Don't Walk With The Devil
by: gabrielle
disclaimer: I don't, won't, and will never own HP - that belongs to Jo and her boys at Warner, and I'm not feeling a lawsuit tonight.
I also don't own the inspiration, "Don't Walk With The Devil," an amazing song by Seven Mary Three.
A/N: it may be a little AU, or OOC, but hey. Sometimes you just mold 'em into what you want 'em to be ;] Also, I'm not enough of a regular updater to deserve a beta, so alas, it may contain some typos. Be kind.
Post Hogwarts.
Ginevra Weasley crossed her legs. She wiggled a little on her stool, and uncrossed them. She let the somewhat attractive man next to her lean across her, supposedly to grab a handful of oversalted peanuts while his forearm casually brushed her right breast, and then crossed them again. He laughed at the corny joke she told, and his breath smelled distastefully of the coke and rum he couldn't let go of. He stumbled a little, scattering nuts as he regained correct footing, and leaned forward onto the bar once more, staring her straight in the eye.
She raised her eyebrows subtly as he began to tell her a story about his business that she didn't quite care to hear. She rubbed the condensation off of her glass with her thumb, ran her hand through her vibrant locks, and cast her gaze around the room helplessly, thinking back to how she'd gotten here in the first place.
"I'm done!" she cried, and the ebony headed man stared at her, bewildered, as she angrily threw a few of her belongings into a rather expensive suitcase. He watched as blouses and pencil skirts, sweatpants and ratty tees fought for space in the bag, her hands forcing them into suffocation. "I've had enough of being your princess, Harry. I'm a woman, for Merlin's sake, not a toy."
His eyes sought out hers beseechingly, but she only glared back firmly, her hands on her hips as the case zipped itself.
"Ginny, please, we can sort this out," he tried, his hands clasped before her. She almost wished she had a camera, so she could send the image before her to the Prophet. He'd been so brave and courageous in defeating the Dark Lord, but now he was reduced to a begging mess over just a woman. "Just tell me what's wrong. You know I would never do anything to make you unhappy."
"That's the thing, Harry," she sighed, pulling the suitcase off of the bed. "This life - this life is too perfect for me. I'm still in my prime, right now. I need to go out and go to actual parties and get in fights and - " she knew she was going a little overboard, but her mind was running a mile a minute, and there was no way she was going to stop the flow. She knew if she even gave him even a little headway, the whole ship would be sunk before she hit the water. "I need to be me, for awhile, not Harry Potter's Girlfriend."
Slowly, the Boy Who Lived (who was now quite a man, and she hated that he still grinned at the nickname) pulled off his glasses in a resigned fashion and rubbed the bridge of his nose, emitting a quiet sigh.
"I know, Ginny, I don't like the publicity either, you know that, but there's no way I can keep them from us all the time, I just don't - "
"It's not just the bloody publicity!" she snapped, snatching her coat off a nearby chair. "It's you, Harry. It's us. It's this whole ruddy relationship, and the way we treat it."
Her face softened when his own expressed how taken aback he was.
"I just need to go," she whispered, and without another word, she levitated her suitcase and dropped her flat key on the table as she walked out the door, unable to look back.
Now, she swished her gin and tonic (heavy on the gin, no pun intended) and turned her bored expression away from the stuttering fool before her, to examine the other clubbers. The crowd gave way to dancing bodies, flashing lights and loud music. She sipped her drink and narrowed her vision down to one man with strikingly blonde hair dancing in a way so sensual she pulled her legs tighter against her. As if this movement and her stare had triggered his radar, his head fell back and his hooded gaze fell upon her bewildered one, and he winked.
The alcohol slid down her windpipe as she foolishly attempted to gasp and swallow at the same time, and she found herself spluttering rather embarrassingly on the bar, leaning against the drunken oaf who had the nerve to cop a cheap feel while she was choking half to death. When she had righted herself and taken several deep breaths, she managed to stray her gaze back to the blonde on the dance floor, who seemed to be slipping through the crowd, right in her direction. She tilted her head oddly, curiously, and he only smirked, his platinum brow disappearing beneath the hair that fell across his forehead. He bobbed it one more time in silent question and she found herself glancing around in mock helplessness in answer. He nodded briefly and she turned away, back to the man who was now attempting to edge his whole hand beneath the back of her shirt.
"Excuse me," came an arrogant drawl that both sent shivers up her spine and frightened her, "is that your sweaty hand I see edging up this beautiful woman's shirt?"
"Who're you?" the man managed to slur, and the blonde chuckled, shaking his head.
"You don't get to ask the questions. You see, this woman appears to be in a state of confusion. She only spoke to you because she felt bad when she saw you drinking alone. She laughed at your jokes to boost your ego. The only reason, however, that she hasn't left your side yet, is because she has been trying to figure out a clever way to escape without hurting your feelings."
Ginny gaped, open mouth, at the blonde before her, whose startling mercury eyes darted to hers quickly before settling murderously on the man he had just affronted, who couldn't seem to gather a clever comeback.
"That's precisely what I thought. Now, I'll pay for your drink, sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to escort yourself out to the curb. I'll even call you a bloody cab, so long as you never sully this woman's body with your eyes or body ever again."
The man shuffled back a few steps, before his baffled face scrunched into anger, and he threw his glass on the ground.
"Don't you - " he began, but his livid slur was cut off by a swift and well placed blow to the jaw. The man touched his face with disbelieving fingers, his eyes wide, before they rolled back in his head and he fell right into the hands of two burly bouncers.
"That was - I mean, I can't even - how did you even - ?" Ginny stammered, her eyes still on the barely conscious man being dragged through the crowd.
"It's all in the expression, Ginny," he drawled, his smirk coming back into play. "Don't even play like it wasn't true. I saw him groping you. I just couldn't do anything until you asked for help."
"Help?" she cried, "I didn't say anything! And now that I think about it, I'm almost positive I could've handled that by myself, and very well, I might add, if you hadn't so rudely stepped in."
"'Almost' only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes," he informed her smoothly, and it wasn't until she had leaned forward the tiniest little bit to really take in his features when she realized who she was. And this realization she didn't take sitting down.
"Draco Effing Malfoy saved a Weasley from a drunk fool?" she spluttered as she stood up altogether too fast, practically falling into him. His lightning fast reflexes found his hands on her upper arms, holding her steady a few inches away from his chest.
She took the moment to peer up from behind her eyelashes, taking in the precise angling of his facial features, his sturdy cheekbones, high, meticulous brow, and his tight, muscular jaw, before settling on his decidedly unsettling mercury eyes. Just staring into them - which she felt she could do for hours, there was something so mysterious and calm about them - made her insides turn to molten lava that flooded through her veins.
"If you're quite done - checking me out? - I'd like to address your rather crude statement, if you don't mind," he smirked, and the blush that had been hovering at her neck all night flooded her cheeks. He'd managed to embarrass, turn her on, and annoy her in one fell swoop - my, how amazing he was.
"Oh? So not only do I get the great prize of you making me look like a complete and total ass in front of a random stranger, but I get the benefit of your advice, as well?" Her sarcasm oozed from her mouth like honey, and he felt a long dormant spark light in his stomach. He quirked an eyebrow.
"Are you always so feisty?" came the genuine question.
"Are you always so straightforward?" she snapped in reply, and the spark burst into flame, licking his insides with white hot ferocity.
"I was always taught that a straightforward man never gets beaten around the bush, Ginevra," he whispered in her ear, and the shivers fell down her spine like ice.
"Then why don't you give me this advice you were so keen upon a few smart ass retorts ago," she snickered, and he tightened his grip just a fraction, drawing her up against his chest.
She didn't struggle; her mind was now filled with snow, her body building lust with every breath that was taken. She was drowning in the musky scent of his cologne and the sheen of sweat that had gathered on his brow - when had it become so hot in here? - and she didn't exactly trust her body at the moment, what with all the alcohol she'd consumed and his electric proximity.
He leaned over, just so, catching her eyes for a very brief second as he ran his hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear as his lips pressed against that tingling spot just below it.
"Don't walk with the devil," he whispered, and she was completely gone, although, looking back on it, she couldn't exactly recall the phrase making any sort of sense at all, just that it seemed to be a green flag. And every idiot knew green meant go; it completely went against her normally intelligent behavior to ignore a green light in her face. So when he pulled away and wrapped his hands in her long, red locks, she fisted her hands in his soft - Merlin, it was so soft! - hair and pulled his mouth hungrily against hers.
As soon as her soft lips had enfolded his own, the green flags couldn't stop waving. His hands cradled her head softly, but firmly to his, his lips moving sensually against hers; even the deep breath he took through his aristocratic nose made her tremble just slightly, a soft sigh slipping between them. She was instantly lost in his touch, his hand that had moved to the small of her back was pressing her flush against him, the other having left her head to cup her face, tender and hot as he angled her jaw to give his mouth better access.
She was entirely, in that moment, out of control, but the flashing green and neon of the lights behind her eyelids matched with his lips, so soft and hungry against hers, was so pleasant. All at once, though, she became too impatient with this slow, simmering heat. She felt herself needing to be burned, to be handled as rough as she felt around the edges, and she maneuvered her mouth just at his bottom lip, where she sank her teeth into the delicious skin there.
The groan she felt more than heard made her body shake with the anticipation of the punishment due for her crime. He hooked his hand beneath her right lower cheek, pulling along her thigh until he had her entire leg hitched around his hip. His tongue touched hers in a teasing tentativeness, a melting dance she didn't know the rhythm of but didn't care. The word 'more' raced along her skin on a track of goosebumps as he abandoned her mouth for the more delectable flesh of her neck, cruising downward to her collarbone.
Frantically, she clutched his head to her chest by his long, feathery hair, her head falling back in the amazing sensations his sweeping tongue was creating. She was vaguely baffled at the strength he was exerting; how he could hold them both up perfectly while wreaking chaos on her nerves was beyond her reason.
His nipping teeth instantly opened her eyes to her surroundings: the pulsing club she had completely forgotten about. Her eyes widened as his head lifted, but his lust filled gaze wasn't worried.
"Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere more private," he whispered huskily against her throat.
"Ah, but what's more private than a crowded room? It's like being hidden - hidden in plain sight," she managed to sigh as his fingers carved circles in the sensitive flesh beneath her knee.
"Ah, silly Red. I'll have to show you, then, won't I?" he murmured.
Before she knew it, the quaking of the club had disappeared. Her forgotten drink, her lonely bar stool, the nervous bartender, all gone. Instead, they were replaced by crème colored walls and a talented man that wasn't a savior, but she couldn't even give a damn.
Eight months later, there was a blonde headed man and a red headed woman spotted in a tiny, dark side street off of Diagon Alley by a young photographer for the Daily Prophet. Their hoods, which they had worn so well throughout their afternoon, had fallen back in the throes of passion; mothers shielded their children's eyes as they passed the vender: the woman, who was pressed against a damp stone wall, was in some state of undress and a rather provocative position, held by the man in black. Pervy old men paid high Galleons for several copies of that day's Prophet, though not for the literature. Apparently the Wizarding World's hot new It Couple were hot in more ways than one.
Exactly what makes one lose their minds in such a public place as these lovers had? Some might say, perhaps it was the new diamond bracelet on the woman's wrist, or the jealous rage of a flirting salesman. It was hard to tell, to an average passerby, but only Ginny and Draco knew the secret, and they kept it close and hidden, flushing at any inquiry.
Harry Potter, however, didn't buy that day's paper to satiate his sexual needs. He pleased the salesperson on the street by buying every copy they sold, settling in for the night with a match and a bottle of Firewhiskey.
"'Publicity' my ass," he'd mutter as he shared a drop of his precious alcohol with the stack of parchment and threw in a match.
Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley, however, bought only one copy, snipped out the full cover article, and framed it in their bedroom, sharing a private laugh when they saw it.
"Look at all the trouble you've caused me, Draco," Ginny had teased as she fingered the fringes of the paper, still crisp from the morning press. "One moment I'm just trying to have a drink, and the next thing I know my most private of moments is plastered across the paper."
The suave aristocrat only spread his fingers along Ginny's neck, pulling her curtain of hair to the side to press his lips against the skin there.
"You're not complaining, are you?" he murmured, working his way to that little sensitive patch below her ear.
"Of course not. It's just so silly to think of it that way - like you turned my world upside down in the most delicious, amazing way possible in one single moment," she sighed, leaning her head to the side automatically.
"I warned you, love, if I do recall correctly, and a Malfoy's memory never fails."
"'Don't walk with the devil,'" she recited with a giggle, and his mouth curved in a smile against her skin.
ah, so, was it awful?
i feel like i havent written a proper d/g fic in such a long time.
of course, i'm aware that it isn't exactly proper, but it's the best that came up around midnight, and it seems that's when i'm in my prime, so.
was it awful?