not?"

She glared, fuming silently, and leaped into the air, pulling her broom underneath her in one smooth movement and speeding off; Draco had pulled out the Quaffle without asking.

Ginny, full of anger, resentment, confusion, and overall in a bad mood (she had, after all, been so very nervous to come down, and he had still made fun of her!), finally won her first match against Draco Malfoy.

When they finally landed, and Draco stared at her wordlessly, eyebrows raising in that slightly mocking, thoughtful look other, Ginny finally knew she had earned an ounce of respect.

"See you next week, Weasley," he said, walking away gracefully to leave her to clean up. "When I'll beat your arse so badly you'll never come back."

And yet, here she was, two years later and a magnificent Quidditch player.

It was after their match, in which they spent tossing the Quaffle around as roughly as they could, before releasing the Snitch and attempting to do both at once (the first one to either catch the Snitch or make a hundred points won), that Ginny finally took a good look at Draco Malfoy for the first time since he told her to give up on Harry bloody Potter.

He was relaxed, his arms spread out along the bleachers, his head tilted back, hair gleaming in the dying sunlight. His eyes were closed, and, as Ginny stared at him in wonder, they slowly opened, meeting hers. He grinned lazily, and she felt a deep feeling well up in her stomach. "All right," he said, "we both know you're a bloody fantastic Quidditch player, Weasley. But who made you that way, eh?"

There was a pause and then,

"Harry bloody Potter," they chorused. They both laughed.

"Tomorrow's the last day," said Draco softly after a comfortable pause. He glanced over at her before staring back out at the Quidditch Pitch, bathed in the sunset.

Ginny, who was resting against the side of his frame, one arm spread out next to her, twisted her head up to stare at him. "Last day for you," she corrected, but her usual mirthful tone was gone. "I still have one more year."

There was a long silence as they both sat there, both thinking the same thing. It was Ginny who spoke first.

"I'll - I won't have anyone to practice with."

"Doesn't matter," said Draco in an offhand tone. "You'll be captain of the Quidditch team, you'll have enough to do without sneaking off down here to practice worthless stunts."

"I don't sneak off!" said Ginny indignantly. "My friends know exactly where I'm at!"

His expression was skeptical. "Yes, at the Quidditch Pitch. However, do they know--"

"Yes, they know I'm with you."

His expression softened and he stared down at her. "They must think you're barking."

"I am barking," grinned Ginny, nudging him gently.

"Ginny, I'll--"

She glanced back up at him again and he faltered. His expression changed once more, and he looked straight ahead, quiet. "Nothing."

--

She didn't know exactly when it changed, when exactly he started treating her more like an equal instead of dirt on his shoe. In time though, he opened up, just barely, but enough for her to slip past his guard, unnoticed. A comment here, a laugh there.

And suddenly they were friends. Or something like it, anyway. Occasionally he would still make a comment that would alert her to the hidden Malfoy inside, but other than that - he was just a sarcastic, witty, annoying older brother.

And then that changed too. He'd clip her on the shoulder gently, or shoot Rictusempra wordlessly when her back was turned. She couldn't help but notice how gracefully he'd land his broom, or how glorious he looked when attempting a hair raising flip.

Now, as they parted from the Pitch for the last time, Ginny felt something breaking inside of her, and turned her head away from the tall Slytherin, trying to hide the tears streaking down her face.

"Ginny?"

No answer.

She felt a warm hand close around her wrist and as he turned her around, bent her head, trying to hide her face. "It's nothing," she said, her voice thick with tears. "I just--"

He crushed her to his chest, one hand moving up to stroke her hair. "Shh. It's all right. Calm down." She sobbed harder still as she heard the familiar words he had whispered years ago when he saved her life.

"Don't leave," she whispered, arms encircling his slender waist tightly. "Please. Don't leave me."

"It'll only be a year and then I'll see you again," he said lowly. "Of course, as soon as you get out, you'll have Captains from all over the world begging you to join their team. Who knows. You might not even remember be any more."

"Idiot," she cried, her voice muffled from his chest. "How could I possibly fo - for - forget --"

He raised a gentle hand, placing it slowly on the back of her head. "Shh, Ginny. Shh." And he bent down and kissed her, his slow lips reassuring her where his words could not. "It'll be all right." And then he said the words she had been longing to hear for so long now. "I love you."