Disclaimer: All the characters, places, and the world belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling.
His thirst for her was immeasurable, his need insane. He himself didn't know what caused it, but he wasn't going to fight it. Not something this strong. It was like he was attached to her, everywhere he went, there she was. He couldn't stop his body from jerking to response in her presence, and again, he didn't fight it.
This thing, whatever it was, was too powerful. To powerful for even words to describe. It left him unsated and empty, and he knew the only way to end his torment was to have her.
She had done nothing to warrant it, nothing to make him want her. In fact, she had pushed him away. This was their relationship, and neither of them had ever thought differently. Until the day it started.
It was small at first, his mouth watering when she got close enough for him to smell her scent, his eyes constantly wandering to where she sat in the Great hall. And then it grew, until almost every waking moment was spent thinking of her, and every sight of her sent shivers down his spine.
She was his bane, he did not deny it. If only she knew.
He would have her; it was just a matter of time. It required a well thought-out plan, and precision. He needed to get his mind straight, but it was almost impossible with her infecting his every thought. He could no longer last through a lesson without his thoughts straying to the curve of her arse, and the way her eyes sparkled when she was angry.
He almost welcomed the holidays, welcomed a break from her. It was only after spotting her on the train home that he realized Christmas would be harder than he thought.
Though it gave him time to create a plan, it was almost worst. Not seeing her every day, not catching a whiff of strawberries passing her in the corridor, was torment. He found himself taking unnecessary trips to Diagon Alley, in hopes of spotting her shopping for the holidays.
His hopes were not answered.
And so he returned to school, frustrated, and still without a decent plan.
About a week after returning, he had it. He could feel himself bending, about to snap. Something had to be done, but what? He decided the best course of action would be to wing it.
This is how he found himself by the Quidditch Pitch, waiting for her to finish her grueling workout. The rain was freezing, coming down as sleet and hail and pelting him. He did not care; he waited in the maelstrom, the wind pounding at him relentlessly. His disheveled hair blew haphazardly, but he did not care. He was too focused.
He still did not know what he would say or do, but he knew it would work. It had to. He had an epiphany; whatever this was, so powerful and unrelenting, it was right.
He heard the door from the changing rooms creak open, followed by the padding of soft, tired feet. He stepped out of the shadows where he was hidden, a smirk adorning his face.
Ginny jumped, staring wide eyed at her stalker. "Malfoy? What the bloody-"
And suddenly his body was up against hers, warm and soft and inviting. His lips were crushing hers; his arms snaked around her waist and shoulders, hands tangled in her hair. She smelled of sweat and rain, and strawberries. She made to push him away, her hands on his shoulders, but he wouldn't allow it. His arms were like vice grips, rooting her to the spot so that he may drink in what he has wanted for so long now.
He was anything but lethargic, he was a crazed machine, never to cease and desist until her submission; the games in which he played were dirty, indeed.
A/N:: Please, please, please review. This is my first short oneshot fic, so I'd appreciate feedback.