A/N: Finally! My first D/G fic.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I still do not own the characters.

Of Unintended Invitations

It was a Friday just like any other, but worse. Time seemed to be moving slower than what was healthy for his blood-pressure and Draco kept glancing at his watch every three seconds. He shook his watch for a good measure, it had to be broken. But it was ticking all right. It was Friday, he was stuck at work, and what made it worse, he had no plans for the weekend. Life be damned.

It was also the Friday he stumbled across a very annoyed, very red-headed Ginny Weasley on his way to the very much awaited lunch break. He watched as the tiny woman gathered her papers from the floor, the ones that he had sent flying, running into her like a blind Hippogriff, according to her mumbling.

Draco watched the rambling woman and caught himself marveling at how intriguing the angry She-Weasley was. Her flaming red hair seemed to be crackling with annoyance. If Draco squinted his eyes a bit and tilted his head just slightly, he could have sworn the hair was moving on its own account, much like fire. Maybe if he touched it, it would burn his fingers.

He would later blame the ungodly Friday that had failed to amuse him in any way, for it seemed to have triggered some unexpected inability to listen to the instinct of self-preservation. He listened in horror as the words came out of his mouth on their own accord: he asked the woman out.

She paused her mumbling and paper gathering process and just stared up at Draco, who stood next to her, hands in his pockets, trying his best to look nonchalant. The She-Weasley didn't say anything, but continued picking up the rest of the papers. Then she rose, pressing the slightly messy pile of official looking papers against her chest and looked at Draco, as if debating whether to hex him or not. She scrunched up her nose just slightly, making Draco regret his temporary insanity and contemplate on whether he should exit the scene gracefully like a Malfoy should, or just run like a little girl.

Suddenly the She-Weasley shrugged her shoulders, "Pick me up at eight", and promptly walked away without a backward glance. Draco stood there, watching her retreating figure, and couldn't help raising an eyebrow at the nerve of the woman. This should be interesting.

..

The knowing look on the face of the secretary had made Draco want to change his name and move to another country. Why would Draco Malfoy be asking for Ginny Weasley's address? On the other hand he could have just obliviated the damn woman, he mused, as he checked his reflection in the mirror. But the problem was that he knew that the look was entirely called for. Dear Lord.

He found himself nervously browsing his wardrobe, wondering which dress-shirt the She-Weasley would like the best. This was embarrassing. He was a Malfoy, she was a weasel, she should be honoured by his uncharacteristic offer of charity. Yes, that was it. He was merely giving a glimpse of magnificence to a lesser being. He smirked at his reflection and straightened his tie.

That was it.

..

Draco shook his head to get rid of the queasy feeling apparating still managed to give him every single time. Flying would have been an easier way to travel short distances, but it would mess up his hair, so he preferred apparating in cases of dates and other instances when it was necessary to look good. In his case, always.

He raised his fist and knocked the door. He wasn't pleased as the knocks weren't as sharp as usual. His palms were somewhat sweaty and he felt uncharacteristically fidgety. Maybe he was coming down with a common fever. Surely nothing that a vialful of Pepper-Up potion and a shot of Firewhiskey wouldn't cure. He sniffed at the thought, and raised his palm on his forehead to check his temperature.

The approaching footsteps brought Draco out of his musings. He cleared his throat, and arranged a well-practised smirk on his face, as the door opened. He opened his mouth to throw a suitably insulting greeting at the woman, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat as he looked at the She-Weasley holding the door open.

"Evening Malfoy. Weasel got your tongue?" The woman smirked and motioned for him to come in. "I'll just get my purse and we're good to go."

Draco could only nod, as he closed his mouth and watched her retreat to another room. She was wearing a simple black dress, which complimented her figure, especially her hips that were swaying in a slightly hypnotic rhythm, very nicely.

What in merlin's name was wrong with him. This was a Weasley he was gawking at. She was hardly good-looking and had certainly not gotten this close anything as charming and sophisticated as him before. And, he swished his hair back, he looked exquisite. In fact, he always did. She was supposed to be the one gawking. In Draco's opinion, it was a miracle that women didn't fall to his feet more often. She should feel honoured to fall at his feet at the end of the evening.

"Ok, where are you taking me?" She appeared back in the room and Draco had to re-evaluate his opinion on her looks. Or her ability to apply make-up. That was is, no Weasley would be able to look like a ginger Roman goddess without the help of make-up and other womanly trickery. And heaps of magic.

"Italian food?" The words came out of his mouth sounding more like a question than the nonchalant statement he had been aiming for.

"Sounds great, I've been graving for some good cheesy lasagne for ages!" She smiled as she donned on her leathery looking jacket that went surprisingly well together with the dress and the shimmery heels she was wearing. Since when did ginger Roman goddesses look like rock chicks..

Draco barely managed to plaster the trademark smirk on his face as he opened the door for her. He would have to get a grip, common fever or not.

..

As they arrived at the restaurant, Draco found himself irritated at the waiter, who had the nerve to wink at the She-Weasley as he showed them their table. He was even more irritated at her, as she giggled at the waiter's cheesy compliments on her "lovely freckles". What's so lovely about them, he thought angrily as he searched his menu for something worth eating.

While he was debating whether the seafood pasta would taste better than the pancetta wrapped chicken, he stole a glance at the woman sitting across from him. She was slowly leafing through the menu, looking ridiculously excited about it.

"I thought you were set on lasagne?"

She looked up, a crooked smile on her face, "I am, but it's nice to search for things I could be able to make at home, too."

"Hmh, you can cook?" Draco drawled.

"Of course I can, I'm a Weasley." She answered as if it should be obvious and returned to the menu.

Now as Draco thought about it, it did seem likely that poor people would have to learn how to cook for themselves, but he had never thought someone would attempt making Italian food at home. Not that it mattered much, as it would probably be a disaster anyway, Weasleys' standards were much lower than his.

The waiter returned to take their orders with a basketful of garlic bread and an overly wide smile. As he left, Weasley took a piece of the bread, sniffed at it, smiled like a lunatic and began buttering it carefully.

"Garlic bread, huh?" Draco lifted his eyebrows as he sipped his wine, "It makes your breath smell horrible."

"And why would that bother you? You're not planning on kissing me, are you?" She said simply and took a bite of the bread.

Draco spluttered at her words. His snide comment had backfired completely. "Of course not." He threw her a nasty look and took a piece of the bread as well.

It tasted really good.

..

The evening had gone surprisingly smoothly. Old house rivalries were perhaps what made them circle around too personal subjects. Or maybe it was because of the fact that they lived in totally different worlds and pretty much despised each other's lifestyle. Nevertheless, they had engaged in pleasant chit chat about weather, the Ministry, recent news, old friends and acquaintances. In fact, the whole deal was borderline boring.

It was Quidditch that finally got them into a small argument. The She-Weasley supported the Holyhead Harpies, whereas he knew the only possible winner of the Cup was Montrose Magpies. It took only a couple of crude comments on the players to annoy her. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had whipped out her wand and cursed him, but instead she called him a few rather creative names, announced he was wrong, threw in the inevitable "chauvinistic pig", drew in a deep breath and continued eating as if nothing had happened. The only evidence of the tirade were the slight pink tinge on her cheeks and the knowing look a man sitting on the nearest table gave Draco.

He sat silently and took yet another sip of his wine, looking at the woman who had the audacity to reprimand him in public and then continue to act as if nothing had happened. The whole scene, as ridiculous as it was, left him oddly turned on.

..

By the time they had left the restaurant and were walking on an unfamiliar street somewhere in the Muggle London, Draco was positively bemused. They didn't exactly get along very well, but the atmosphere wasn't hostile either. He had to admit that the She-Weasley was intriguing. She didn't talk as much as he had suspected she might. In fact, she seemed to prefer silence, which turned out to be surprisingly comfortable between the two.

But he knew that it wasn't too hard to aggravate her, and the thought kept him alert and he was waiting for a chance to get her going. Maybe he had some kind of sick attachment for dangerous women, the kind that could get him killed if he annoyed them a little too much. The thought was disturbing enough as it was, but as the image of Aunt Bellatrix popped into his mind, he nearly tripped on his feet.

He told himself to calm down, that wasn't it. The crazy old bat had nothing to do with Ginny's possible anger issues and him taking a liking to them. He glanced at the woman walking next to him and couldn't help but feel relieved. If anything positive could be said about the She-Weasley, was that she was definitely nothing like his aunt.

Draco cursed his subconscious for making him think about his aunt on a date, and shuddered as if to get rid of the unwelcome thoughts.

"You cold?" came a surprisingly concerned sounding voice.

Draco looked again at the woman next to him and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Did the bint actually care?

"No, not really." He said, which earned only a small "Humm" from her. "We could stop for a drink, though." The words seemed to escape his mouth without he consciously forming them. "If you'd like." What in Merlin's name was going on? He was being polite, for god's sake!

"Yeah, we could do that." She smiled at him.

It was a small smile, not flirty, not enthusiastic, but friendly and somewhat warm.

"Ok." And there he was, smiling back at her.

..

He watched her swirl her straw around her glass. The ice was clinking quietly and it was barely audible over the music playing on the background. He sipped his gin and tonic and tried to come up with conversation topics.

"Whose side were you on in the end?"

He swallowed slowly. There was no mistaking what she meant. Her eyes were looking at him, portraying almost no emotion. Almost. She was probably too feisty to be totally emotionless.

"I guess I was neutral." He shrugged.

"You guess?" She pursed her lips.

"I never gave the thing much thought actually, not until the last few months began to roll around." He focused on his glass. "I didn't have to, my allegiances were already pledged for me."

"But you switched them in the end, didn't you?"

He could feel her leaning over just slightly. The woman was too damn curious for her own good.

"Look, I couldn't care less for your precious Potter, or the mudblood Granger, for that matter." Draco hissed without really meaning to.

She only nodded.

He stayed silent for a while. He owed her no explanation and she would get none. Stupid cow, asking about personal issues.

"But that's the thing, really. I didn't care. And I don't want to fight for things I don't give a rat's ass about. Be muggleborn if you like, see if I care."

"I guess that's a good way of looking at it." There was a smile in her voice.

He scowled at her. "You know, I really don't appreciate you butting in on my personal opinions or history."

"And yet you're the one telling me about them." She took the straw in her mouth and slurped the rest of her drink.

"Yeah, well," He wasn't exactly sure how to continue. He had a feeling that he had made a fool of himself. "Want another drink?"

She gave him another one of her smiles. "Yeah."

..

It was late. Draco was not exactly sure how late, as he walked Ginny home, but he figured it was late enough to say that it had been a real date. He huffed a little to himself. A real date with a Weasley, and not a bad one either.

She had turned out to be pretty damn sweet, actually. For a poor, not so impressive person, of course.

She bumped into him a bit. She was a little tipsy from the few drinks they had had. He looked at her as she walked with the familiar smile on her face. Who was he kidding, Ginny was gorgeous.

Ginny?

To hell with it, he shrugged, he might as well think of her as Ginny. There were too many Weasleys anyway.

"This is me." She spun around when they reached her doostep.

"I know, I picked you up." Draco smirked.

"I know." Her nose scrunched up a bit when she smiled more widely. There was the ginger Roman goddess again. And he was beginning to feel fidgety again. Blasted common cold.

"Well, I actually had pretty decent time." He cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Me too." She was swaying a little to some inaudible music. What a weird woman.

"Would you like to do this again some time?" Again inadvertent words. He seemed to have no control over his vocal cords.

And yet he was extremely anxious for the answer.

She lifted her eyebrow. What a Malfoy thing to do. He liked it.

"Yeah, I would."

"Good." Was all he managed to say before his face gave up and melt into a ridiculously wide smile.

The smile seemed to please her, as she brought her hand to his collar, carefully pulled him downwards and pressed a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. Just close enough to leave him slightly disappointed and wanting for more, but oh so stupidly happy.

"Good night." She whispered, her breath warm on his cheek.

"Good night." He answered, as he watched her pull away, walk away, and send him one last smile before closing the door behind her.

– –

It was the Friday he stumbled across a very annoyed, very red-headed Ginny Weasley on his way to the very much awaited lunch break. He watched as the tiny woman gathered her papers from the floor, the ones that he had sent flying, running into her like a blind Hippogriff, according to her mumbling.

Draco watched the rambling woman, marveling at how intriguing the angry She-Weasley was.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Ginny stopped at his words, glancing up at him. "What?"

"Dinner. With me. Tonight." Draco couldn't help the smirk that fought its way onto his face.

"Really?" She lifted an eyebrow. So very Malfoy of her. "Have you thought this through?"

"Yes, actually, and I decided to ask you anyway." He looked into her eyes, determined to get an answer instead of the questions she kept asking.

She looked at him for a while, a blank expression on her face. Then she shrugged, "Pick me up at eight", and walked away, giving him a curious glance over her shoulder. But he could see she was smiling.

A/N: Part of the dialogue at the end was influenced by a BBT episode The Recombination Hypothesis.