Summers

Summary: The summers in London are short and heady, but as the air warms and the days lengthen, time seems to stretch on for Ginny. Summers are for falling apart, for the gaps and the doldrums of life. Nothing changes in that heat. In fact, nothing seems to ever change. But, maybe, she thinks, this summer will be different.

A/N: This is really just supposed to be a series of gasps in life. It's not a whole picture, or even a marginal one. It's just moments. Written for Lee!

2008

April

He smirked at her, long and slow. She felt flames course across her skin and shuddered. "You should know by now that everything I touch turns to gold."

"Does that mean that I've become worthwhile as well?"

"Of course not," he said, leaning across from the other side of the bed to pepper kisses across her shoulder. "You're a Weasley."

The smile that shouldn't have come did, fluttering across her lips. She closed her eyes and waited. The front door closed a few moments later.

"I love you too," she whispered.

2005

June

"How many of these events are there?"

Draco met her eyes in the mirror, clearly exasperated. "Gin, I told you already if you don't want to come, you don't have to. In fact, it might be better if you didn't."

She raised her eyebrows at him as she fumbled with the clasp of a sapphire necklace that had been his mothers. "And why is that?"

His sigh was long as he took her hands from the platinum chain and hooked it for her. His cold hands tickled her neck. "Because if you show up too many times, people will think we're going to get married."

A smirk tugged at her lips, "What kind of imbecile would ever think we would get married?"

The expression on his face was obscured, but she could feel his smile against her neck. "I don't know. But the vultures would talk about it with some not so kind things to say."

"Hmm," Ginny murmured, sinking back against his chest. "What sort of things?"

"Gold digger comes to mind," he said, his teeth sinking softly into the skin at the nape of her neck. "They'll think you're just using me."

"They'd be right."

She reached up to bury her fingers in his hair, but he pushed her hand away. "Doing it and having people talk about it are two very different things."

She rotated her hips, pressing harshly against his. "I suppose, but I'm still going."

"I know. And I like this color on you."

She grinned wickedly as she turned to face him.

August

"Gin," Draco purred in her ear, stretching out the single syllable over her skin. She shivered in the summer breeze and turned to look at him.

"Yes?"

He leaned in, his lips hovering above hers as his hands crept up to her face. Gently, he turned her head and pressed a few kissed down the side of her neck. Heat flared within in and she pressed her body against his.

"Now?" she asked, her thoughts flitting between the crowded room on the other side of the hedge and his breath on her ear.

"Now."

She turned to face him and smirked before kissing him greedily.

"You don't have to do this, you know?" she asked tiredly.

His eyes met hers from across the couch as his thumb rotated in deep circles against the bottom of her foot. She sighed. He smirked. "Oh, I know."

"No, I mean, all of this."

His hands paused and then reached for her other foot. She smiled as he bent and massaged each toe. Her entire body was sinking quickly into the couch. "Hey, you get what you want; I get what I want. In my mind, it seems like a perfect business transaction."

"I never quite figured out exactly what that was."

"What I want? Or what you want?"

She sighed, her eyelids sinking closed, winning that battle. "Hmm," she murmured, fading into sleep. "Both, I guess."

"You will eventually."

2006

May

Lips hovered over her hips, breath tickling her skin.

Fingers skated down her ribcage; patience.

Waiting.

"Draco," she ground out, "You are being a prat."

He smiled against her stomach. "I know. You get cute when you get impatient."

She sighed, rolled away.

"That wasn't very cute."

"You've tried me for long enough."

June

Ginny flipped opened the newspaper on her table with a sigh. Days off made her fidgety. She had already read the paper twice, but there was nothing else to do.

She pulled out the centerfold, the society pages, and stared at the picture on the front. Even to her own eyes, she looked cold, wrapped in royal blue silk her hair up in a tight knot. Hidden. Her fingers went up to touch the base of her skull, remembering the way that it had itched.

Draco was smiling and shaking hands with the Minister of Magic, and Ginny didn't bother to read the caption as she tossed it across the table.

She would have to get out of this flat.

Ginny twirled the ring on her right hand restlessly. What had he said? You can do what ever you want, just be discreet. As if she could ever be discreet. She pushed her hair, long and wavy, from her shoulder, and focused on the other people gathered around the bar. She was about four away from being served; she hated waiting.

He probably thought that she didn't have the stones to try something like this. That explained his laughter. He probably thought that she was too wrapped up in him to even want to.

Her neck was sweating, long lines of moisture traveling down and catching on the neckline of her black shirt. She felt hot, awkward, and impatient as she stood. She drew one long, red-nailed finger down from her chin and sighed.

Her ring twisted and twisted around her finger.

"Hello," a cool voice said from behind her, washing her with relief. She turned and stared into brown eyes, strangely cold despite the amber flecks. "May I buy you a drink?"

She liked his dark hair and his tanned skin; she liked the warmth that radiated from his hand at the base of her spine.

"I'd like that," she responded softly, barely meeting his eyes. She didn't like them.

"And this is Ginevra Weasley," Draco said, turning to look at her as he introduced her to one more in a sea of faces.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, her smile terrified of falling.

The man took her outstretched hand, palm down, the yellow diamonds at her wrist sparkling. He lightly squeezed her fingers. "Arthur Weasley's girl?"

She nodded politely.

"It's wonderful to meet you; I have heard many great things," he said finally releasing her hand.

She straightened slightly, "Thank you. I hope you have a pleasant evening."

His eyes left her body; "I'm sure I will."

Ginny did not watch him walk away; instead she turned to the next guest who moved on just as fast.

"You're slipping," Draco warned.

"I'm fucking bored," she snapped back.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm just stressed."

"Try not to look like you're in so much pain when you smile. It's awful to look at."

She glared at the arm hers was looped through. "I'll just not smile at all."

"Suit yourself."

Muggle pubs and bars and clubs filled most of Ginny's nights after that. There were society dinners with Draco, lunches in Diagon Alley with her brothers, afternoon tea at Harry's or Hermione's, and long hours at the office; and in between what she considered her life, there were her nights.

Long, hot summer nights filled with sex and sweat and moments when she could still take comfort in risk. It angered her that it was dark for so little. And the summer stretched on.

But the most infuriating thing was that she could never tell if he knew.

The door to his bedroom opened, and Ginny looked up at him from the end of the bed. "You look exhausted."

His eyes traveled over her body. "I am."

She smiled, "Too exhausted?"

His fingers paused on the knot of his tie and he shot her an inscrutable look. He was searching for something; it was always a search for him. Draco thought in ends, in destinations, in the results.

Ginny allowed herself to fall backwards onto the bed. Her eyes slid closed; it was Friday. Maybe he would let her stay.

She felt his fingers on her hip, lingering over the fabric. Burgundy tonight. The bed shifted, lips on her neck, fingers reaching to let down her hair. Straightened and tied up.

Ginny kept her eyes closed as her hands reached up to unbutton his shirt. It was a choreographed move, the only dance she knew all the steps to.

"You can stay tonight, if you like," he whispered as she arched off the bed so he could reach the zipper. Hot and cold; his hands on her skin. They never fully mixed, did they?

Always the contrast, always a juxtaposition. She never warmed him and he never cooled her, at least, not completely. They were supposed to be that way, though; they were supposed to create wind, lightening. Her fingers buried in his hair, distracted from the shirt as his lips found her nipple.

She was passive now, tepid. Before it was always a clash.

Much, much later she rose. Her dress's zipper caught; and, as she struggled, she almost considered waking him. But then the fabric freed and Ginny let herself out of the bedroom.

The dark halls of the manor were strangely comforting as she tiptoed towards the front door. There was so much space here, filled with nothing but silence and a sinking bitterness. There was so much history that spilled out over the edges; real history, the angry, tired parts that no one ever tells.

She crept towards the apparation point and sighed as she stared around the front hall. What would she change here if she could?

The thought left her even colder, and her eyes slid closed. Did she want that? Her wand hand shook as she disappeared.

July

"You're not yourself," Draco said after zipping the back of her short black dress. It was just the two of them that night. So it was different.

"And you know exactly how I should be?" she snapped.

He frowned at her in the mirror; she didn't like it. She was not a puzzle. "You've been acting strangely."

"Yes," she drawled, sliding an earring into place. It was a funky hoop with chintzy ornaments dangling from it.

"For a while now."

"Yes."

He touched the earring gently, and she cringed. Her hand holding the other one paused. "I like these," he said.

She put the other one in as he turned away. She stared at herself in the mirror irritably before sighing. She took them both out and left them on the table.

She took his proffered arm and ignored his sigh. "Where are we going tonight?"

The worst was the silence that stretched in between conversations. It had never bothered her before, but now it was crushing and oppressive because he would stare at her as if he was trying to figure her out. As if he was hoping she would tell him what needed to be said to fix it.

"Dance with me?"

Ginny looked up from her wine, surprised. His hand was outstretched, and he was waiting for her answer as if he didn't know how she'd respond.

She placed her hand in his and followed him onto the floor, pleased that she was getting a chance to dance in her dress. The skirts were made for going in circles.

He led her into a waltz, and her feet moved easily into the familiar steps.

For a few moments, she allowed it. She let herself get lost in the cool embrace. She met his eyes and smiled, but she didn't let herself feel it.

August

"When are you going to leave him?" Harry asked patiently.

A little bit of tea sloshed over the edge of her mug, and Ginny used it as an excuse to look away. "What do you mean?"

"You've been miserable for a while now and–"

"I'm not miserable."

"Just like me?"

She met his eyes and smiled weakly. "Exactly."

"What are you doing, then?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Harry stared at her silently. "Fine. I love him, that's why."

"You love him? You love Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes," she said softly. "I know. It's so fucked up."

"I thought you hated him."

Ginny closed her eyes and sank into her chair. "I do."

"Does he feel the same? I mean, does he love you?"

Ginny crinkled her nose, something like disdain written on her face. "How the hell should I know?"

"You know I'll never forgive you, right?" he asked, his fingers trailing across her shoulder blades.

They were lying on the bed now, their heads at the wrong end. "Is that so?" Ginny asked, pressing her nose into his ribcage. She didn't ask what for; there were too many things.

"Never," he responded softly.

"Good," she said, sitting up. "Because I never asked you to."

His hand reached out and tugged her back down. She settled onto her back. "I never asked for yours either."

"That's okay," she said with a sadistic smile, "I always forgive you."

"Eventually," he said bitterly; Ginny let her eyes slide closed. "I don't need your forgiveness."

"Then what makes you think I need yours?"

He rolled over, and her eyes opened, looking directly into his. "I don't need anything you can give me," she lied.

He kissed her gently, his mouth pulling at hers. "I know."

"It's too red," Ginny said, meeting Audrey's brown eyes through the mirror.

Audrey tapped the brush she held in one hand against the other. "It's beautiful. I would kill to have hair your color. A lot of women would."

"I don't care. It's too red."

"Well, what would you like?"

"Something darker, browner. Something less… red."

The woman raised her eyebrows speculatively but shrugged. "I'll get my sample book."

2007

June

"Now," Ginny said, meeting Draco's eyes angrily.

"But Potter's about to make his big speech," Draco said gesturing towards the other side of the room.

"I don't care," she snapped, grabbing him by his arm and dragging him towards one of the many balconies.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for joining me here tonight, as you know…"

Ginny's lips fasted onto Draco's as he hoisted her onto the railing. "I'm afraid I'm going to rip your dress. It almost ripped earlier."

"Rip it then."

"I've never really been a fan of angry sex," Draco said against her ear. "What did he say to you?"

"Liar," she ground out, cupping his arousal through his pants. "You've always loved angry sex."

"But that was before–" he broke off with a hiss.

"I knew I could get you to shut up."

"Wench," he growled, fisting his hands in her hair to pull her closer. "I hate it when you use me."

"When are you going to stop lying?" she said softly, mussing his hair. He buried his face in her neck, slowly pumping fingers in and out of her.

"When you give me a good reason to."

He slammed into her then, painfully hard, and she could feel fresh bruises forming. But she didn't think about that; she didn't think about anything.

And, when she came, just before he did. She tilted her head back and seethed. It was better than just using each other. It was more than that.

"More than what?" Draco asked, his breathing heavy and uncontrolled. She combed his hair with her fingers.

He lifted his head from her shoulder and kissed her softly. "More than what?"

"More than this," she said softly, placing one of her hands on his cheek.

He was warm beneath her touch, his cheeks tinged pink, just slightly. His smile was just as soft as he took both her hands and weaved their fingers together. "What could be more than this?"

Applause filled the adjacent room, and Ginny tried to pull away, but he was still buried inside her and his hands tightened.

He kissed her again. "Are you going to tell me what he said?"

"I don't think so."

He kissed her clammy forehead and then slowly pulled away. She leaned forward with him, unconsciously, and felt the steady ache between her thighs once he was gone.

August

Draco's bedroom was done in blacks and silvers. It was coolly tempting, dark and removed. The bed was a massive testament to furniture, made of heavy wood, painted black, with harsh corners. The duvet cover was solid black and soft cotton. The sheets underneath were white. Windows framed the bed on either side, looking out over the grounds when they weren't covered in the heavy curtains. They almost never were.

Ginny sat on the bed and waited. It was her place, right on the end. She was still fully dressed, ready to be taken apart. But she reached up and pulled the diamond-studded clasp from her hair, allowing it to fall back between her shoulder blades.

She combed her fingers through it gently, digging her nails into her scalp. The room was lit only by candlelight now, and it caught her hair in unsteady light.

She rose and went to the large mirrored glass, staring at herself uncertainly. With a quick charm, the straight locks turned back into waves, and another one revealed the freckles that covered her nose. She untied the sash around her hips, and let her fingers pull the zipper down slowly.

Her dress fell away. She kicked off her shoes as well, letting them sit haphazardly on the floor. When he came into the room, she was just tugging off her second stocking. His eyes sought her out, and she stood. He closed the door rapidly behind himself and smiled slowly.

"Impatient today?"

She bit back the 'always' that hovered on her tongue and crossed the space. Then she kissed him, pulling him down by his tie and pressing her lips harshly against his. His arms wrapped around her waist and she moaned against him.

Her fingers went to the buttons, tiny, innumerable, and so hard to set free.

Her hands pushed him back against the door, and she sank to her knees. His fingers curled in her hair, and she wondered, how much would it take?

"I think we should stop this."

"You mean end it?"

"Yes."

"You say that all the time."

"But this time I mean it."

"I love you."

"What?"

"I said, I've fallen in love with you."

"I know what you said. What I was–"

"Have you always been this confused?"

"No… it's definitely your fault."

"So I bring out the worst in you?"

"Of course."

"So that's why you want to walk away?"

"No, it's just…"

"It's just that you love me too."

"…Maybe."

2008

August

"Draco, are you still using me?"

He sat down on the side of the bed, his back to her. He flopped backwards, and she watched as all the tension left him. "Using you for what?" he asked with laughter, "Your burning wit? Your undeniable charm? Your grace under fire?"

She leaned over and smacked him. "Oh shut up."

He tilted his head back and met her eyes, "Nah, I stopped using you as soon as I realized how little fun it is being used back."

His eyes were playful, and she leaned forward. "And when, exactly, was that?"

"About three years, seven months, two weeks, and, oh, five days ago."

"Liar."

He shrugged, "Always."

She kissed him softly. "Oh, not again," he moaned.

She laughed against his neck, "That tired?"

"Hey," he protested, "I did most of the work."

She raised her eyebrows and smirked. "Really?"

He pulled himself up slightly and kissed her again before flopping back onto the bed.

"When did you stop using me?" he asked, his eyes closed even as his hands sought her out and pulled her down.

"Who says I have?"

"I believe that you did."

She laughed, "I don't recall ever saying that."

"Ah," he murmured, "That's because you say things with more than your mouth."

"What sort of things?"

He opened his eyes, his serious expression melting her playful smile. "All sorts of things."

They were silent.

"So, when?"

She smirked. "About three years, seven months, two weeks, and four days ago."

He rolled his eyes at her; "It's always a competition with you, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said, rolling away from him.

He followed, climbing all the way onto the bed and crawling towards her until she was pressed against the headboard.

His lips were hot when they met hers, pressing and delving into her very being. She broke the kiss and held him away with both hands.

He questioned her with a raised eyebrow.

"Draco, let's get married."

For a second, his face didn't move at all, then his lips stretched slowly into a smirk. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

Her jaw dropped open and she reached for a pillow, slamming it into the side of his head. "No, you twat!"

He fell to the side and lay there, looking up at her outraged form. "Come on, Gin, it would explain a lot."

She turned and gaped at his smiling. "You are a complete and utter bastard."

He shrugged, "I know. You'll forgive me, though."

She pulled a face. "Eventually."

"So, what were you thinking," he asked, staring at the ceiling. "October wedding? White dress? Lilies?"

"Lilies are a funeral flower," she said, glaring.

"Seems appropriate."

"Summer wedding," she said, lying back, "Outside. A trellis."

"At the Burrow?" he asked distastefully.

"No, here. At the manor."

"I can't marry a Weasley on Malfoy land."

"Really?"

"No, seriously, I can't. I'm sure there are all sorts of enchantments to prevent that sort of treachery."

"Treachery?"

"Well–"

"Never mind, I don't want to get married to you anymore," she said turning her back to him.

His body curled around hers and his hand pressed into her stomach.

"Draco what are you doing?" she asked, trying to pull his hand away. He was making little circles on her belly now.

"I'm trying to figure out if it's a boy or a girl."

She pulled harder, "I'm not pregnant, you bastard."

"Technically," he said, starting to tickle her, "He's the bastard."

"ARG," she shrieked, half with laughter, half with frustration. "You're driving me mad."

"Good," he said imperiously. "So summer, outside, trellis, lilies. You didn't want climbing roses on you trellis, did you? Because I think that's hideously tacky."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Wisteria, okay?"

"You ARE mocking me!"

"Though I think my father might be allergic to wisteria. I'll have to ask him. Might keep him away, if knowledge of who the bride is doesn't."

"Draco, stop."

"And the punch will have to be really strong, my father versus seven angry Weasley men. I can only imagine who would come out on top."

"Draco," she growled.

"Hm? Do you have a problem with me using alcohol to calm your father?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "I would never have something so tacky as punch at my wedding."

"Good bourbon then?"

"Scotch."

He pulled a face.

"And we are not getting married."

He rolled over on top of her, pressing his body down against hers. She met his eyes with challenge. "Ginevra Molly Weasley," he said, kissing her lightly on the nose, "I have fallen hopelessly in love with you. Will you marry me?"

She stared up at him, and, this time, she was the one searching. He looked calm, composed, and slightly cocky. But beneath it all, there was something lurking, something that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had.

"Yes," she whispered, the word escaping her lips before she could stop them.

He smiled at her and then kissed her again, long and definite.

"Of course, now, you'll have to stop sleeping with other men," he said his lips trailing down her neck. She tensed momentarily before arching upwards as far as he would allow. "And, just remember, you asked me first."

"Yes," she said, laughing, "I asked you first."

September

Ginny leaned back on the blanket to stare up at the purple velvet sky. If she didn't know better, she would say that it was romantic.

Draco sat down next to her, "Look, I brought champagne."

She smiled and reached out to touch the bottle, her hand coming away damp. "Did you bring glasses?" she asked, rubbing the moisture between her thumb and forefinger.

"Damn it, no. I knew I forgot something."

"I might…" Ginny said, trailing off as she stood. She ran over to her car and threw the door open, ducking over the passenger side. "Hmm," she said to herself, pulling out some photographic paper.

"This will work," she said returning to the blankets and picking up her wand. In a moment they had two glossy paper cups.

Draco snorted, "Champagne from paper cups?"

"It suits us," she said with a smile as she took the bottle from him to pop the cork.

He pouted a little bit. "I wanted to do that."

"I know," she said with a tiny smirk. "But you can pour."

He muttered to himself and then grinned at her playfully. She leaned over to kiss him just because she could.

When she pulled away, he handed her the little transfigured paper cup filled with champagne. She took a sip and closed her eyes, enjoying the simple pleasure of harsh bubbles on her tongue.

"That tastes good."

"It god damn well better."

He kissed her this time and tasted of champagne. It was earthy and heady as the sky above them slowly filled with stars.

He pulled away, sitting back. She found herself watching him curiously; was it better this way?

"Oh, by the way," he said, reaching into his pocket. "I owled my father in France. I don't think he had any sort of seizure, at least not a fatal one. He sent this back."

Ginny caught the small wooden box Draco tossed to her and opened it. Nestled in velvet was a large diamond and emerald ring, the gems set in twisted platinum. "Draco, this is disturbingly lacking in taste."

"Hey, that was my mother's."

"Did your father pick it out?"

"I should think that was obvious," he replied with a smirk. "We can have it reset, if you like."

Ginny slid the rind onto the third finger of her left hand and stared at the strange combination. "Yes, I'd like that. This definitely does not go with my freckles."

Draco was laughing when he bent her backwards onto the blanket to kiss her. And Ginny didn't even push him away until she could feel the champagne seeping through her jumper.

He reached out and took her hand, sliding the ring off her finger before sliding his fingers though hers. He held up their entwined hands, frowning at them. Ginny watched curiously, waiting. "I think I go quite nicely with them, though," he said smiling.

She ignored the spilled champagne this time as she pulled him down with her. And she almost felt excited for the following summer.