Based loosely on The Fourth Drink Instinct by Cute Is What We Aim For. Rated M for a reason. Be prepared for plenty of drinking and sex and utter devastation.
I love Draco, but old habits die hard.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, yada yada yah.
She sat on the stiff bar stool, getting smashed. The dingy bar was slightly reminiscent of Hogsmead's Hog's Head, except she was in the outmost reaches of diagon alley. Nearer to Knocksturn Alley, really. Plenty of those sort in here, she thought vaguely. It was the place she was least likely to get caught.
One tall glass of firewhiskey down, and a couple of spiked butterbeers as a chaser, and she was beginning to numb. Her thoughts were fuzzy. She pondered that for a while, twirling a strand of red hair, and smiled at the darkness.
Wow. It was almost as if nothing was wrong. Who said you can't buy happiness by the bottle? She mused, and ordered a shot of euphoria potion.
Somebody's raucous laughter added to the noise. The bars were always more full on summer nights. Quite a few cloaked gentlemen tried to send her drinks, but she refused them all. She was too smart to take a drink from a stranger. Too proud.
A person sat on the stool next to her, and quietly ordered a few shots of the finest Russian vodka he could buy. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the ivory hand carefully pick up the crystal glass, rotating it in his long fingers. It was a nice hand, she concluded, big, and it looked capable. Even though the nails were nicely trimmed, and the cuticles manicured, she could tell it was a bloke's hand. He downed the first shot of vodka. She tucked a lock of red out of the way, so she could see the man's face.
His platinum hair was collar-length, curling over his ears, long bangs hiding his eyes. He had an angular, straight nose, and a strong chin. She tried to assess him without him noticing, but his eyes flickered to hers. Grey. She was too intoxicated to have the grace to blush, but she dropped her head and her hair fell over her shoulder like a curtain.
"Weasley?" he asked in disbelief.
Oh, no. What a sobering word. She jerked her unwilling eyes to his face once more, and after a long beat felt a shock of recognition.
"Ferret?" she blurted. Oops.
"You're not of age, are you?" he asked, eyeing the empty glasses lined in front of her. She flashed him her fake I.D.
"Dusit matter?" she slurred, trying to slide her bum off the stool. Her foot got caught on a rung, throwing her balance off. She grabbed the crook of his elbow, and steadied herself.
His eyes flickered to her chest, and she looked down. A little too late, she readjusted her shirt to cover the couple of inches of red bra that was visible when her shirt pulled down.
"I'm stupid," she muttered, and jerked her arm away from his. Sent stumbling again, his arm shot out protectively and caught her around the waist.
"Wait, don't leave yet! I haven't ever seen you without your brother breathing down my neck."
He pulled a galleon out of his pocket, and flagged down the bartender. Bought a tropical-looking drink with an orange wedge on the rim. He pushed it towards her with a small, tentative smile.
"For you."
She gave him a hard stare, and then accepted. It had hints of pineapple and crisp grapefruit, and her nose picked up the scent of rum.
He up-ended another shot glass, and then his last one.
He didn't ask what she was doing out drinking, and she was grateful. It allowed her to wallow, self-pityingly. Her familiar emotions were punctured of how attractive he was at that moment. That very moment.
Ginny had always been a lightweight of alcohol, but when she saw the swaying bottom of her glass, (which was surprisingly in her swaying hand,) she knew she was well on her way to becoming very, very drunk.
She tried twice to put the glass down, but the table kept moving away. Eventually, Draco pulled the goblet out of her hand.
His intense grey gaze settled upon her, and Ginny knew her eyes were half-lidded, pupils dilated, staring back at him.
And his lips were warm and unyielding against hers. She was surprised; he wasn't harsh or demanding like she thought he would be. It was just a slightly random, drunken makeout session. He pulled back, brushing his thumb softly against her warm cheeks. Ginny tried to follow up with another kiss, but she missed, and it landed on the tip of his nose. He laughed, his hands twining in her soft hair. The music was loud and gyrating, and more than a few people were dancing in the middle of the room. But Ginny wasn't interested in dancing.
"Lests leave," she said loudly, smiling as she swayed.
He smiled inwardly. Just the sight of her crimson bra straps slipping off her shoulder, was turning him on.
"Why are you grinning, dork?" She poked him in the side. Oops. He thought he had hid his stupid grin.
But wait… he couldn't apparate home with this girl. His father would be after his blood, even if all Draco wanted to do was shag her.
"Er, not my place," he stumbled over the words.
She grinned, unfazed. "Fine. Mine." She seemed to have an afterthought. "Shine, whine, grine, sine, line, shmine…" she giggled.
She couldn't apparate yet, his mind slowly worked through the buzz. Side-along apparition. Floo powder?
Oh! The vacation house. Perfect. He'd just make sure the house elf wasn't lurking under the bed.
He grabbed her close, and was sucked though a strange dimension of time and space.
And they were there, stumbling through the darkened rooms, kissing roughly. He pulled her charcoal t-shirt over her head, nibbling at her neck.
She felt so exposed, but it was like she wanted to be, she—oh, fuck it. She roughly pulled his shirt open, the sound of buttons popping off and rolling away on the polished hardwood floor.
He slammed her up against a wall, and she giggled, "Ow!"
Draco smirked, his soft mouth on hers before she could say another word.
One hand was on her breast, rolling his thumb over the nipple through the crimson fabric. She sighed, opening her mouth to him, her hands twisting through his hair in bliss.
She found his hands cupping her bottom, pulling her even closer against him. Lifting her off of the floor. She wrapped one leg around his thigh, breathing heavily. His breathing was ragged as well, and he pressed himself to the heat that she had just opened access. Gasping at the sensation, her fingernails dug into his back.
And then, something occurred to her, belatedly, but oh, well.
"Wait," she gasped, unwrapping herself from him. He groaned. He had a hard-on.
They stared cautiously into each other's eyes, and she slowly undid her jeans, peeling them slowly down. He mimicked her motions, and lit a dozen candles with a wave of his wand.
Ginny was startled at the strength of her emotions as she gazed at him. It felt like love.
Oh my god, Ginny, Ginervra, Gin, you love him, don't you?
It wasn't the obsessive, overwhelming glee of her first few years at Hogwarts. Everyone has a really crazy crush at that age. Nor was it the short, giddy period that they were actually going out. She loved Harry, she really did, but he was just so… clueless sometimes. Six years was a long time to wait.
He turned to stare at her then, his hair looking golden in the candlelight.
She swayed towards him, and rolled up on the balls of her feet to crash her lips upon his. He wrapped his arms around her, welding her body to his. One hand reached up and twined in his platinum hair, the other mapping the curve of his jaw with her fingertips.
Slowly, his hands rose to the clasp of her bra, expertly undoing the restraints. She shook her apple-sized breasts out of her bra, and she flung it away. His hands were already on her. He gave one a squeeze.
She moved against him, wrapping herself around him, and he backed slowly onto the bed. She automatically straddled him, pressing herself into his bulge. He let out a shuddering breath, and growled, quickly ridding them both of any last shred of clothing. She leaned over him, her hands on his chest, and he swiftly put his mouth on her breast, sucking on it once, making her gasp.
He pushed her roughly off of him, rolling swiftly over her.
He positioned himself right at her entrance, his head sensitively craving her warmth and wetness. She was really wet.
With a swift motion, he was inside her, and her sharp intake of breath spurred him into motion. He rocked, bucking his hips, thrusting deeper into her lush center. She came up to meet him, moaning in ecstasy.
The candles burned low, lights flickering as one by one they smothered themselves. Their screams were muted by the rolling of the nearby ocean.
In the early hours of the morning, she thought they both passed out, still entwined in each other's legs and arms, his spent erection still soft inside of her.
She drifted, she dreamed. The undulating roll of the ocean was so soothing. It was warm—his arms were warm.
Painfully, sunlight streamed through an open window, and she pried her heavy eyelids apart.
"Ughh…" she moaned, pulling a pillow over her face. Her head felt like somebody was inside, hammering nails into her skull.
"Draco…I'm dying," she forced out, her throat raw.
When he didn't reply, she uncovered her face and sat up, looking around. He wasn't there.
He must have gone out to pick up breakfast, she mused, feeling smug. Until her throbbing headache threw her another blow.
"Oww…" It propelled her out of the bed in search of a Helefixe potion, which alleviated hangovers. She dragged a sheet with her, wrapping it around her naked body.
She picked her bra up off the floor and pulled it on. With another quick scan of the room, she found her underwear, which was dangling from the headboard. Once she found and donned her charcoal t-shirt from the night before, she exited in search of the kitchen.
The bright, mid-afternoon light was piercing. A gorgeous, sprawling view of the golden sandy beaches told her she was no longer in London, England anymore. There were a couple of people laid out in the sand with beach towels and umbrellas, all clad in sunglasses, and the women were topless.
South France? Barcelona? She didn't even know if they were still in Europe.
The beach house was beautiful, though. It had a casual look that hinted of impeccable taste and exotic designers. The look of casual furniture that had actually cost a lot of money.
The kitchen was all glossy granite, platinum appliances, and red accents.
A ceramic plate held a couple of slices of burnt toast, and a cream-toned envelope lay next to it.
Her curiosity piqued, she slit open the envelope, ignoring the toast.
A little bit of fine blue powder sifted through the opening, dusting the countertop. Huh?
With a dizzying jolt, her mind pieced together, Floo Powder. It was full of Floo powder.
Horrified, she dropped the envelope as if it was Anthrax. It simply dawned on her, his words the night before, the alcohol… She was just another notch on his bedpost. Another drunk chick in a bar, when the guys get lucky. Absolutely drowning in shame and mortification, she slid to the floor in agony.
He was gone. Really, like, gone.
She always knew this would happen to her. Her heart was a gaping hole, bleeding. Swallowing bile, she felt disgusted. She had made love to him. How incredibly dim-witted and naïve could a person be? How could she have fallen for him? Ginny had an overwhelming desire to be drunker than hell. If she wasn't conscious, she wouldn't feel the pain.
Naïvety is both repelling and compulsive, she thought. It's a time where there isn't anything in the world that could violently disturb you in your own private bubble. Once the bubble is broken, it can never be rebuilt. But she hated herself even more for being so ignorant in the first place.
What made you think, she viciously dug her nails into her pale thighs, that he couldn't find the door in the morning? He found the bed so easily in the dark, she thought bitterly. Her nails left angry red welts. She began to bleed.
The tears finally came, and she lay, broken, pressing her flushed cheek to the cool tile floor.
This is for my friend Vanessa, whom I am helping write They All Fall Down. Check it out on my favorites. Big thanks to Nicole, for all your support. Leave reviews!