A/N* I'm so sorry it's taken me so long but the teachers have been total complete SADISTS and I've had no time at all to write.  But it IS finished, and it IS posted, so enjoy.  And review.

Props to Priscilla for awesome beta work.

And thanks to everyone who's stuck with me through this story, and my other ones. Muah!  I love you guys.

Chapter 7. Rows and Boats

          "Ron, I really don't think this is a good idea," Hermione said dubiously as Ron reached for the intricate brass knocker.  "You have no proof that she's here."

          He sent her a dry glare before letting the heavy metal serpent fall against the polished wood of Malfoy's front door.  "Where else would she be?"  He demanded hotly.  "She was not supposed to leave yesterday.  Malfoy's back in town.  She missed a day of work.  End of story."

          Hermione sighed.

          "I bet he's tortured her," Ron said stubbornly.  "I bet he's holding her prisoner right this minute."

          She eyed the grand mansion with both skepticism and admiration.  "I don't know about that, Ron.  Malfoy could've changed.  It's been years since Hogwarts you know.  Years since we've seen him."

          "Best years of my life," Ron grunted.  "I didn't miss that prat one bit."

          "I'm with you there," Hermione agreed.  "I'm just saying you shouldn't be jumping to conclusions.  She could be home right now, sleeping while we barge in on Malfoy."

          Impatiently, Ron slammed his fist against the door.  "See?  He's not answering, Herm.  He's up to something."

          She glared at her fiancé.  "You are being entirely irrational," Hermione scolded.  "It's 6 AM and it's Saturday. Nobody is going to be answering their door."

          "Well I'm not leaving until he explains to me what he did with Ginny," Ron said defiantly.

          "And if he hasn't done anything?" Hermione pressed.

          "Then I suppose she's just off somewhere all drunk again," Ron replied lightly.  "Which is better than whatever Malfoy could do."

          "Ron—"

          Ignoring her patronizing tone, he raised his arm once more, pounding furiously.  "Open up, you ferret!" He yelled.  "I know you're in there."

          The door swung open.

          "About time!" Ron roared.  "What the bloody hell took you so long—" He was silenced as Hermione pinched his forearm very painfully.  Glaring at the brunette, he massaged his arm and directed his gaze back at the man in the doorway, who was, now that he actually looked at him, decidedly not Malfoy.  It could have been Malfoy, Ron told himself weakly, if Malfoy had shrunk a few inches, gained a few pounds, and dyed his hair black.  It very well could have been Malfoy.

          "I'm sorry," Hermione said politely.  "Is Mr. Malfoy home?"

          The man, who was presumably the butler, raised both eyebrows in a condescending manner that well suited the family he served.  "I believe you mean Malfoy junior, Master Draco?"

          "Yes," Hermione affirmed primly.

          "Yeah," Ron grumbled.

          "He is," The butler informed them snidely.  "But I highly doubt he would wish to be woken up for those of your kind."

          "On the contrary, I don't think he would mind," Ron insisted.

          "He would," The butler snarled.  "End of discussion.  I will not disturb his sleep for a—a—degenerate like you."

          "Why you—" Ron began heatedly.

          "He already is awake," came a pompous voice that the three of them recognized all too well.  Hermione tightened her grip on Ron's arm, and they both tensed as a blond head appeared in the doorway.

          There was a flicker of surprise on Draco's face as he took in the couple, and he stared for a split second before falling into his familiar smirk.  "Well, well, well," He chuckled, only there was no warmth in his voice.  "Look at what we have here."

          "Master Malfoy," the butler started.

          "It's fine," Draco said, though the gleam in his eyes indicated that it clearly was not.  "You're dismissed."

          "Yes, sir."

          Draco turned his attention to Ron now, the arrogant sneer never leaving his lips, and raked his disapproving silver gaze over his clothes.  "Weasley.  Haven't changed a bit, I see."

          "Malfoy," Ron forced out between gritted teeth.

          He glanced at Hermione.  "And what's this?  Granger?  My, if it's even possible, you look uglier than you did before."

          "Right back at you, Malfoy," Hermione replied, smiling as courteously as possible, though considering her mood, this came out more like a grimace.

          "Bastard," Ron muttered.

          Draco rolled his eyes.  "That's rich, Weasley, come to my estate and insult me. Weakly insult me, I might add. I have a good mind to throw you out, you know."

          "I wouldn't come to your hideous house unless I had to," Ron snapped.  "So tell me, Malfoy, what the hell did you do with my sister?"

          One of his slender gold eyebrows shot up.  "Your sister?"

          "Yes," Ron said impatiently.  "My sister.  Your child's governess.  Goes by the name of Virginia."

          "I know who your sister is," Draco said in a thoroughly annoyed voice.

          "Good, so where is she?"  Ron nearly yelled.

          Draco leaned his lithe frame against the doorway and crossed his arms leisurely.  "What makes you think I have any idea where littlest weasel is?"

          "So she's not here?" Hermione questioned.

          Draco shrugged.  "Probably not," he said calmly, reaching for the door.  "Well, nice of you to stop by.  I'll be seeing you.  Or if I'm lucky, I won't."

          "Then you wouldn't mind if we checked," Ron spat, swinging his frame into the door and growing livid at Draco's cool composure.

          "I am not letting Mudblood in my house," Draco sneered.

          Ron lurched forward, fists swinging, but the blond nimbly pushed the door in front of him, and Ron's hand made contact with hard wood.  "Ron," cried Hermione, flinging herself at her fiancé to hold him back.

          "I cannot believe the nerve of him," Ron bellowed.  "He called you—he called you a mudblood."

          "Truth hurts, doesn't it?" Draco smirked, and, before any of them could react, swung the door shut with a loud bang.  Subsequently, there was another as Ron lunged towards the knob.

          "You are the lowest form of scum on this earth," Ron shouted from outside at the top of his lungs.  "You deserve to be bred in captivity and kept in an underground cage and—"

          "What is going on?" A soft, sleepy voice from the bottom of his grand spiral staircase demanded.  Draco pivoted to see Ginny blinking rapidly, red hair tousled, and dressed in oversized, wrinkled clothes that undoubtedly belonged to him.  From behind him, the massive wood door shook and rattled.

          "Oi, Weasley," Draco grimaced.  "Bad timing."

          She blinked at him again, obviously not quite awake as she stumbled towards him.  "What?  Who's here?"  Before he could stop her, she had swung the door open widely, giving her brother and his fiancée a full view of a very disheveled Ginny, whose dark green nightshirt had become rather unbuttoned throughout the course of her sleep.

          "GINNY?" Ron screamed.

          She started, as if his voice had jolted her into consciousness.  "Ron?" Ginny cried in disbelief.

          "For chrissakes, what the hell are you wearing?" He berated.  "I can see your—AHHHH I do NOT want to see that.  I do NOT want HIM to see that."

          She flushed immediately, noticing the glimpse of lacy bra peeking out through the folds of her clothes, and struggled to match the buttons valiantly, all the while refusing to meet Draco's eyes.  "I—"

          "How could you?" Ron raged.  "HOW COULD YOU?"

          Ginny glanced at Hermione, who was staring in limp, helpless shock.  "Sorry, Gin," she whispered hoarsely.  "But I think I'm wondering the same thing."

          She fixed the last button and stared defiantly at her brother.  "What?"

          Ron pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at Draco.  "You tosser."

          Both Ginny and Draco jumped a tad, looking at the furious redhead in alarm.  "Ron!" Ginny protested.  "It's not like that!"

          "Did you drug her? Is that it?" Ron shrieked.  "I swear to god that if you drugged her, I am going to hex you into the next millennia!"

          "Ron!" Ginny shouted.

          Ron fell silent, but his face remained scarlet as ever.

         "Dra—Malfoy and I did not sleep together," Ginny yelled.  'At least not last night.'  She lowered her voice.  "It was late, and I stayed the night.  In a guest room."

          "On a different floor," Draco added snottily.

          Ron peered at them suspiciously.  "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

          "Oh come off it," Ginny snapped.  "And even if I did sleep with Malfoy—" Ron began to protest "—which I didn't, but if I did, so what of it?  I'm a grown woman, Ron, I can do as I please."

          "She's right, you know," Hermione said reasonably, tugging at his shirt.

          Glaring at Draco, Ron yanked Ginny out the door and onto the cold cement steps.  "We're going home, Virginia Weasley, right now."

          "Ron—" Ginny started darkly.

          "No buts," Ron bit.  "You have no right to give me any buts right now."  He turned towards Draco.  "She'll be back here in a week, Malfoy.  I think we all need a breather from you."

          "I'm not paying her for that week she's gone," Draco sneered.

          "I'm not going anywhere," Ginny shrieked.  "You can't do this, Ron, I won't—"

          "Bucra Silencio!" Ron ground out, and though her mouth continued to move, there came no sound.  He began to drag her away, and she went, helplessly but struggling nevertheless.

          Hermione watched them for a moment, and then glanced up at Draco.  "I do hope you're happy, Malfoy," she said angrily.

          "Oh I am, mudblood," he answered rather crossly, folding his lean arms once more across his chest and glowering at her.  "I am."

          As Hermione stormed off after the siblings, robes billowing behind her, Ginny turned her head and caught Draco's eyes for an ephemeral moment; brown on gray, soft on hard.  Her eyes were wide and apologetic, a bit pleading yet a bit amused, and to his own chagrin, Draco found himself smiling at her, just a little.  It was but for a split second, the locking of their eyes and the brief understanding that had passed, just a slight nuance in time.

          Only it seemed much, much longer.

~*~

ONE WEEK LATER

          "It's so big!"

          Draco strode down the long hallway outside his den towards where the quiet hum of conversation could be heard.

          "You're not the first girl to say that," a male voice chuckled, a voice that could only belong to Blaise Zabini.

          "Oh you," the first voice giggled.  Mentally, Draco ran through the list of girls he had met with Blaise, an honestly long list, but couldn't find any that quite matched that high-pitched squeal.

          "You can touch it, you know," Blaise said.

          "Well, it's just so. . .huge and. . ."

          "Zabini," Draco boomed as he rounded the corner and arranged his face into an impassive mask of calm.  "Surprised to see you here."  He was rather relieved to see that they had only been admiring his mother's ostentatious Australian crystal, and smirked at his friend.

          "Morning, Malfoy," Blaise answered cheerily.  He gestured to the stunning raven-haired woman beside him.  "This is. . ."

          "Kendra," the girl supplied.

          "Right," Blaise nodded vigorously.  "Kendra.  Draco, Kendra, Kendra, Draco.  Anyways, she was just leaving."

          Kendra turned her magnificent violet gaze on Draco.  "You live here?"

          Blaise winced.

          "You could put it that way," Draco answered, suppressing a grin as he looked from Blaise to Kendra.

          "It's an amazing house, isn't it?" Kendra went on, unaware of Blaise's extreme unease.  "And Blaise here—" she planted a sugary kiss on his cheek "—is just so kind to let so many people stay in it.  Always the altruist, that's my Blaisy."

          Blaise sent her a tight smile.  "Well I'm sure you can see yourself out?"

          She nodded.  "Oh yes, of course.  You'll owl me?"

          He only grunted as she flounced away, and started glaring deeply at Draco as the blond burst into peals of laughter.  "What," Blaise growled, "is so funny?"

          "Always the altruist," Draco mimicked in a falsetto.  "That's my Blaisy."

          "Oh sod off," he grumbled.

          "I, for one," Draco continued with a large smile, "am rather surprised she knows the meaning of that word."

          Blaise sighed, though allowing a grin.  "Well you have to admit that she was nice looking."

          "Oh very," agreed Draco, "But not completely worth pretending that this was your house."

          A red flush crawled up Blaise's neck.  "Er. . .about that. . ."

          "No worries," Draco waved his hand.  "Though I'm a bit curious as to why, because you don't exactly live in a shack you know."

          "Well," Blaise said uncomfortably.  "Mum is home from Ireland, and you know how she is about—about—"

          "About random shags?" Draco raised his eyebrows.

          Once again, Blaise winced.  "It's just that Mother is kind of nosy, and I hate to think of the scene she would create if she saw me, well, get it on with someone like Kendra."

          The doorbell chimed, and Draco strolled towards his den again.  "Or Allison, or Jennifer, or Michelle, or Trishelle, or Cindy, or—"

          Blaise held up a hand.  "I get the point, Malfoy."

          Draco smirked.  "Point being?"

          "That I'm a tosser, right?" Blaise shrugged, and then offered a rueful smile.  "Though I actually did consider a relationship with Trishelle."

          "Master Malfoy?" The butler interrupted them, appearing small and wan at the end of the hall.  "You have a guest."

          Cocking his head at Blaise, Draco turned sharply on his heel.  "Who is it?"

          "Me."

          Ginny's voice reverberated in the empty hall, soft and a little timid, quite reflective of the way she looked.  The warm sunlight flooding into the hall illuminated the copper of her red hair, brought depth to those sparkling brown eyes, and gave her an angelic air that he had never seen upon any woman before.  She was wearing yet another one of her knee-length dresses, this time a light coral shell underneath a cream cardigan that was simply inviting his touch.

          Draco blinked.  "I thought you were gone for a week, Weasley."

          "Actually," she replied with a bright smile, "It has been a week.  How time flies, eh?"

          They fell into an awkward silence then, each staring at the other with what could have been new eyes, both unsure of what to say.  "So," Draco said finally.  "What do you want?"  He was faintly aware of how rude he sounded, but had not the mind nor lack of pride to correct himself.

          "Well, truthfully speaking," Ginny answered.  "I was going to take Sebastian down to the lake, and I was wondering whether you'd want to. . .come."

          "With you?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.  At her disapproving frown, he coughed.  "Well, I've kind of got a business, er, meeting today."

          "Another business meeting," she repeated.  "Really."

          "Yeah," Draco replied uneasily.

          She rolled her eyes.  "He's your son."

          And though he really shouldn't have cared about her opinion of him, though he truthfully did have a business meeting, Draco became quiet with consideration.

"Malfoy?" Ginny pressed after a pause.

"Alright then."

          "Alright?" Ginny echoed in surprise.  "You'll go?"

          He resisted the urge to smirk at her unhidden astonishment.  "He's my son, remember?"

"It's not like you've ever listened to me before," Ginny pointed out dryly.

Draco shrugged.  "Just let me call my secretary, and I'll meet you out by the boats."

          Her surprise grew even greater.  "The boats?"

          "Well, if we're going to the lake, we might as well go on the lake, wouldn't you say?" he said reasonably, heading for his office.  "Give me ten minutes, Miss Weasley."

          She only nodded mutely, staring after him with shocked eyes as he sauntered away.

~*~

          On a warm day as it was, the lake was absolutely still.  There was, of course, an occasional breeze that ruffled the waters, but for most part the three of them were treated to a calm tranquility. 

They were settled on the lolling green hill just overlooking Malfoy Manor's grand lake, a green checkered blanket spread out underneath the quaint picnic basket.  Sebastian was situated in the first waves of the water, hands digging through shallow sands as Ginny watched him carefully.

          "You know, Weasley," Draco said, reaching for more of the biscuits.  "These are actually quite good.  Did you make them yourself?"

          "Part of them," Ginny confessed.  "All Weasley women are taught to make delectable biscuits.  Your cook prepared the rest."

          Silence.

          "Did you just compliment me?" Ginny asked suddenly.

          "No.  Pass the butter."

          She grinned.  "Yes you did.  Admit it, Draco Malfoy, the littlest Weasel isn't that bad after all."

          He grinned back at her.  "You do realize that you just degraded yourself, Weasley?"

          "On the contrary," she objected, placing the butter gently in his palm.  "I wouldn't say that 'littlest weasel' is such an insult.  Weasel, yes, but since you refer to my family as the weasels anyhow, I'm not going to feel insulted."

          His grin grew wider, and she couldn't help noting how really very good-looking he was when he honestly smiled.  "Oh yes," Draco agreed.  "Since your family is so honorable, what with that wonderful, temperate Ronald Weasley."

          She blushed visibly.  "Oh gods.  I was hoping you'd forgotten about that incident."

          Draco spread the yellow slab across his biscuit.  "No no, that was way to bloody humorous to forget," he chuckled.

          "He's not usually like that," Ginny mumbled, digging through the basket until she found a chocolate frog.

          "Hey," Draco smirked.  "I spent seven years with your brother, you know.  And I can tell you very honestly that he is, usually, like that.  But. . ."

          "But?"  She prompted as she unwrapped the frog.

          "But I'm not going to hold that against you," he finished.  "You can't help your brother's insanity."

Her face softened.

"Although I will hold the fact that you're a Weasley to boot, and—"

          She chucked a biscuit at his face then, and he shut up immediately.  "You are such a pig," Ginny grumbled.

          Draco laughed—actually laughed.  "Now you've gone and ruined a perfectly edible biscuit."

          About to reply, Ginny suddenly stopped as Sebastian crawled a bit deeper into the water.  Draco followed her gaze.  "You care an awful lot about him, don't you?"  Draco asked softly.

          She met his eyes, cloudy with emotion.  "I love him," Ginny told him firmly.  "As if—as if he were my own son."

          "Mmm," Draco said pensively.  "I imagine then that it must be quite difficult knowing that he's actually a Malfoy."

          "How so?" She asked distractedly.

          "Well, a bloodline so much better than yours," Draco began, but she swatted him on the arm.  Hard.

          "Must you always be a prat?" Ginny scowled.  "We were getting along fine, you know.  Then you had to go and make some half-arsed comment."

          "I missed my meeting," Draco grumped.  "And I'm tired.  Blaise spent the night last, and I didn't get much sleep."

          Ginny stared at him, her mouth a round 'o' of alarm.  "He spent the night?"

          "Not like that," Draco snapped at her.  "With his newest conquest.  Kendra, I think her name was.  Anyways, you can imagine the horrid noises coming from their room."

          "I'd rather not, actually," Ginny said, wrinkling her nose.  He smirked at her once more, some deprecating remark on the tip of his tongue—it was just that easy—and she clapped her palm across his mouth.  "Stop." Ginny said.  "Tell you what, Malfoy."

          "What."

          "Don't be so cheeky," she scolded.  "I was actually going to propose a massage.  It used to calm Ron down marvelously."

          He shot her a sour, disbelieving look and she sighed loudly.  "You aren't serious, are you?" Draco asked.

          With a groan, she shoved him a bit until she was seated directly behind him, and then rose on her haunches so her arms were at the perfect height to his shoulders.

          And nice shoulders they were, she thought.  Broad and lean from years of Quidditch, they tapered into a slender waist that she could just wrap her arms around and. . .

          "Are you going to do something or not?" Draco's petulant voice crashed into her train of thought.  "Because you aren't helping my stress, you know."

          "Oh," Ginny started.  "Right."  Silently, she lifted her hands to the nape of his neck, ignoring the sparks that tingled all through her own arms at the contact, and gently kneaded the muscle there.

          He couldn't prove it, not to her nor to himself, but something about those fingers was startlingly familiar.  The mere fact made him both vastly uncomfortable and guilty for indulging in their soothing touch, while his brain screamed ten thousand conflicting commands, Draco found himself immobilized as his tension ebbed away under her delicate hands.

         "You're tense," Ginny said softly from behind him, never ceasing her gentle ministrations on his shoulders.  Her breath tickled his ear, and a most unwelcome ripple shot down his spine, the kind he hadn't felt since he was a teenager.  And he knew then that he didn't—shouldn't—respond to her in the way his heart had, his mind a jumble as he willed the butterflies dancing in his stomach to disappear.

          His only agenda now being to halt whatever moment he was experiencing with this—this Weasley, he turned abruptly.  Only, it was not the wisest of moves because in that instant, Draco found himself inches from the littlest weasel, her doe brown eyes big with surprise and her hands, now limp, still on his shoulders due to the alacrity of his movement.

          They were so close he could feel her feminine warmth radiating in the crisp air, and he opened his mouth in preparation to expel some snide remark that would cause her to jump far away from him.  But there came none, only ragged breathing left his lips as his cloudy eyes fell to the velvety pink tip of her tongue, just visible through her parted lips.  One of her fingers curled around the silky strands brushing the nape of his neck, and he involuntarily found himself wondering if she tasted like the chocolate frog she had just eaten.  He knew he should have pushed her away—bloody hell, he shouldn't even have agreed to let her touch him in the first place, but all reason flew out of his head as he stared down at her, frozen with desire.

          He lowered his head a little, hesitating just millimeters from her lips.  What was one kiss, really?  All of a sudden, it didn't matter that she was a Gryffindor, a Weasley, a bloody Potter fan; it didn't matter that she was his very own antithesis, or that her brothers would make a pie out of him if they ever saw him in such close proximity to her lips.  It didn't matter that her quirky sense of humor and wide, honest smile had been bothering him for weeks now, and it didn't matter that he could never have her, not in a million years, because it was just one kiss; and if that one kiss was going to be the end of him, then so be it.

          Her eyes had slipped half-closed, the long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, but as she tilted her chin, she accidentally brought her nose against his and they flew open again.  He had never seen such blatant need in a woman before as he did in that moment, had never quite witnessed that delectable combination of innocence and desire that was reflected in her soft, dark eyes, and the last of his protests evaporated.

          Just one kiss. . .

          Her upper lip was nearly brushing his now, and they both closed their eyes, half in anticipation, half in what could have been fear.  There were no more alarm bells ringing in his head because his sole thought was of her lips, and how very un-Malfoy it was of him to want to devour them without any consequence in mind.

          One kiss. . .

          "Father!  Miss Weasley!  Look what I found!"

          He jumped immediately, cold where her hands had been, and ran a hand through his hair, miraculously keeping his cool.  He got to his feet in jerky movements, and from beside him so did she.  Studying Ginny surreptitiously, he saw with an odd satisfaction that a darkening blush was reddening her face.  In that moment, her perplexed eyes fell upon him and they both turned their heads away, pretending that neither had been staring at the other.

          Sebastian skidded to a stop before them, a bright smile lighting his small face.  "Look," he said, holding out in his palm a shiny pink shell turned into itself.  "Isn't it wicked?"

          "Very," replied Draco in a calm that shocked both Ginny and himself.

          "Beautiful," she agreed, somewhat breathlessly.

          Furrowing his brow, Sebastian cocked his head at Ginny.  "Am I late?"  He asked in a tiny voice.

          "No no," Ginny assured quickly.  "You came just on time.  Just in the nick of time."

          Their eyes met again, hers a mixture of emotions and his simply impassive.  "Just in the nick of time," Draco said slowly.  "In that case, you should have come earlier, actually.  But then again, don't all regretful people say that?"

          She tore her gaze from his, and they all heard her sharp intake of breath.  "We should go," she said after a moment, struggling to keep her voice steady.  "It's getting late."  She took Sebastian's hand gently, and, almost unable to help herself, glanced at Draco once more, for guidance, for clue, for question.

          He smirked at her, that dreadful Malfoy smirk, and sauntered away as if nothing had transpired between the two of them, nothing at all.

          Though what exactly had, he wasn't even quite sure.

~*~

          Forward, back, forward, back, forward, back.

          Ginny let out a small sigh, intensely aware of how uncomfortable both she and Draco were, crammed alongside Sebastian in the small rowboat.  He hadn't said much to her since they started around the lake, and she was beginning to think he had just put the entire awkward kiss that wasn't behind them.  Maybe things would be normal again—as normal as they could ever be.

"You're not rowing right." 

          Draco's voice cut through the thick tension between them and Ginny glanced up, startled.  "Well I'm sorry," she replied slightly sarcastically, "But I haven't exactly been take rowing lessons since I was seven years old, you know."

          "Of course not," Draco shot back.  "How would your parents pay for it?"

          Maybe not.

          "Look!" Sebastian cried excitedly, pointing to something in the water.  "A fish!"

          "Don't be silly," grumbled Draco.  "There are no fish in this lake."

          "I swear I saw I fish," Sebastian shouted.  "I saw it!  It was right there!"  He leaned forward and extended his arms wildly.

          "Sebastian, be careful," Ginny warned.

          "You haven't taught my son to swim yet, have you," Draco observed with a sneer.

          "Well it's not a crime," she retorted.  "I can't swim either."

          "I'm sure you can't do a lot of things," was his smug reply.

          She swung around to glare at him, just as Sebastian fell out of the boat with a loud splash.  "Miss Weasley!" he screamed, flailing his arms.  "Miss Weasley, Miss Weas—" 

          And then his little blond head disappeared under the murky waters.

          "Shit," Ginny muttered, instantly stripping off her sweater.  She clawed at her dress, yanking it over her head with a grunt while Draco moved to his feet, and dove headfirst into the water.

          "Ginny!" Draco shouted without thinking.  "You can't swim!"

          "Sebastian," she yelled, bringing the sputtering boy above water and treading furiously.  "Oh gods.  Don't ever do that again, Sebastian."

          She handed the wailing boy to Draco, who easily hoisted him back into the boat and wrapped her cardigan around his trembling shoulders.  "It's freezing," Sebastian cried piteously.

          "Come on," he urged Ginny.  "You're going to catch a bloody cold if you stay in that water."

          Still glaring at him, she rested her arms on the side of the boat, making well sure that the waterline was above her breasts.  "Wouldn't that make you happy?" She bit.

          "Oh come off it," Draco sighed in exasperation.  He clasped her arms gently, jumping at how cold the skin was to his touch, and yanked at her.

          "Malfoy!" she yelped as he pulled her up suddenly, and the upper half of her body was sprawled across the boat, sprawled across him.  She was then all too aware of her thin cotton bra, barely containing her chest, which was heaving above his, and struggled to push him away.

          Only instead, she ended up tipping the boat, and they all went under with loud yells.

~End of Chapter 7~

A/N* Muahahaha not much of a cliffie.  But o well.  So review!