Hello everyone! Here is a story based on an idea that popped into my head and wouldn't just go away! So here it is, written and published. A few notes though:
1. This story takes place 6 years after the defeat of Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. It is compatible with the almost all of the canon material EXCEPT the epilogue (and hence, the Cursed Child).
2. I don't speak any French, so all the French you'll see in this story comes from Google translate. So I am sorry if any of it is wrong. For those of you who don't know the language, I'm going to be putting in the translations at the very end.
3. The photo avatar for this story belongs to aqvarelles on deviantart.
I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this story. :)
WILFULLY: CHAPTER 1
For the life of her, Ginny Weasley did not know how this had happened.
She could have blamed the expensive champagne for it, but she had only had a couple of glasses and it was not enough to get her drunk. She supposed she could consider the possibility of being put under the Imperius Curse, but she knew deep down that that was not it either. Somehow, she had knowingly and wilfully ended up here.
Shit.
xx
It had all started when the Holyhead Harpies had been invited to France to play a friendly Quidditch match against the Gaillarde Géants for Serenity Initiative, a charity that helped witches and wizards affected by the Dark Arts cope with trauma. The Harpies had won the match, of course, and Ginny had scored four goals, two of which – dare she say it herself – had been rather spectacular.
The match was followed by a formal ball hosted by Edmond Lefebvre, who was not only the second most powerful man at the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France but also the head of the Lefebvre family, which was one of the most prestigious wizarding families of France, or so Fleur had gushed when Ginny had informed her family of her travel plans.
And so, Ginny found herself at Château d'Orchidée, a beautiful 16th century mansion named after the fields of orchids that surrounded it. As she walked into the grand ballroom with her teammates, she was glad that she had taken her sister-in-law's advice and shopped for the occasion. The mustard gown she was wearing had cost her a hundred galleons, and while that was probably nothing in comparison to the cost of what most women at the event were wearing, it was certainly the most expensive item in her wardrobe.
It wasn't that she couldn't afford expensive things. The Weasleys had come off a long way in the six years since the Second Wizarding War had ended. All her brothers had stable jobs, her father was now the Head of the Department of Magical Equipment Control, and it was her third year playing for the Holyhead Harpies. But a lifetime of 'careful spending' had left her somewhat frugal, which is why spending such a hefty sum on a dress had been difficult… and also kind of exhilarating.
Picking up a flute of champagne from one of the floating trays, she stopped by a wall to admire a moving mural depicting an ancient battle when a voice demanded her attention.
"Beautiful, iz it not?" Lukas Lefebvre asked. A handsome man in his late twenties, Lukas was the son of their host. "It iz an original Boulle. Of course, you wouldn't know her."
"Claudet Boulle, famously known for her realism and use of bold colours, is one of the most renowned wizarding painters of the nineteenth century," Ginny stated, for once feeling glad that she had taken art as an extra-curricular subject at Hogwarts in her third year.
Lukas looked surprised for a moment. "Yes, well, Boulle painted this especially for my great-grandfather. She waz a friend of the family." He gestured towards the guests. "Come, mademoiselle. I will introduce you to some of ze other friends of my family. You will not know them, I am certain."
Ginny smiled politely and allowed him to steer her towards the other French elites in attending. It was not the type of crowd that she normally hung out with, but the whole goal of this event was to socialise, so she endured with a smile and made polite conversation – well, as well as she could converse, considering she only knew a handful of French and some of them spoke no English at all.
Lukas translated for her, but every time he did so she felt him stiffen with disdain, as if he found the lack of her ability to speak French insulting. It was a shame, she thought, that unlike his father Edmond Lefebvre who possessed the polished charisma of a politician, Lukas only came across as condescending.
And of course, it didn't take long before he broached the topic of the century. "I heard zat you are no longer dating 'arry Potter."
"Yes," Ginny replied. "Harry and I broke up. Over a year ago now."
He tutted with disapproval. "But I heard zat you were in love."
"We were."
"Then why?"
Ginny responded with a shrug, wondering if tossing her drink in his face would be considered too rude. It would be, her mind supplied, so she downed the contents of her glass instead.
She understood the curiosity, she truly did: Harry Potter was the hero of the Wizarding World. He was the Boy Who Lived Twice. He killed Voldemort, and though Voldemort hadn't directly attacked any country outside of Britain, his reign of terror had an impact that surpassed boundaries. Everyone was thankful, everyone was in awe, everyone was interested… None of that made it easier for her to answer these questions. Her break-up with Harry was one of the hardest things that she had gone through in her life, and she knew that it was the same for him. The reasons were their own and she owed no one an explanation.
"Il s'agit d'une surprise inattendue!" Lukas exclaimed suddenly.
"Sorry?" Ginny asked, but his attention was now fixed on a very familiar looking man standing a few feet from them. She froze.
'Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world.'
The line from a muggle film that Hermione had once made her watch was fitting in the current situation, because never in her wildest dreams would Ginny Weasley have imagined running into Draco Malfoy at this party.
It took her a moment to realize that in her shock, she had allowed Lukas to practically steer her towards Malfoy. "Tante Coline sera heureux de voir que vous êtes ici, mon ami." Lukas was saying in lieu of greeting.
"Il était difficile de refuser son invitation," Malfoy replied. His grey eyes widened for a moment when he saw her, but he did a quick job of hiding his surprise. "Je suppose que vous êtes montrant vos invités autour."
"Hmm? Oh!" Lukas turned to Ginny, as if remembering that she was still with him. "Miss Weasley, allow me to introduce you to –"
"Draco Malfoy." Ginny cut in. Now that the initial shock of seeing him had worn off, she was in control of her emotions. "It's been a while."
A while it had been, indeed. The last time she had seen Malfoy in person was at the Battle of Hogwarts. During the Death Eater trials, his face had been plastered all over the newspapers. Harry had spoken for him then, declaring that Draco Malfoy had been a reluctant follower of Voldemort and that he had inadvertently helped the Golden Trio a couple of times during their quest. His testimony had resulted in a lenient verdict from the Wizengamot - heavy fines and twelve months of probation - something the press and a lot of the public hadn't been happy with.
But after the trial, Malfoy had faded into the shadows. Ginny knew that the Aurors kept a weather eye on him, as they did on all those who had once been close to Voldemort. And she knew that he was now and then featured in the business section of the Daily Prophet, but a lack of interest, both in the business sector and in him, had kept her in dark about his activities.
Malfoy met her gaze evenly. "Weasley."
"Do you know each other?" Lukas asked, looking between the two of them.
Know each other. That was one way of putting it, she supposed. It was certainly an apt summary of years of bullying, quarrelling, and general hatred towards each other. Malfoy must have been thinking along the same lines for he arched an eyebrow, as if giving her the go-ahead to respond in any way she deemed fit. As if she needed his permission. Prat.
"We are acquainted," Ginny replied much too politely.
"Excellent!" Lukas clapped his hands together excitedly. The sarcasm behind her response was either lost on him or he was simply ignoring it. "You two can give each other company. I have had to translate for Miss Weasley because she does not speak French, but you will not have zat problem."
Ginny could not help but stare incredulously at the host's son. It's not as if she had asked him to be her guide; she was perfectly fine on her own, occasionally mingling with the other Quidditch players and admiring the art.
Lukas, who clearly didn't care much for the glare she sent his way, turned to Malfoy. "Du bon côté, je n'aurai pas à soudoyer les gens pour vous parler," he said with a wink.
She had no idea what he had said, but it must have been something offensive because for a brief second Malfoy looked like he was resisting the urge to pull out his wand. Lukas once again remained oblivious.
Ginny wondered if being an arsehole was a prerequisite for being filthy rich. The only person she closely knew who owned what could be qualified as a hefty fortune was Harry, but Harry had always been modest. Half a lifetime of having to live in a cupboard under the stairs would do that to you, she reckoned. Still, as she glanced at Lukas and Malfoy and thought back to all those pureblood Slytherins she had encountered back at Hogwarts, she could not help but think that her theory had ground.
She felt obliged to glare at Lukas as he excused himself and bowed apologetically, as if leaving their company was causing him pain, and swaggered away.
"Git!"
"Twat!"
She hadn't even realised that she had insulted the host's son until she heard Malfoy do the same. Startled, she turned and found her gaze locked with his. A moment of silence passed between them in which they appreciated their mutual dislike of Lukas, and then he turned his attention towards a drinks tray floating by.
"Congratulations, by the way," he said as he picked up a glass of firewhiskey. "On your victory against the Géants."
"Thank you." Her reply was short. She hadn't forgotten all those years at Hogwarts when Malfoy had tormented her family and her friends, so the prospect of holding a conversation with him did not seem appealing. Picking up another flute of champagne from the tray, she looked around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of her teammates so she could go join them.
"Of course," Malfoy went on, "Winning against a team as horrid as the Géants is no feat at all. I doubt the Harpies will even make it to the second round in the real league."
"Excuse me?" Ginny rounded on him.
"You heard me." Malfoy said, brushing an imaginary strand off the sleeve of his impeccable black wizard's tuxedo. No doubt, his clothes cost more than her three-month salary. "Griffiths is a worse keeper than your useless brother ever was, and that is saying something."
"You're wrong." Ginny scoffed. Abigail Griffiths was her friend and was simply going through a rough patch, sports wise. And Ron may not have been the best keeper Gryffindor had but he wasn't useless. "The Harpies will do great this year."
"And I will be elected as the new Minister for Magic," he sneered.
There it was: that infamous Malfoy sneer. She had almost forgotten how much she had hated that stupid, smug expression. She was all reminded now. It was pathetic that the years had not changed Malfoy a bit. He was still the same arsehole that he had been back at Hogwarts.
"You're one to talk," she retorted icily, "Seeing as you lost every single match you played against Harry back at Hogwarts."
He pressed his lips together in disdain. "Potter was always the better flyer out of the two of us. He had a natural talent for it."
Huh.
She hadn't expected that. The mighty Draco Malfoy admitting to his inferior talent was something that would have never happened back at Hogwarts. Either pigs were starting to fly by themselves, or maybe he had evolved over time. A bit.
Startled by this revelation, Ginny took a moment or two to study him closely for the first time that evening. He was tall and lean, his skin pale as ever, reminding her of the countless vampire jokes her brothers had made at his expense, but his hair, now cropped short, was a shade or two darker than the iconic platinum blonde he had once possessed. He had grown into his pointed features, and she could find no trace of either the obnoxious bully or the conflicted Death Eater that he had once been.
"I know you are somewhat unschooled in etiquette, but surely even a Weasley would know that it is rude to stare."
His voice snapped her out of her blatant observations and she quickly averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks getting red. She would be damned if she let him see her embarrassed, though. "I was only checking for signs of sickness," she said, "You did just compliment Harry."
"I assure you, it wounded my pride greatly to do so," Malfoy said.
"Everything is normal, then," She took a sip of her champagne.
"Quite."
There was a lull in conversation but somehow, by unspoken consent, the two of them made their way to the back of the ballroom where a dozen or so circular high tables were set for people who wished to sit and converse. As they reached an empty table, Malfoy held out his hand to help her sit on the high stool.
All those years spent insulting her and her family and now he wanted to act like a gentleman? Well, she would have none of it. Placing her glass in his outstretched hand, Ginny hopped onto the stool herself and took her time adjusting the skirts of her dress to make sure that too much of her leg was not bared through the slit. Let the prat wait for a bit. Once satisfied, she took her glass back without uttering a word of thanks.
The smile she received from him in response was too sweet to be real, and she mentally congratulated herself on this petty little victory of sorts as she watched him take a seat across from her.
As soon as they were both seated, the candle on the table lit up and the empty golden platter filled up with an impressive assortment of bite-sized snacks. She started at the sudden appearance of the food, but he seemed completely unfazed. The bastard.
"So," She began as she picked up an appetizer at random and plopped it into her mouth. It was goat's cheese covered with dried apricots and sweet Merlin, was it delicious! "What brings you to this party?"
Malfoy eyed her table manners with mild distaste but did not comment on it. "See, Weasley, if you could speak ze French language," He spoke the last three words in said accent, "my brief conversation with Lukas would have provided you with an answer to that."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Ah, Lukas. I shouldn't even be surprised that a posh ponce like that is your friend."
"He is not my friend," Malfoy muttered as he reached out for a paper napkin and some cheese.
His table etiquette was perfect. Too perfect. He was a vision of bloody elegance as he ate soundlessly, then set down his small appetizer skewer in a straight vertical position and wiped his fingertips on the napkin, even though he hadn't even touched the food with his fingers. Nobody should be this proper, she thought incredulously.
Not wanting to get caught staring at him again, she reached for more food and said, "You still haven't answered my question."
"I wasn't aware that I was obliged to." He said, but went on answering anyway, "I was invited by Coline Lefebv–"
"That old hag?" Ginny interrupted, remembering the grey-haired woman she had seen when she had arrived at the chateau. Gwenog Jones, the Harpies captain, had told her that the woman, who was looking down her nose at practically everything, was Edmond's older sister. "The one who clearly thinks that she is the queen of the world."
Malfoy shot her a sharp look but then his lips twitched with amusement. "I take it the Lefebvre have left quite a bad impression on you."
Ginny wondered if she should respond to that, then shrugged nonchalantly. She had every right to voice her opinions, even if they didn't paint their hosts in a very good light. "Lukas is an arse. Edmond was charming but I think it was a façade; he's a politician through and through so he'd put up whatever front was required of him."
Malfoy looked more and more amused by the second, which meant that either he shared her opinion or that he was enjoying some inside joke that she was not privy to. Or maybe he just had an annoyingly smug face. Yes, that was probably it.
"I could be wrong," she admitted, "But it's just that they come across as arrogant, superficial people who are drunk on their wealth and power."
He gestured at their lavish surroundings. "Should they not be?"
"Of course, you'd find nothing wrong with that. Aristocratic tosser," She muttered the last part under her breath, but kept her voice loud enough so that he would hear it.
Which he did, but instead of retaliating with an insult, he simply smirked and took a sip of his drink. She was certain now that he was enjoying some inside joke and that she was somehow the punchline of it.
She frowned at him, wondering for the dozenth time why she was still talking to him. Over snacks, no less. Maybe the time had come for her to make her exit, but before she could, a new voice sliced through the momentary silence.
"Te voilà, Draco!" Coline Lefebvre had walked over to their table. Up close, the woman seemed to be quite graceful not only in her appearance but in her movements, considering that she was in her late sixties, maybe even early seventies.
Malfoy slid off his seat to stand next to the older woman. "Bonsoir, grand-mère," he said.
Grand-mère.
Ginny knew enough words in French to know what that meant. It was as if someone had hit her with a stunning spell and all she could do was sit there and gawk.
"Allow me to introduce you to Miss Ginevra Weasley, chaser for the Holyhead Harpies." Though Malfoy appeared to be entirely serious with his gentlemanliness, she knew he was enjoying the look on her face deep down. His amusement made perfect sense now, after all. "Miss Weasley, this is Coline Lefebvre, my grandmother."
Putting down her half-eaten gougère, Ginny quickly wiped her fingers on the napkin and held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, madame," she said. That was the maximum politeness she could muster at the moment and she wasn't going to stand up in honour of the woman, not when she was resisting the urge to bat-bogey her prat of a grandson.
Coline's pressed her lips together, then reached out and clasped her hand. "Miss Weasley," She said. "I know your family has come a long way but a ball like tonight's must be a relatively new experience for you. I do hope you are enjoying yourself." Her English accent was immaculate, but the woman had probably spent a large chunk of her life in Britain. She sounded haughty and yet her words had missed the mark of being offensive. Maybe she hadn't intended for them to be so, or maybe because what she had said was indeed true. The Weasleys were not used to attending parties in palaces.
"I am, thank you." Ginny replied. And then it suddenly hit her.
She had seen the Black family tree; she remembered it clearly from all those days of trying to make Grimmauld Place a habitable base for the Order. Narcissa Black's mother had been a Rosier... which meant that Coline Lefebvre was Lucius Malfoy's mother.
Sweet Merlin's pants! The idea of Lucius Malfoy having a mother seemed bizarre. Ginny had always assumed the man had just dropped down from the skies, black cloaks swishing and that ugly cane swirling, and had sauntered about ruining lives of others. Somehow, this revelation shocked her the most this evening and she hurried to compose herself. Thankfully, the fleeting change in her expression from that of mild horror to casual indifference had gone unnoticed.
Taking a sip of her champagne – Merlin, she wished she had something stronger! – she eyed Malfoy, who was now conversing with his grandmother in French. The language rolled off his tongue fluently, as if he had been speaking it his entire life, and even an outsider such as Ginny could tell that his accent was truly natural. It was infuriating.
Less than a minute later, Coline walked away after a swift goodbye and Malfoy re-joined Ginny back at the table. He glanced at her, as if expecting her to say something.
Which she did. "It makes so much sense now."
"Does it?" He raised an eyebrow.
It did, to her.
It was no secret that the Malfoys were rich; how rich, though, was a question that no one quite knew the answer to. They had retained their wealth after the trials, and even the Ministry's weather eye had not been able to put a figure on their riches. And to top it all off, the sole heir of the Malfoy family and fortune, who had been raised to believe that power, wealth and blood purity were everything, was related by blood to not only the Blacks and Rosier, but also the ancient Lefebvre… No wonder Draco Malfoy had been such a wanker back at school. Of course, none of this made his previous behaviour forgivable - never that - but it was understandable, in a twisted sort of way.
"She is your grandmother." She stated.
"Yes," he drawled slowly.
"And you're related to the Lefebvre."
Malfoy shot her a look. "People tend to be related to their grandparents, Weasley," he sneered. "Honestly, with brains like that, it is a miracle that your family hasn't gone extinct."
"That was a weak insult," Ginny said with a snort. "Even for you. Especially for you."
"Yes well, I'm out of practice. I haven't come across you gingers in a long time."
She hummed. "You're losing your touch."
"Why, Weasley! It sounds as if you have missed my jabs."
She turned to him. "Does it?"
"I am sure it has been a while for you," He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "If you want it, all you have to do is ask."
Had he just implied what she thought he had implied? Surely not. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew that the double meaning behind his words had been completely intentional. "The day I ask you for it, Malfoy, will be the day hell freezes over."
He held her gaze for a lingering moment. "Pity," he said, looking away with a half-shrug, "It would have livened up this dull evening."
"You're not wrong about that." The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
His eyes snapped to hers once again, filled with surprise, as if he could never have expected that particular response from her. Truth was, she was just as surprised as him and was certain that he could glean that in her expression.
"I meant about the evening," Ginny felt the need to blurt.
"Yes." His voice was devoid of emotion.
"Not about the–"
"Of course."
A moment of silence passed. Then, they broke their eye-contact and reached out for their drinks simultaneously.
Ginny could feel the awkwardness in the air and the blush on her cheeks. Had she just sort of flirted with Draco Malfoy? No. It wasn't that. It can't have been. This was Malfoy – ex-Death Eater and arsehole extraordinaire. She would never flirt with him.
And now she would continue the conversation as if nothing had happened. She could get up and leave but that would be a cowardly move, and she was anything but that. Besides, he would probably read much more into the situation if she did that. "So," She cleared her throat and turned to him once again, "Are you staying here, then? While you're visiting."
Bloody hell! In an attempt to rid herself of the awkwardness and to leave him with no misconceptions, she had inquired about his lodgings. She would have kicked herself right then and there if she could.
"No. My business in Paris was brief." Malfoy replied. He didn't seem fazed by the question, so maybe her attempt at steering the conversation on had worked. "If it weren't for sheer rotten luck, my Lefebvre relatives wouldn't even have known that I was in the country."
"You don't seem very fond of them," she commented.
He sniffed in disdain. "I will have you know that I find them to be extremely tolerable. In small doses, administered after extended periods of absences."
Ginny laughed, thinking back to her brothers' weddings and how annoying it had been to deal with all the distant aunts and uncles and cousins. Who would have guessed that even a posh prat like Malfoy could not escape the claws of relative-related nightmarish obligations? "And what was the sheer rotten luck?"
"I accidentally ran into my grandmother at Rue du Alters," He absently ran a hand through his hair as he named a street that was the French equivalent of Diagon Alley. "She persuaded me to attend this ball before I take the portkey home later tonight."
As Ginny followed the movement of his long fingers with her eyes, she realised two things. One: she wanted to touch his blonde hair. Two: she was aware, too aware, of his every movement. It was as if the seed that had been planted during their conversation had taken root, and now she could not help but imagine –
Imagine nothing, she told herself firmly. This whole train of thought was absolutely ridiculous and she would not let it go any further.
"Right," she said as she sat up straighter, only to have her leg brush against his under the table. The accidental touch lasted no longer than a second but she felt a spark. For the umpteenth time that evening, Ginny found her gaze locked with Malfoy's, but neither of them broke the eye contact this time.
"I take it you shall be returning to London now that the match is over." He said slowly.
"Hmm?" She forced herself to focus on his words, "N-No. We have a couple of free days in Paris, which I am very excited about."
"Oh?" He leaned forward, making her hold her breath, which was silly seeing that his face was still at least a foot away from hers. "And why does this excite you?"
His words sent a shiver down her spine and she wondered whether he was deliberately saying things that had double meaning, or if her mind was strolling deep down in the gutter. Probably both.
"Because…" Ginny trailed off. The answer was right there in her head: she was excited at the prospect of exploring Paris because it was her first time in the city, but she could not form the words. The room felt warm and the noise of the party had faded into the background. All she could see was him – and her gaze inadvertently dropped to his lips.
He had nice lips, she mused and then berated herself for thinking so.
She looked back into his eyes and saw – Merlin! she actually saw – his pupils dilate, a clear indication that he was just as affected by their conversation as she was.
Malfoy stood up, his sudden movement startling her, and slowly held out his hand. The meaning behind the gesture was clear. He had made his decision, now it was time for her to make hers. The battle raging in her mind between reason and emotion needed to be resolved. She could either throw caution to the wind or she could go find her teammates. The latter would have been the wiser choice but, whether for good or for bad, wisdom had never been her strong suit.
Ginny placed her hand in his.
He wordlessly guided her out of the ballroom and down a hallway until they reached a study room. As he swung the door shut, she glanced around, taking in the walls covered with a vast collection of books and scrolls, a massive hearth and leather armchairs. Hermione would have loved this place.
That was all the time she had for observations, for Malfoy had grabbed her by the elbows and maneuvered her until she was backed against a bookshelf.
He came to stand before her, his face only inches away. Everything was still for a moment, then slowly, almost cautiously, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. It was chaste and lasted only a few seconds before he pulled away and studied her.
He must have found whatever he was looking for in her expression, for he lowered his lips to hers again, this time kissing her properly. Ginny responded eagerly, her eyes fluttering shut and her heart hammering in her chest. She felt his hands move from her elbows to her sides, slowly moving up and down. If he was exploring, she saw no reason not to do the same. So, she placed her hands on the sides of his head and slowly trailed her fingers up into his hair.
The kiss grew more passionate as their tongues battled for dominance. She took great pleasure in making a mess of his impeccably styled hair – no doubt the git used the most expensive products on it to keep it this soft and shiny – while he grew bolder with his touches and placed his hand over her breast, caressing it through her dress.
When the need for air outgrew the desire to taste his mouth, Ginny pulled away and looked at him. His lips were smeared with her crimson lipstick, and his eyes, which were actually blue-grey rather than just grey, were brimming with a naked hunger that made her weak in the knees.
His hand moved down, sneaking through the slit of her gown until his fingers hooked into the waistband of her knickers. With a swift tug, he pulled them off. As her underwear slid off her legs and pooled at her feet, she was only glad that she had decided to wear her black lace knickers instead of the plain cotton ones. Her own desire grew more frenzied, and Ginny ran her hands down his chest until she reached the front of his trousers. She had managed to undo the button and pull the zipper down halfway when he placed a searing kiss on her lips, rendering her nearly useless to do anything else but kiss back.
Malfoy must have realised that, for he pushed his trousers and boxers down to his knees himself, then reached out and pulled open the slit of her dress. He grabbed her thighs and hoisted her up, so she could wrap her legs around his waist. And then –
"Oh!"
The gasped exclamation escaped her lips when their bodies joined. Her voice almost echoed in the room, making her realise that this was the first word either of them had spoken since they had walked into this study. Clouded by a silly notion that their situation demanded some further form of conversation, she placed her hands on his shoulders and breathed, "Malfoy."
Their foreheads touched, his eyes bore into hers. "Considering the position we are presently in," he said, his voice husky and strained as if keeping still took up all of his willpower, "I think you may call me Draco from now on."
And then, without waiting for her response, he started to move.
It was exquisite; there was simply no other word for it. She felt his lips on her jaw, moving down her neck, leaving behind a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses. Damn, the man knew what he was doing.
Ginny felt herself losing all sense of her surroundings, of reality itself, at the sensations that coursed through her body as they moved in this sensuous dance for what felt like an eternity. And when the world exploded around her, she bit his neck hard to keep herself from screaming out; loud noises would have attracted curious souls and she wasn't quite sure if he had locked the door to the study or not.
She must have bit him too hard, for Malfoy let out a grunt of pain – or perhaps, it was pleasure – as he shuddered and stilled. They remained motionless for a while, trying to catch their breath while their faces remained buried in each other's necks.
Then, Ginny unfurled her legs and placed her feet on the ground. Moving past him wordlessly, she readjusted the skirts of her gown and observed her reflection in the mirror above the hearth. Strands of her auburn hair, which she had tied into a neat bun before coming to the ball, had come loose. As she went about re-pinning those, she observed him from the corner of her eyes. He had been quick to fix his clothes and was vanishing the lipstick marks on his face with a wordless swish of his wand.
She turned to face him just as he did the same, his sharp eyes catching hers, though the silence continued to linger between them. It wasn't awkward, not really, it was just odd. No doubt the turn of events had been as unexpected for him as they had been for her.
And then, a muffled voice from outside the door caught their attention. "… she be?" Abigail Girffiths was saying. "Oi Ginny! Where have you gone off to?"
Dear Merlin. The last thing Ginny wanted was to get caught with Malfoy by her teammate who, while was a dear friend, had a habit of blurting out stuff in front of the press (Abigail had once blabbed an embarrassing story of Harry walking into the Harpies locker room while the girls had been changing – he'd only come to congratulate Ginny on the win and couldn't have known that they were indecent – and Rita Skeeter had had a field day with that. The words "the Boy Who Lived", "using his celebrity", and "orgies" had been used in the same sentence).
Hoping to avoid an encounter that would certainly lead to a lot of questions, Ginny hurried over to the door and wrenched it open.
Abigail stood only a few feet away and jumped in surprise. "Oh, there you are!" She exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you."
"I… I was looking for the loo and got lost," Ginny lied smoothly, glad that she didn't sound too winded. From the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy stand still exactly where he was, which mercifully happened to on the side so no one who wasn't in the room would be able to see him.
"Well, come on then! The Daily Prophet wants a photo of the team." Abigail grasped her wrist and tugged at it, pulling her out into the hallway. "I reckon we head back after that. Sleep early so we can go see the Eiffel Tower first thing in the morning. I've heard the queues are a nightmare."
"Sounds like a plan," Ginny agreed, allowing her friend to lead her back towards the ballroom.
It felt odd to leave without a word to him but judging by the silence they had been sharing before getting interrupted, it was unlikely either of them would have spoken up. At least not for a bit. But as she reached the end of the hallway, Ginny could not help but glance back. She caught a fleeting glimpse of Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway of the study, looking like a picture of elegance, before she turned round the corner and found herself back in the midst of the party.
xx
For the life of her, Ginny Weasley did not know how this happened.
She was leaning against the railing of the tiny balcony of her hotel room in Paris, watching the sun rise in the distance, and thinking of the events of last night.
She had shagged Draco Malfoy. She had shagged him in the study room of a chateau at a party hosted by the highest of the French wizarding elites, who also happened to be his relatives. Well, the last part really didn't matter, nor did the middle one. The only part she kept on thinking of again and again was the Draco Malfoy part.
There was no regret; she hadn't hated his company, and she had especially enjoyed the sex. There was only mild disbelief that she had done it wilfully, for that is what had happened. She hadn't been drunk, it wasn't the Imperius Curse and, even though she had toyed with the idea briefly, she knew that the food and drink hadn't been laced with love potion. Whatever had happened last night had been an entirely conscious decision on her part, and on his.
It was just… bizarre.
She was interrupted out of her thoughts by a majestic eagle owl swooping down from the sky above. It dropped a small parcel into her hands, snapped its beak at her in an almost patronising manner and then flew away with a swish of its wings.
Ginny eyed the small ribbon-tied cardboard box in her hands; there was no tag or sender's name on it. Curious, she opened it and her eyes widened in surprise. She knew now for certain that it was from Draco Malfoy – only he would have an owl that was such a git! – for inside the box was her lacy black underwear. She hadn't had a chance to put it back on before they had been interrupted last night. Sweet Merlin! He had actually kept her knickers?! That creepy bastard.
There was also a folded note inside the box, written in neat, slanted writing on a square piece of parchment. It was short and very much to the point:
Ginevra,
It was an absolute pleasure getting acquainted with you.
D.M.
Ginny couldn't help it, she laughed. Draco Malfoy was a creepy bastard alright, but he was a bastard with style.
Translations:
Il s'agit d'une surprise inattendue! (This is an unexpected surprise!)
Tante Coline sera heureux de voir que vous êtes ici, mon ami . (Aunt Coline will be happy to see you here, my friend.)
Il était difficile de refuser son invitation. (It was difficult to refuse her invitation.)
Je suppose que vous êtes montrant vos invités autour. (I guess you're showing your guests around.)
Du bon côté, je n'aurai pas à soudoyer les gens pour vous parler. (On the bright side, I will not have to bribe people to talk to you.)
This could just stand alone as a one-shot or I can turn it into a multi-chapter story, but that depends on the response I get. So please do let me know if you want to see this continued or not.
Also, I wasn't quite sure about the rating of this story. Even though there is sex in it, I've tried not to make it too explicit. I'm rating this story as T, but if you think that I should up it, do let me know and I will do so.
Thank you for reading the story. Reviews will be greatly appreciated!
Cheers x