How dare she? Draco was furious. How dare she think she can behave like that! If anyone is going to do any kissing or shouting or ANYTHING, it will be me! Now she thinks she has some sort of power over me! Honestly, a Weasley with power over a Malfoy? It is absurd! Draco had successfully spent the rest of the week convincing himself that not only did he not like Ginny's attitude on Monday, but that he was offended that she had even tried to kiss him again.
I am a blood purist! She is a blood traitor! She tricked me into helping her on her project, shame on me! She tricked me into letting her kiss me, double shame! And then, Draco shook with fury, then, she convinced me that not only were we enemies with benefits, but that I LIKED it!
Enemies indeed, he thought angrily, as he noticed an opened potions book on his beside table. He threw the offending book at the wall and gave a satisfied smirk as it landed on the floor with a thud.
Draco grabbed his bags and rushed through the Slytherin common room trying, in vain to ignore the snickers from Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy who were watching him from the fireside. His heightened frustration and confusion had no doubt brought on an onslaught of sleep talking, that is, when he was able to sleep.
Most of the time Draco retreated into solitude to shout and throw things. Never before had his emotions been on such a pedestal for the world to see. His guarded countenance broke into a temper like none had ever seen before. Younger year students were being harassed at an unprecedented rate, and several ended up in the hospital wing with unusual curses. Of course, the Slytherins found it amusing, and no doubt reported all of the incidents back to their families. Yes, the Dark Lord would probably love to hear the temper this boy had on him, but the only one who could rile him up like this was the last person in the world who should.
Ginny Weasley was wreaking about as much havoc in her own house, though she had the decency to refrain from cursing the pants off of every student who walked by. Harry seemed to get the brunt of her frustration, if for no other reason than she couldn't stand him much at the moment either. Ron's concern manifested itself in words of warning to the other students when Ginny was running around in a wrath. Hermione had tried several times to determine the cause of Ginny's anger, especially because she seemed to be terrorizing the common room more frequently than usual, but her sensible concerns managed to get her hair burned off.
In the end, though, Ginny's frustration wore off to tired acquiescence. She and Draco had avoided each other with juvenile temper tantrums all the way through exams, and the Hogwart's Express was due in the morning to cart the student body away to their families for the holidays.
As the students slowly the Great Hall and returned to their dormitories to pack up for the holidays, Ginny sat poking at her food. She was not looking forward to spending the holidays with her brother, wonder boy, and know-it-all, but her mother had insisted she come home.
On the other side of the hall, a blonde-haired boy was similarly moping over his unexpected return for the holidays. He had received a letter that morning demanding he return home, because plans had changed. What the plans were and what they had changed to, he had no idea, but he knew not to expect a loving family who just couldn't wait to see him.
When Draco heard a strangled sound of frustration, he looked up and caught sight of Ginny wrestling with something on the end of her fork. She gave it one final shake, and what looked to be a piece of squash flew across the hall and landed at the foot of the head table just in front of its lone occupant, Professor McGonagall.
Ginny's face turned red as she heard muffled laughter from across the hall, and she looked up to catch the eye of Draco who seemed highly amused by her flying squash.
"Oh, be quiet!" she called across the room, rubbing her hand across her face sheepishly.
"And why should I listen to you?" he retorted angrily, his previous good-humor dissolved. How can she do that? he thought. One moment I can be laughing, and the next I am ready to murder her.
Ginny stood, slammed down her fork on the table, and shouted, "Because I am the only one who even bothered to talk to you, Malfoy, or haven't you noticed?" Ginny stalked angrily through the large wooden doors.
In his fury, Draco gathered his things and made his way through the entrance hall down to the dungeons. Just as he turned a corner, though, he was stopped abruptly by an obstacle in the form of Ginny Weasley.
"What are you doing down here?" Draco snarled menacingly.
"I hate you, Draco Malfoy," Ginny replied simply.
"Is that all?" he asked bewildered.
"Yes. And what is the matter with you?"
"There is nothing the matter with me. It is you who has the problem."
"What, because I wanted to kiss you? I thought we decided that we were enemies with benefits, and the benefit certainly isn't the pleasure of your charming company," she replied sarcastically.
"That just goes to show that you know absolutely nothing at all!" he retorted furiously. How dare she follow me and then insult me. We are on Slytherin territory now, and there is nothing she can do to get away from me if I wanted to hurt her.
"No, Draco, you," she poked his chest furiously, "you know nothing at all about interacting with people."
"I happen to know all of the social graces," he retorted indigantly.
"Oh, yes, and you proved that when you threw the world's largest temper tantrum?"
"Like you were any better! I saw what you did to the mudblood."
Ginny snorted, "Well, she deserved it!"
"Because of her filthy blood?"
"Because of her inability to shut her trap, actually."
Draco frowned and eyed Ginny cautiously. "What happened?"
"To her hair? It grew back… unfortunately."
"Vicious! I actually meant that day in the library, but that works too."
"What do you mean in the library? You went completely mental and then lots of yelling happened."
"Because you tried to kiss me."
"Because I tried to prove a point, actually, but I was wrong obviously, so there was no point to prove in the end."
"You were trying to prove that I actually liked kissing you even though I wouldn't admit it. What good would that have done?"
"At the worst, nothing at all, and at the best, we would have spent the last few weeks snogging instead of yelling."
Draco raised an eyebrow at her.
Ginny rolled her eyes, "Which of course I would never want because I hate you and your insensitive ways."
"You know who hates each other?" Draco asked abruptly.
Ginny looked at him questioningly before answering, "…enemies."
"Right, and enemies aren't like black and white, there is always a little grey in the middle."
"What are you trying to justify, Draco?"
"Well, I rather liked it when we were… enemies." Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Fine," he continued, "I want to finish the potion."
Ginny chuckled. "Draco Malfoy, you are a moron."
"Yeah, yeah, I hate you too."
"Good," Ginny replied pointedly.
"Now that I hate you and you hate me, can I go downstairs? I get to look forward to a holiday with my lunatic family, and I need to get over whatever this," he motioned between them, "is, first."
"I thought you said we should think of ourselves as somewhere in the grey," Ginny said cautiously.
"And?"
Ginny shook her head, "Nevermind. Happy Christmas."
As Ginny turned to walk away, she felt a cold hand grip her wrist, twist her around, and back her up against the wall. She gasped as she felt the cool stone through her worn school robes, but she was instantly warmed as Draco's lips crashed onto her own. She immediately deepened the kiss, and her arms tightened around his neck, pulling his warm body closer to her own.
When Draco finally pulled back for air, Ginny slouched and tried to catch her breath after their passionate embrace.
"So, it is a good thing you hate me," Draco said finally.
Ginny laughed and brushed her hair out of her face, "Good thing."
"Happy Christmas, Ginevra."
"Happy Christmas."
Ginny gathered what was left of her energy, and retreated quickly from the freezing dungeons.
Draco sighed and ran his hand through his hair before turning toward the entrance to his common room. My father would LOVE to hear about this, he thought bitterly.
As Draco muttered the password and entered the Slytherin common room, he did not see the dark-robed figure that had witnessed the entire exchange.
Draco Malfoy sat in a solitary compartment on the Hogwart's Express and tried to smooth the ruffles in his normal smooth façade. He could not figure out how she had done it. Somehow she always manages to weasel her way back in! Draco snickered at his little pun, before delving back into his mental dilemma. I thought I was through with her. I was done. Then she showed up, and I wanted to keep talking to her. I wanted to snog her senseless. It's just not normal. Hogwarts was a land where the unlikely became likely- a sort of fairytale land, and the train was pulling him closer, and closer to the horrifying reality he called home
Draco had to remove any thoughts of the Weasley girl from his mind, so that he could practice the self-preservation tactic of Occulmency. While Draco no longer hero-worshipped his father, he was also not daft enough to openly double-cross him. Lucius Malfoy cared about his son for a single reason: he was an heir. However, if his son would not prove a worthy heir (raping, pillaging, killing, and the like), he still had a wife young enough to produce another, for that was her lot in life- to bear babies whether she wanted to or not.
This year Draco was supposed to be regaining his father's trust in his dark abilities- it was the only reason he wasn't done off with over the summer. "Do me proud," his father had said. Unfortunately, it wasn't said with a friendly clap on the shoulder as he pushed his son out onto the Quidditch pitch for the first game of the season. No, to do his father proud meant to torture and the like.
As the train finally slowed and pulled to a stop, Draco's defenses went up, and any thought of what had transpired over the semester a Hogwarts with potions, detentions, or the littlest Weasley was lost in a coldness and harshness that the Malfoy line prized.
The crisp morning air awoke Draco on Christmas morning. His fire had gone out in the night, and Draco cursed the irresponsible house elf, and he cursed himself for not being as commanding as his father, because they certainly never would have let the head of the house's fire go out.
Draco had forgotten how naturally his artifice came to him. Once the walls were in place, the icy prince was back, and nothing could have pleased his mother or father more. The ritual aristocratic celebrations were held as usual, but unusual were the surprised looks of the fellow Slytherins who saw him as icy as ever. They expected me to burn, he had thought. They thought I went soft. Malfoy's do not go soft, he thought bitterly.
After a shower and his morning preening routine, Draco slipped into a set of formal robes, and descended the stairs to join his mother for breakfast. Christmas was never a big ordeal at the Malfoy house, but he was expected to be polished before he arrived to greet his mother.
The sight of a dozen or so robed and masked figures standing at the base of the stairs sufficiently halted this routine. Draco's façade fell for a slip second; he faltered on the step and blinked. Then just as quickly, the walls rose and he resumed his trip down the stairs.
"Good morning, father. I didn't expect guests so soon."
"But surely a young man like yourself looks forward to receiving his gifts on Christmas morning. I shouldn't think he'd like being kept waiting."
Draco stopped at the last step, his hand lightly grazed the ornate handrail. He gazed at his father appraisingly before replying, "No, father." Draco had not spared a glance for the other figures in the room. He learned the hard way that it was impossible to tell the Dark Lord's followers apart when they didn't want to be, and it showed weakness to try. Instead, he took a mental tally of their numbers, and knew well enough that this was not a social call.
Inwardly he was quaking, but it would not do to show that now.
"I have determined that it is time to give you the greatest gift of all, Draco," his father said proudly with an ostentatious motion to the robed figures.
Draco fought inwardly. What do I do now? I can't run. I can't hex them all without signing a death wish. I can't politely refuse. What do I do? he thought frantically, but his face was as stony as ever. Buy more time, he thought, I need to buy more time, because I do not want this.
"Very well, father."