Chapter Ten: Wronski Feint

Ginny rattled the doorknob to her room. "Bloody bint locked me out!" Her annoyance at Pansy blossomed into anger. "Neville!" She raised her fist to pound on the door.

Draco caught her wrist gently. "Ginny."

"I'll kick her skinny arse!"

He stumbled between her and the door, still holding her wrist. His other hand went to her shoulder and he peered at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "Do it tomorrow."

"And what do you suggest I do tonight?"

He tugged her away from the door. "Stay with me."

She considered that. Yes, it was a good idea. She could rest tonight and catch that cow Pansy unawares tomorrow. "Yeah, I'll kip with you," she decided and let him steer her into his room.

Draco closed the door and staggered into her. "D'you see?" he said drowsily, throwing his arms around her to steady himself. "I take care of you." He was delightfully warm. "I always take care of you, Ginny," he mumbled into her ear, tightening his embrace.

It was true, she realised. He'd come to warn her about the Death Eater attack on her home, he'd tried to save her from the final battle, he'd fallen for her in the final battle, and he'd comforted her afterwards when the whole world had gone grey. In a short year, Draco had become one of her best friends. She hugged him back fiercely. "You're good to me. Let me take care of you now," she said, and walked him backwards until his legs hit his bed. "Rest. I'll be back straightaway."

She went to the loo and when she emerged he was standing in front of his suitcase, facing the balcony. He grasped his gown below the waist in both hands and Ginny only had time to gasp in alarm before he pulled it up and over his head.

He wasn't starkers, thank Merlin; he'd been wearing a pair of shorts underneath. Ginny snapped her gaze to the floor, trying to ignore what she'd seen in the dim light and give him a chance to put some clothes on. She heard the rustling of fabric. What if the shorts were next? Panic made her look up again and she was relieved to find that he was simply rummaging through his suitcase, oblivious to her presence. Watching him was making her acutely uncomfortable. Would it be best to hide out in the bathroom until he finished? Did she have to remind him that she was still in his room? What if the shorts were still next? Ginny couldn't take the tension anymore. "Oh, c'mon," she scoffed.

Draco started at the sound of her voice and glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Get dressed already."

In response, he raised an eyebrow at her, hooked his thumb into his waistband, and pulled the fabric away from his hip.

Ginny's breath caught. He was about to embarrass himself. "Put that away, Malfoy, I don't need to see it."

The shorts snapped back to his waist. "Can't fly," he muttered with an ugly sneer that shocked Ginny until she remembered just how drunk he was. He pressed his lips together and turned back to his suitcase, selecting a sleeveless undershirt. After he pulled it on, he turned to her and thrust out a set of blue lounging pyjamas with a yawn. "Here."

"Oh, thanks," she said. The material was heavy and soft. "It'll be nice to get out of this corset."

Draco climbed onto his bed. "You shouldn't wear those. Blokes don't like 'em."

"Blokes liked me just fine in it," she said, feeling belligerent. "Niko didn't have any complaints. And they seem to work out fine for Pansy – first you, then Neville." He was scowling now, and she reminded herself not to make him too angry; there was nowhere else to sleep. "I'll just go change," she demurred.

Draco's head flew back with a rude snort, and the momentum propelled him flat on his back. "You'll never get it off yourself."

"Pansy does."

"She has practice," he enunciated slowly, throwing his arm up over his eyes. "But don' let me stop yeh."

Two minutes later, Ginny had to concur with his assessment. Even with the mirror's advice, she could barely access the knot and she hadn't been able to do much more than touch it with her torso bound as it was. When her arm started to cramp up from its contortions, she finally admitted defeat and slunk shamefully out of the bathroom with one hand clutching her dress up to her waist to find Draco in the same position she had left him in. "You're right," she sighed. No response. "Draco?" She grabbed his arm and hauled it off his face, and he squinted against the soft light.

"Wassuh?"

"Would you please untie me?"

He dragged himself into a sitting position with some effort and flung his bare legs over the side of the bed. "Here," he said, patting the space between his thighs unsteadily.

She turned and lowered herself slowly, taking great care that her dress would remain at its present level. Underneath the Transfigured sheet, she was wearing what she mentally referred to as 'dress knickers', soft and lacy concoctions that gave her a bit of extra confidence when she needed it and generally made her feel more fabulous than usual. Draco's disdain over the corset had been bad enough. She definitely didn't want his opinion on the rest of her undergarments. After a bit of rearranging, she was perched gingerly on the mattress, mesmerized by Draco's hairy thighs. She watched his muscles bunch as he shifted position and then they went slack and his hands were low on her back. She tried to tear her eyes off his legs and found that she couldn't. It was ridiculous – she could feel the heat coming off of them more acutely than she could feel him tugging at the corset.

The pressure around her torso rapidly faded in an upward motion, as if a layer of herself had been stripped away. She managed to clutch the corset to her chest with her free arm before it dropped away and took a deep, experimental breath. "Oh, that's much – oh!"

Draco's hands were on her bare back, long fingers digging into her skin beside her spine. After hours of compression, the stimulation felt wonderful and she sighed in pleasure and arched her back until their shoulders were touching. Now he was kneading the flesh on her hips and she wondered idly if the dress had slipped, making no effort to check. She clasped his thigh for balance as he went to work on her ribs. The soft hairs on his leg tickled her fingers and his hands spanned her ribcage easily and the sheer maleness of him assaulted her senses. Dear Merlin, she'd missed men. She needed one of her own. Why, why didn't she speak French? "That feels so good," she moaned as he returned to the small of her back.

"Yeah," he whispered.

She didn't want him to ever stop. "You're very good at this."

"Used to do it for Pansy," he slurred into her ear, and his hot breath broke against her skin and fanned down her throat.

Ginny shivered at the sensation, but the mention of the snake next door soured her mood and she broke away from him, clutching the corset and the dress carefully. "I'm not Pansy," she informed him primly.

"I know that. Don't worry," he added, his voice sounding bitter, "a Malfoy never makes the same mistake twice."

"I should hope not. Pansy's with Neville now, if you hadn't noticed."

His expression turned downright stormy. "It's a family trait, then?"

"What?"

"Your brother's a dim-witted ass, too."

"This dim-witted ass carried you home when your so-called friend wanted to Levitate you into the nearest wall," she hissed, finally fed up with his drunken cantankerousness and stung by the vitriol behind his words.

"Want a biscuit?" he asked snidely. "Or something else?"

"Argh!"

"You can't keep doing this to me," he snarled.

"I can't keep doing this to you?" she cried incredulously. "Fine. Whatever, Malfoy." She couldn't be bothered to continue this non-conversation. It made as much sense as talking to a petulant three-year-old. With as much dignity as she could muster with her clothes half off, she waltzed into the bathroom, locked the door, and let her clothes drop to the floor. She glanced at the pyjamas still folded neatly on the countertop and for a moment she thought she'd rather go naked than wear anything from Draco. What was his problem? "Stupid drunk idiot," she muttered aloud, but it didn't make her feel any better. She couldn't even articulate what, precisely, made her so angry. All she knew was that she didn't deserve his wrath. She jumped at a heavy crash from the bedroom; something fragile had definitely smashed. That only made her more angry. She wanted to march back in there and scream at him, but he'd probably just laugh at her. No, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her. She blinked back tears of frustration as she yanked his pyjamas on. Leave it to Malfoy to ruin a perfect day. On second thought, she was going to march back out there and give him a piece of her mind. Hadn't he been talking earlier about what good friends they were? Well, friends didn't treat each other the way he was treating her. She flung the bathroom door open and stomped into the bedroom.

Draco was sprawled on his bed, out cold, and the floor between the beds was wet and littered with shards of crystal and the calla lilies that had been on the shared nightstand. Ginny clenched her fists in impotent rage as she surveyed the scene and nearly took a flying leap onto his bed to make sure he'd hear her if she screamed. She wasn't sure if it was all the broken glass underfoot that stopped her or the sight of Draco's unfurrowed brow as he breathed deeply through parted lips. As his chest rose and fell, she spied the glitter still shimmering on his shoulder and felt even more conflicted. Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus, she thought wryly, and decided that he was a more appealing roommate when unconscious. "You make no sense, Malfoy," she muttered to him as she skirted the mess he'd made and climbed into bed.