Author's Note: This is largely unedited because (as I'll say at the bottom) I hated writing this chapter. I can't bear to read it again. So... why am I posting? Because it's a good chapter.

Uh, I'm sure I've lost you. What I mean is, it's a necessary evil. It needed to be done. So there.

SINNERS: two-timer

June third, 2007

Tack. "It's raining men, hallelujah, it's raining men…"

Ginny groaned, stretching an arm out and hitting the damn muggle contraption. Had it been Ron's idea of fun? Yes, yes it had. She hated him for it. "Ugh," she grunted before flapping back down bonelessly.

"Mm."

Eh? Her eyes snapping open, Ginny blinked at the dimness of her bedroom. "Oh!"

Draco's voice was muffled by a pillow. Hers. "Go back to sleep. It's not even morning yet."

"Would like to. I have to go to work." Still she lay in bed.

Draco's eyes were mere slits as he peered at her, unmoving. "You make one very healthy sick woman, if you know what I mean."

"I can't. i have a meeting with Satan in," she glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand, "oh! An hour."

"Damn Satan." He burrowed deeper into the pillow, his back making a graceful bow.

"I already did. She came back from hell," Ginny said as she hopped out of bed and hissed at the cold draft hitting her bare skin. "Bloody hell." She shouldn't have left the comfort of her bed.

Something started ringing. "Fuck," came the expletive from the bed before a disheveled, squinting Draco emerged from within, digging into his pile of clothes that had been discarded at the foot of the bed the previous night. The phone kept chanting. Cursing, he came out holding the thing like he wanted to haul it at the wall, and punched a button. Draco was clearly not a morning person. "What."

Well, so wasn't she. Didn't they make the pair.

Ginny ducked out of her closet, grasping a terry cloth robe to her chest. Shivering, she slipped into it, feeling eyes on her. Glancing up, she saw Draco sitting up in bed, watching her intently. As he caught her eye, he held up a finger, then barked into the phone.

"What! I did not ask for a renewal… Well tell her she's delusional… No. I won't go to this shoot. Find someone else to… Dammit. Okay, fine. Yes." Snapping his phone shut, he rubbed his face then opened his eyes.

"Contract?" Ginny asked.

His eyes hardened. "Bloody piece of toilet paper." He stood naked and started pulling on his clothes from last evening. "I've to go."

Ginny hugged herself, hating that she wished they hadn't woken. "Now?"

Zipping up his pants, he glanced her way quickly before squirming into his shirt. "Yeah. I have to hit my flat first, though."

"Don't you need to… shower?"

"I'll do that there." As he buttoned up his rumpled shirt, he happened to glance her way. His expression softened. "I wish I could stay." Ginny stared at his bare feet, not trusting herself to watch him watch her anymore. He paused, the rustling stopping. "Hey."

She glanced up. "Thanks for last night," she blurted before stopping herself.

Draco's brows furrowed. "It –" He was once again cut by his phone. "Dammit. What."

By the time the call was over, Ginny had disappeared downstairs. Muttering a choice curse, he took the stairs down two at a time, hearing the jet of the shower running thickly. Dammit, he was out of time.

Fishing a nondescript notepad from her kitchen table, Draco quickly jotted down a note for her, hoping she'd notice it. He certainly wouldn't, but he had no time to spare.

He Disapparated.

Ginny felt numb throughout the day.

No, shitty would do it, because she felt like she'd crawled from someone's arse and died. First the thing with Draco, then the meeting with the bank shark to talk money, then the rest of the day spent ignoring the gossip in the office. And spending that time holed up like a hermit, locked in her office trying to disregard… whatever it was that made her want to scream and cry and thump.

Actually, she knew what it – or rather who – it was. Draco Malfoy, world class top model and insufferable two-time divine, erotic memory-maker.

Twice now she'd had to get up out of bed and move on, but the second time pressed the hardest on her. She'd thought she could deal the first time, and she had – after a while. Draco had been everything but what she'd anticipated that night: considerate, gentle, lonely. Just like the first time. She'd reached out then and been deliciously burned, forgetting her purpose – to shame him. Instead, she'd felt shamed.

Last night, she'd wanted… God knew what. Closure? No. To feel. To be held. To know her heart wasn't deadened by work and life and work. Dear God, she hadn't truly laughed, all defenses down, since she'd brought the magazine to life. It had become her sole goal in life, and she hadn't done anything for herself since.

Jesus, was she that boring?

Ginny stared at the parchment in her hand, seeing the pictures and the cheery headlines for the finalised spread swimwear article of the summer, but registering none of it. Oh God. She couldn't compete with these girls. Look at them, all sexy and tempting and just… bombshells. Part of his world. How could she hope to attract him when he spent his entire days playing 'shoot' with them? No doubt there was more than dressing up going on in the changing rooms.

She'd been a pity fuck, that's what last night had been about. He had followed her into the garden, hadn't he? She'd been alone, looking for a way to get away from her suffocating life for just a second, and he'd obliged. Then left in the morning. No goodbye, no nothing, just a 'Thank God I don't have to face her when I leave'. The man should apply for an acting job, he'd win a Wizzer.

And that… that was the humiliating part. she'd let herself go freely, convinced they'd both been on the same wavelength. But his false affection had been her undoing, and he'd walked away without a pang. And she? She felt worse than the first time for believing once again.

Ginny's head drooped over her paperwork. There were deadlines approaching fast, edits to be approved, printing to be done at the speed of light… and yet, she couldn't move a muscle lest it trigger an explosion that was waiting to happen. She hated herself right now.

For believing in make-believe. Wasn't she old enough to know by now?

Claire suddenly popped her head inside her office, frowning at a spread in her hands. "Ginny? I thought the fashion column would have a two-columner this month but it looks like –"

Without looking up, Ginny hissed, "Get out."

Hearing the vicious menace in her boss's tone, Claire's head snapped up. Her mouth parted in a surprised 'o'. "Gin?"

"Now."

Claire fumbled, then exited in a hurry, barely managing to close the door soundly behind her.

The dam broke loose then as hot tears came, blurring Ginny's vision. She cried, quiet sobs racking her body as shame and self-disgust brought her down on her desk.

It was a long time before she resurfaced, and even then, she knew she must look better than she felt.

Draco's day had not improved since the morning. A repair shoot that should have lasted a mere two hours was stretched out for another hour, then another, until Draco thought his ears would smoke from the mix of raw anger and the gunshot sound of the camera. Normally he enjoyed a photoshoot as much as he could under the circumstances – once they'd shot in the middle of a Fall rainstorm and he'd been sick as a dog for days afterward – but now that was just stretching it thin.

As Draco's agent whizzed by, Draco whirled him around, getting in his face. He was known around the modeling circuit for being difficult and frivolous, demanding fresh Norwegian bottled water just for kicks at random hours of the day, but now Bernardo knew he meant business. "I thought you said this would take an hour."

Bernardo's nervous laugh was annoying, and so was his shrug. In fact, everything was annoying at the moment, but then there was no power switch, was there? "I do not know what is taking so long," the Spanish businessman said. "They said something about the lighting that is not like last time."

"Fuck that," Draco hissed. But who could help the petty minds of artists? They made superb, embarrassingly expensive art, and people spilled the cash, running over each other in their haste to get it.

Draco grunted and sat back in his corner, glowering at the petty artist who led this whole circus. There was no point in whining his head off. Draco would get out when – and if ever – it would be over, not a minute earlier. Bernardo, seizing the opportunity, skittered away, straightening his blazer as he did.

"Mr Malfoy?" Petty Artist called suddenly in that nasal pitch that Draco abhorred. "Here, please."

Heel, please, Draco thought even as he picked himself up. His body felt sore and tired all over, and not just from sitting all day and waking early. That feeling he liked.

"The last time didn't turn out so well," Petty Artist said thoughtfully when Draco was close enough, "because there wasn't enough hunger in your –"

Draco raised a sardonic brow. "I'm hungry for a late lunch, if that's what you mean. Oh, look, it's already half past two…"

Impassive, the photographer chose to ignore him and stroked his stylish goatee. "No, I mean… carnal hunger. You want this woman," he said, gesturing toward a scantily clad Viviane standing on a bare slab.

Draco repressed a moue. "Not really."

But the artist had already dismissed Draco's less than polite interruption. "Last time, you were scowling, making it look like you were angry with her instead of infatuated."

"I was. Angry, that is. We had a spat beforehand."

Suddenly the artist's resolve broke. "I don't care," he scowled. "You get down on your knees and beg for her. I don't want a single more complaint from you. Are we clear?"

Draco grunted, crouched, and only saw Viviane, the spoiled, salacious woman who drove him around the bend in a nasty way. He'd never beg for her, would never hunger for her. Only one… had touched him like none had ever before, and like the bastard he was, he hadn't been able to prioritise that morning.

You want hunger, Petty Artist? I'll give you hunger.

In Viviane's stead, there was suddenly Ginny opening herself to him, a vision in her imperfect beauty, from her ginger freckles to the mole under her left eyebrow. She bared her throat to him, her skin silken smooth all over. He watched, enthralled, as she stretched on her side for him, her propped thight creating a voluptuous mound that he desperately wanted to hike. Long, wildly erotic fire strands tumbled down over the harshness of the rocky surface, an alluring contrast of soft and rough, vibrant and dull. He wanted to sink his fingers into them, revel in the thick texture. She was… truly a woman, captured everything that had ever been female in the world, and more.

"Goodness, that's… perfect," someone breathed some ways away.

"They were made for each other."

"Look at him. I want someone to look at me like that."

Too many voices. Draco suddenly lost his concentration, and once again saw Viviane Nündschnuk, tramp extraordinaire, watching him out of her heavily madeup face with a wholly self-satisfied expression. He jerked away, and pegged the photographer with a glare. "Are we done?"

The artist and his cohort blubbered a moment. "Ah, er, yes, Mr Malfoy. We have enough, though…"

"Good. I'm out of here." Storming off the shooting platform, he ripped his things off the floor then disappeared with a snapping 'pop!'

A hush fell over the little attending crowd. Bernardo broke it with a mournful, "He didn't renew his contract."

"What?" the dark haired vixen on the slab screeched.

Viviane knew her career had most likely just come to a grinding halt. Draco Malfoy was the one who had propelled it a mere two years ago; he was the one who'd shot her into the limelight. To be denied now would surely crush her career to crumbs. That was what had happened to the last girl. No one talked about Sophie Beauregard anymore, even as timeless a beauty as she had been. No one, least of all Viviane, believed that beautiful, fresh-faced Sophie had wanted to go back to school in France to continue her archaeological studies after modeling. Who would want to?

"What was I expecting? Roses and chocolate? A declaration of undying love?" Ginny snorted as she unlocked her door later that afternoon. "Puh-lease, we're talking about Draco fucking Malfoy here." She pitched her wand on the writing desk as she entered. "Not like last night meant anything to him. I was a fleshbag who happened to come from his past. Woohoo for schoolmate reunions."

The ranting didn't make her feel any better. In fact, as she fell into her couch, she only felt like she needed to lie down somewhere for a long period of time. Goodness knew, though, that several people wouldn't let her here to rot for a while. Damn workplaces, damn families, damn…

Well, wouldn't Ron want to know she'd done it twice now with the unfeeling bastard. Hearing a harsh sound, Ginny realised it was her own hollow bark of laughter. Then she pulled her legs up and hugged them to her chest. This was a mess. She was a mess… for an unfeeling bastard?

But remember last night. He cared for you.

Ginny wanted to cry. Wasn't he a model, trained to act? The only difference last night had been the lack of cameras.

Oh, stop it. Pull yourself together. She would not fall prey to heartbreak, especially as there hadn't been a relationship to begin with.

Right. She'd make dinner and forget everything. Erase it, if she could, along with the memory of that night six years ago at the brothel.

With a great breath of resolve, Ginny lifted herself from the couch and tried to leave behind her worries and heartache. But they followed her like shit to shoes and could not be helped.

Draco paced. Draco paced.

A Malfoy never paces, he could almost hear his father, and wanted to throttle something, someone. What to do. He ran a hand through his hair, pausing, and took up shuffling again at a brisker pace.

He'd left his note, should leave her to decide what she wanted. Hell. He looked at the time on the modern clock, and winced. Six thirty, and then some. He didn't know Ginny's schedule, but most… normal people left work at four thirty, didn't they? Plenty of time for her to find his note and make her decision. But what if she didn't get a phone call tonight? It wasn't like she knew many muggles. Or did she? She did have that tevelision in her living room…

Shiiit, the wait was killing him.

More pacing, more pacing, more pacing.

An insistent pecking on his window startled him, and he pounced for it, untying the letter from the owl's leg feverishly. He willed his trembling fingers to steady, but natch. They didn't. He unfolded the letter… and groaned.

Dear Draco Malfoy,

Oh my God, I am such a fan! …

Draco balled it and launched it at the nearest trash without a second glance, shutting the owl out. Raking his hair again, he decided to make dinner to occupy his mind. Lord knew he was a horrible cook and constantly ordered in – when he was in town, that is – but he needed to keep busy and keep his mind off her. What better way than to keep his hands occupied?

He was just starting to boil the water for spaghetti when his whole body started itching. That's it, I'm going over there. Snapping the burner off, he suddenly paused. And say what?

"Hi, I was wondering if maybe last night was more than casual sex to you."

That wouldn't go over too well. Girls liked talk about feelings, didn't they? Well, that stumped him hard.

Inspiration struck at long last. "I liked waking up next to – no. I… I think you're… I enjoyed your company – dammit, that sounds like we went to the pictures. I want to see you ag – desperate much?" He laughed harshly and gripped the counter hard, staring into his reflection in the darkened window.

"What do you want?" he asked himself, searching his mirrored wide eyes. "Why do you want to see her again?"

The answer, the burning, aching answer, drifted quietly – he almost missed it – into his brain, as though someone had misted it over his mind, letting it fill with the bone-deep knowledge that came to him gradually. "I want to know everything about her. That's why," he whispered to himself, a little surprised, and suddenly let go of the counter, needing to move.

Author's note: This chapter was very hard to write. The whole chapter. Not just the beginning because of how well last chapter ended and how badly this one starts, but the whole thing because it's so emotionally charged… in a pessimistic way. I hated writing this, but knew I had to to get the story moving. I personally don't always enjoy passive scenes where nothing happens, but I thought internal reflection was important in this one instance, so we (I, too) can understand the characters and what's going on in their heads. So, yeah, it was draining for me. Even the good bits (I rather liked the Draco/Viviane(Ginny) bit, it was great to write) and the end.

And so how does next chapter start? Well… I did start writing chappie 5. It's definetely a continuation of this. I think you'll enjoy.