Title: Painting an Oyster

Author: Tiny Q

E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)

A/N: Well, this took me a lot longer to get out than I thought it would. I am really sorry. I haven't really had the time to write, and when I do have the time I don't have the inspiration. But I began to feel really really guilty and made myself get this done. My reward is to watch a movie tonight. :p Yay. Anyhoo, over the excessive amount of time it took for me to get this out I have figured out exactly where this story is going and it is now only a matter of getting the rest typed up. I wanted to finish it before Christmas, so I could start my new story, but I don't think it's going to happen. Bah. Anyhoo, enough babble.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all. No even my soul anymore, as it is lost in the mail.

Painting an Oyster


Chapter 11

You Really Got Me

o-o-o

Soundtrack: "You Really Got Me" by Van Halen

o-o-o

It was raining outside. Not just a little rain, it was heavy rain. The type that keeps people inside. Well, most sane people that is. That's why I left the house and headed off to the Portkey hub this morning, in the rain, because I have no sanity left. It is the only real explanation for my behaviour lately. I mean, why else would I stay over at Malfoy's place of my own free will.

And yes, I did say stay over. It wasn't my fault really. I had just planned to take a catnap, but when I next opened my eyes is was dark out and I was snuggled in behind Malfoy, my hand dwarfed by his against his chest. Ok, so a sane person would have left right? Well, I just sighed and went back to sleep. Right, crazy. Who willingly sleeps beside a Malfoy? Especially a snoring Malfoy? Well, me apparently, but that's beside the point.

And it doesn't stop there either. Nope, if only it stopped there. But no, when I eventually woke up again it was to find him still asleep. Now at that point I should have just left and tried to pretend that nothing had happened at all. But what did I do instead? Well, I got out of bed and made him breakfast, put it beside his bed with a warming charm, then checked his temperature (while making sure to touch his hair again – which is really soft by the way) before finally leaving his flat.

I sighed and dropped my chin into my hand, still staring out the window.

Really, what is wrong with me? I should hate him, and yet I can't. I just can't. I realize that now. But if I can't hate him, then what does that leave me? To like him? Love him? No, it couldn't be the latter. I hardly know him, and I should hate him, so I can't love him. I don't even know why my mind is wandering that way. It's not like we have ever done enough to discover feelings for each other. I mean sure, the sex will be great, but beyond that? I bet we don't have anything in common. And you can't base a lasting relationship on sex alone, can you? I can't believe I am even considering this. He's Draco fucking Malfoy. It's just wrong to be thinking these things. And yet I can't help it.

He can be nice if he wants to be. I mean, he's taken care of me on more than one occasion when he didn't have to. He can also be kind of funny from time to time, well, when he's not being a complete ass that is. But still, even when he is being an ass it is kind of amusing in a tiny miniscule way. And he's tall, which is always good. And I can't say that he's ugly. No, he is far from it. And he does have that delectably large nose of his, and I think I have mentioned to you before that I have a bit of a thing for noses. And his hands are quite lovely as well.

Since when do I pick out the good things about Malfoy? What ever happened to the bad things? The rotten things? The things that I should really be remembering but I can't seem to. Like what he did to me at school. It was terrible, wasn't it? I remember it being terrible, but now that I think about it I can't really remember too many specifics. All I can remember is the impression of him being terrible to me all the time. How can I keep that between us when I can't even think up why I am holding onto it? It's pretty childish really.

But since when is there an us? How can I have a totally different view on life after just one night? I just don't get it. It's not like we did anything. Malfoy just lay in that bed, sleeping most of the time, and I just sat there and drew. I didn't think it was anything life altering, but apparently it was. Even flipping through my sketches afterwards all I see are images of him sleeping, his face peaceful and deceptive. Why is it that people have to look so innocent when they sleep? Why is it that Malfoy had to actually seem likable when he was lying there? And why did I have to get all mother-henly and stay with him?

With another sigh I glanced down on my watch, not removing my chin from my other hand. How is it that someone can be late at a Portkey hub? It's not like there is that much traffic from Mexico to London. Well, I suppose that he does have to go to more than one place, and the weather is rather crappy, but still. You would think they would make an announcement or something.

I wouldn't even be here if Zach hadn't put up a stink. He was very insistent that I come to get him, though he wouldn't say why. I feel really applaud by it, but I can't help but resent him for making me come here to get him. It's as if he feels I have nothing else going on in my life so I should just come and get him at the last minute. Bloody hell, what has gotten into me? First I begin liking Malfoy, then I start hating my bestest friend? It's not normal.

I don't understand how we can be apart for a few weeks and suddenly I have taken Zach out of my life. Honestly, I feel that if he were to never come back I could get along just fine without him. I know I will feel absolutely horrid if something happens to him now that I have said it, but it's how I feel. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I can't seem to help it. Bloody hell, I need to be committed.

"Ginny Weasley, is that you?" someone asked me from my right. I frowned. Only one person I know pronounces my name with a "guh" instead of a "juh". German fellow, speaks perfect English, but his pronunciation is a little off at times. But what would he be doing here of all places?

I turned to find a short, chubby Slavic looking fellow grinning at me. I couldn't help but grin back. "Well I'll be damned. It is you!" Before I could get a word in he had pulled me into a hug which forced the air out of my lungs. I hugged him back as best I could under the conditions but couldn't help but gulp air after he let me go.

"Hi Michael," I said, once I had caught my breath, struggling to pronounce his name as he first taught me to: Mick-hi-ell. I always butcher it, but he has never told me so. I think he is too polite to say anything, or he is just too used to people getting it wrong that he doesn't care anymore. "What are you doing in a Portkey hub of all places? I thought you were boycotting them." Long story, don't ask.

"I am, but I saw you through the window and I just had to come in and say hello," he replied, nodding as he took the stool next to me. It was then that I noticed his dripping umbrella, which he rested against his stool. "I saw what happened to you in the paper and I wanted to see if you were ok. But when I stopped by your gallery they told me that you had quit. Why would you do such a thing, Ginny, you were such a wonderful help."

Yes, such a wonderful help to everyone but myself. "I want to paint, Michael," I said with a shrug. "And that job was hindering me." I found myself holding my breath, waiting for his response. For some reason I was suddenly worried that he wouldn't approve, and the thought of that scared me. I don't need other's approval to happily live my life how I want.

I suppose I should tell you who Michael is now and how it is that I know him. Well, I met him a few years back, shortly after I started working at the gallery. It had been one of my father's charity functions that I was obliged to attend. I had already come to hate the stupid events and that night was proving no better than any of the others I had been to. I was wandering around aimlessly, when I literally stumbled into him. I was appalled, he was amused, and we spent the rest of the night talking.

It was nothing romantic, if that's what you're thinking, because it wasn't. It turned out that he was a curator of a gallery on the south end of London, and he was telling me about the troubles he was having in attracting people to come and see the work he was hosting. For some reason the twin's shop popped into my mind and I ended up making a few suggestions. They must have worked out for him, because even my mother, who rarely cares about the arts, was soon talking about his place. We've been friends ever since.

"I understand that," he said, nodding in his usual way. It's hard to explain the way he does it, but it is very unique, at least to me it is. It was one of the first things I really noticed about him. "When's your show going to be then?"

I stared at him, feeling my cheeks heat up despite myself. Despite all my proclamations of becoming a real painter, I have yet to try and find someone to host my art. Sure, I have more than enough connections to get my art up, but for some reason I can't get myself to talk to them or to get a portfolio ready. I almost feel as though nothing I do is good enough, or that I don't want anyone but me to see it. It's ridiculous. The art is still inside me, everything else is just the product. But still. See, insane. "I'm not going to have one yet."

"What?" he asked me, looking surprised. "Ginny, you know where this is going to get you if you don't have a show: broke."

"I know," I said, shaking my head. I know. I have enough money saved up to last me another month or two. Three if I don't eat much. Five if I stop feeding Sneazel. Not that I would. I have a feeling he would eat me if I ever tried that.

"Vell then?" he asked.

"I haven't had much time to organize one," I said truthfully, knowing full well that he wouldn't accept the excuse.

His eyes narrowed as I knew they would, but what came out of his mouth was certainly not what I had excepted: "I can understand that," he said, nodding his head again. My mouth nearly fell open at that. What is this? Michael actually accepting an excuse? He never ever accepts excuses. There must be something wrong with the universe as well now; it's no longer just me. "I am sure that being attacked in your own home will change your priorities around a bit."

"Yah," I said slowly, still not quite believing what was happening. "It does."

"Well in that case, I have an offer for you." I raised an eyebrow but did not comment. "I will host your work in my gallery, just to get you started."

My mouth did fall open for real this time. "But Michael-"

"No buts," he said, cutting me off. "I owe you for your help a few years back, and I am finally in a position to repay you." He winked at me, obviously acknowledging the fact that what he is doing is totally out of character for him. He is a kind person, but not a generous one. He swindles and he deals, but he never gives anything freely. Except, apparently, if he is in your debt.

"Now all you have to do is say 'thank you' and give me your address so I can stop by and tell you what I want and what I want more of." He did his odd nod again. "We can deal with the details after all that is done."

I stared at him for a moment longer before I regained control of my mouth. "Thank you," I said, feeling a little numb. I realized my hands were shaking as I rummaged in my purse, hunting for one of my business cards. He took it from my hand without commenting on the card's wiggling.

"I will see you tomorrow at nine," he told me, standing up and smiling. "Have a goodnight Ginny." And with that he walked away, leaving me to stare after him like a retarded goldfish.

How on earth can my life keep taking these huge turns? Not that I am complaining about this one. A spot in his gallery of all places! My art will be seen all over the world now, as his gallery is world renowned. What luck. What awesome luck. How is the world going to try and ruin this for me now?

"You know, I realize that I haven't been around to knock much sense into you, Gin, but I thought even you would know better than to make faces like that in public," a voice drawled from behind me. I turned and stared at the blond before me, my expression dropping. That would be how.

"I have full reason to look like an idiot at the moment, Zach," I told the tall man before me. I didn't mean for it, but my voice was colder than I had intended. If he picked up on it he didn't comment.

"And what would that reason be?" he asked, putting his side bag down on the ground beside his feet.

"I have a show at Michael's gallery in three weeks," I replied, tilting my head to the side. It sounds so odd saying it aloud.

"As in the Michael that can't pronounce your name right to save his own life?" he asked, frowning at me. I felt irritation flare through me. Can he never just like the people that I know? Bloody hell, what's wrong with me? He's been back for a full minute and I am already antagonising him in my mind.

"That would be him," I said with a nod, frowning back at him.

Zach stared at me for a moment from beneath hair that looked much lighter than it had when he left me hung over on the floor. His skin is also darker, now that I look at it. Not a look that I particularly like, but one I know that he loves. I figure if your hair is light your skin should stay fair, otherwise you just look like an over baked Barbie doll or something.

Before I knew what was happening Zach rushed at me, and grabbed me in his arms, swinging me around in a circle. The stool I had been sitting on crashed to the ground and I let out a yelp of surprise at the same time. I hung onto his shoulders for dear life, watching as the people began to point and stare at us.

"That's wonderful Gin!" he said, finally putting me back on the ground and giving me another hug. Once he let me go I stared up at him, wondering where the hell my bitter and cynical friend had gone. That Zach never would have been this happy about anything, let alone something that had happened to me.

"You're in an excessively good mood," I said, staring up at him suspiciously. A Ployjuice potion maybe? Or the Imperious Curse? What ever it is, this is not him. He yanked on a piece of my hair and grinned at me. No, definitely not him. I was just about to back away slowly, and hope that he wouldn't notice, when he opened his mouth again.

"Of course I am in an excessively good mood," he said, stooping down and picking up his bag once more. "I have just been reunited with my best friend in the world, after three weeks of having some of the best sex in my life. How could I not be in a good mood?"

I stared at him. That sex must have been really really good if it has gotten him this happy. I haven't seen him like this since he- well, never. I don't think that I have ever seen him like this. Wait, did he just say that seeing me was one of the reasons that he was so happy?

"Easy, you're back in London," I said, gesturing towards the window where the rain was still falling hard against it.

"Ah, I see that Malfoy hasn't fucked you yet, has he?" Zach asked me, grabbing my hand and tucking it into his arm. I glared up at him, grabbing my purse as he began to lead me away from my knocked over seat.

"What does that-" I began then sighed. There's no point in denying it I suppose. No matter what I say about it he will see right through it, and add a few details along the way to make it into a good story. "No."

"What is wrong with you two?" he asked in a way that would have been in an insulting if there hadn't been a laugh in his voice. "I couldn't have left you in any less of a perfect situation. And even when you fucked that up you still went to him of all people for help. What are you doing wrong?"

"You mean besides the fact that he's a Malfoy and I'm a Weasley and that the world has made it so us even speaking to each other is wrong?" I asked, searching through my purse until I grabbed hold of my umbrella. I popped it open over us as we stepped out into the rain that was still drenching Diagon Alley.

"You and I both know that that isn't the issue," he replied, giving my hand a squeeze.

I mentally paused for a moment. How is it that one minute I can be sitting there, dreading his arrival, and then suddenly I am letting him lead me around, talking about what pissed me off in the first place as though I don't care anymore. How can I be this bloody moody? How is it that the moment I am back in Zach's presence that it's as if nothing had actually happened and we are still bestest friends? But we are still bestest friends, aren't we?

Much to my horror, my eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

"Gin, what's wrong?" Zacharias asked, coming to a stop and staring down on me. His voice no longer had a laugh in it and I felt even worse for ruining his happy homecoming. He should be the one not wanting to be friends with me anymore, not the other way around. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I said hastily, recognizing the look in his eyes. It was the same look my brothers got when they thought someone was screwing around with me. "I just didn't realize how much I missed you." My voice chocked at the end of that sentence and before I knew what was happening I was holding onto Zach as though he was the only thing that I had left in the world.

Yet surprisingly I didn't cry, even when I felt the familiar pressure of his arms around me. Even when I was surrounded by the scent of his aftershave. All I felt was relief that I wasn't being a complete idiot about him anymore. That I still had my bestest friend and that suddenly, for the first time in a while, the world wasn't looking so dreary, despite the gloomy weather.

"How could you not realize how much you missed me?" Zach asked, the words rumbling about in his chest. This wasn't the same type of rumble as Malfoy's. It was comforting, but there was nothing stimulating about it like when Malfoy was speaking against me. Why did that just pop into my head? "I am the type of person that makes your heart ache when I am not around."

"I can tell that you have never been free from yourself then," I said, smirking up at him as we once again began to walk down the street. There were a few other people walking about, all with umbrellas or waterproofing charms. "Other wise you would know what a blessing it is to escape you."

"You wound me woman," he said, releasing my hand to clutch at his chest. "Is that anyway to treat your bestest friend when you haven't seen him for three weeks?"

"Yes," I replied, moving as he tried to jab me with his elbow. I grinned up at him, suddenly very thankful that he was back. Maybe that is another problem of mine, that I am too stubborn and too quick to hold a grudge. Ok, so what Zach did when he left wasn't the nicest of things that he could have done, but it wasn't his fault that I went and screwed it up. It also wasn't his fault that of all the people I could start liking it would be a Malfoy. That's just rotten luck, isn't it? "So what were you doing all that time, besides having some of the best sex of your life? Did you discover the appeal of Mexico?"

"I think I did," he began to say, but was interrupted by a woman's voice that was a few feet away. I felt my eyes growing slightly wider at the sound. It couldn't be.

"Oh Draco, look who it is," the woman said, causing both Zach and I to turn and look at the couple, who were also huddling under an umbrella, a few feet away. I felt a pang travel through me as I realised it really was Malfoy and his mother. She smiled at me. "Hello, Ginevra. Long time no see."

"Hello Lady Malfoy," I said, nodding my head at her. Neither of us moved to shake hands, so I kept mine tucked in Zach's arm. I then turned to Malfoy noticing that he looked like his old self again: immaculate hair, pale skin that had no red blotches, and no red puffy eyes. A small part of me felt sad to see him in looking like a Malfoy once more. Another part whispered that he was still the same somewhere underneath all of it. "I see you're feeling better."

"Not really," he said, shrugging his shoulder. His voice still sounded congested, but not nearly as bad as it had before. Obviously he had used a few glamour charms to keep others from seeing him as I had. "But mother wanted to go shopping, and nothing can stand in the way of that. Isn't that right mother?"

I shifted my eyes to her to see Lady Malfoy smirking slightly at her son. "I'm afraid it is," she replied, the tone of her voice making her sound not very afraid at all, but more than a little smug. I felt irritation flare through me at the thought of her going over to Malfoy's place and dragging him out of bed when he needed rest. Alright Gin, back off. He's her son, and I have no claim on him.

I watched Lady Malfoy's eyes, and they lit up ever so slightly when they fell on Zach. "I don't believe we've met. I am Narcissa Malfoy, and you must be this fine young woman's boyfriend."

I nearly rolled my eyes, but I somehow managed to contain myself. Zach and I get that question a lot – actually, it's quite convenient when it comes to getting out of sticky situations – but I certainly wasn't expecting it from her of all people. It always seemed to me that Lady Malfoy was in the business of knowing, though I suppose it is a little arrogant of me to think that I am worth knowing about. I glanced at Malfoy to see him scowling at his mother.

"I'm Zacharias Smith, this fine young woman's best friend," Zach said with a chuckle, offering his hand to the blonde woman. She smiled back at him in that way she always does, not offering too much but just enough to appease people. "And what type of shopping could possibly drag you out into this dreadful weather."

I glanced at Zach, seeing a smirk struggling to get onto his lips. He was playing with her. I glanced at Malfoy, only to find him glaring from his mother to Zach, yet not looking at me at all. I was appalled, but I felt a pang of disappointment at that. If we really would work together, then shouldn't he not be able to keep his eyes off of me? What is wrong with me? What do I care if he doesn't want to look at me? I shouldn't want him to want to look at me, even if I no longer hate him.

"Oh, I have a birthday party in the works, and I of course needed something new to wear." She glanced at me, still smiling slightly. "Say, I just had a wonderful idea. Why don't you and Miss. Weasley join us. It's on Friday at the Manor, I'm sure you'd have a blast."

"I'm sure I would," Zach said, in a voice that nearly made me retch. What the hell is he playing at? This is not normal behaviour. Maybe he really is someone else right now. Maybe he made the switch when he was in Mexico, and Zach, the real Zach, is still there, basking in the sun having the time of his life. "Yet I have to be at work that night." He glanced down at me. "Yet I know for a fact that Ginny is free that night."

I snapped my head up to stare at him, trying to keep the horror off my face. No, he can't still be playing this game can he? The wink he sent me confirmed it. He can be. That bastard. Forget it all. I still hate him. Not that I hated him before, but I certainly do now.

"Excellent," Lady Malfoy said happily. "Draco will be by to pick you up at six," she told me, smiling in an almost odd way. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was just something off about the smile. I was distracted from figuring it out by the strangled noise Malfoy made. It was as if he was about to protest, but somehow managed to restrain himself. I glanced at him, and he sent me a look that held both anticipation and an apology.

"I will see you later then," Lady Malfoy said cheerfully, waving slightly. Then she turned and pulled on Malfoy's arm, forcing him to walk with her down the street in the direction that we had just come from.

I stood there for a moment glaring at their retreating backs, then wrenched my hand free of Zach's arm. I tuned on him with the worst glare I could muster. Sadly he didn't even flinch. All he did was smirk at me. Broadly.

"What the hell are you playing at?" I demanded angrily, fighting off the urge to stomp on his foot. Several times.

"Why nothing, Ginny dear," he said, though his expression said the complete opposite. "Just making sure that you are as happy as I am in the end."

"I don't need to go to her bloody party to find happiness, Smith," I growled, feeling about ready to beat that smirk off his face. "You know how much I hate parties like that."

"Do I?" he asked, grabbing my hand again and pulling me along. I continued to glare up at him, yet for some reason I kept walking beside him. I know that I can't go running after Lady Malfoy and say that I can't come anymore, my fate is sealed that way, but it doesn't mean I have to deal with Zach right now. But for some reason, for some stupid reason, I can't stop my feet. It's as if a part of me is content that I have just been set up by him once again.

"I understand it all now though," he said after a moment of my silent glaring. I tried to increase my glare in response; he still didn't flinch. "He has another woman in his life, and you ain't getting anything until she's gone."

I continued to glare up at him, but couldn't help but let my lip quirk ever so slightly.

o-o-o

I stared at the door, thinking darkly of my mother. This is all her fault. All of it. I would not be standing here if it wasn't for her. Her and her bloody shopping trip.

Sure, it had seemed innocent enough when she had come to my flat a couple days ago and asked me to go shopping with her. I tried to tell her that I was still too sick but she would hear none of it, and refused to get out of my room until I had gone into my bathroom to have a shower. That woman is almost more stubborn than me sometimes. I think that is where I got it from actually.

Once I was ready she declared that it was going to be like when I was still going to Hogwarts, and I instantly realised that I had made a mistake in getting out of bed. Our shopping trips to Diagon Alley back then had been anything but pleasant with her trying to shove me into all sorts of clothing that she thought would make me look cute, but really just made me look like an albino penguin. My mother can dress herself just fine, but when it comes to others I shudder at the idea of what is going through her mind. You should have seen some of the outfits she had me in when I was too young to realise what she was doing to me. It's a wonder my father never tried to put a stop to it.

And this shopping trip was no different from those, only this time I was still feeling like crap and just wanted to crawl back into my bed, and have Weasley bring me more soup. But unfortunately that wasn't going to happen until my mother was satisfied. So I found myself following her from store to store, sitting about and trying to look attentive while she showed me an outfit that looked almost identical to the one she had shown me previously.

I was just beginning to think that the day could get no worse, when my mother said something that I hoped would never exit her lips: Weasley's name. And then I looked up only to find her crowded under an umbrella with her non-boyfriend, looking as surprised as I felt. And that is when the shit hit the fan.

How is it that my mother could possibly consider inviting Weasley to her birthday party? How? I would understand if it was because of her father, but I know that was not the case. The smirk on her lips belied that. No, there was something sinister behind her motives, something cunning, and I really don't want to know why. Though I think I am beginning to, and it makes no sense whatsoever.

I sighed and tugged at my dress robes, glaring down on them now as well. At least she didn't manage to get me into anything too ridiculous. Not that these were chosen by her, but she was still standing there, scowling at me as I had them fitted.

And then there is the problem of Weasley. The big problem of Weasley. The Weasley who just so happens to live behind this door. She brought me soup and she didn't leave me when she very well could have, and for some reason the thought of it almost makes me want to smile. And I don't smile.

I don't understand why she stayed, really. She could have just left, but she didn't. She just stayed and put up with me, and didn't act disgusted when The Cheating Bitch would have. And then she fell asleep beside me, and checked to make sure I was alright before she finally did leave. I don't think she knew that I was awake, but I was. I felt her get out of bed but refused to open my eyes for some reason. Well, I was sick at the time. I was allowed to act like a child, wasn't I?

I think what disturbed me the most about the whole ordeal was that I caught myself wishing that she hadn't left when she was finally gone. I kept thinking about what she would do if she was there. If she would brush my hair out of my face, or bring me more food, or fall asleep on my shoulder when she thought that I was asleep myself.

It wasn't the thought that I actually wanted her to stay with me that disturbed me, but the realization that it didn't disturb me. How is it that I can go from wanting nothing to do with her to wanting her beside me at all times in a matter of a week or so? It just doesn't make sense to me. But I think I am realizing that with all matters concerning Weasley, nothing makes sense.

Just as my standing outside her door, according to my mother's wishes, doesn't make sense to me. I could have just ignored my mother and left and not come here. I could have told my mother off and refused to come. I could have shown up late. But I haven't. If anything I came here early, but to what? Spend as much time with Weasley as I can? Have some alone time with her before we hit the party? It's ridiculous. I should just leave right now. I should just save myself the insanity that is only possible if I stay around her. I should escape while I can.

I never got the chance to actually escape though, as my traitorous right hand rose up of its own accord and knocked firmly on Weasley's door. I stared at it. Great. Now I am losing control of my limbs as well as my thoughts. What's next? I throw her over my shoulder and march her over to my bed? And I shouldn't have just thought that, because it is way too appealing.

"It's open!" her voice called through the door. I stared at it for a moment more, half expecting it to open on its own, but it didn't. So I reached out and grasped the knob, then opened the door as quietly as I could.

I took a step forward, trying to get into her flat, but something stopped me. I could feel magic buzzing around me, and try as I might I couldn't get through the wards that were up around her door. I paused, suddenly noticing that the guard who had been placed outside her door by Potter was no longer standing there. Apparently he had been replaced by a new ward or two. I let out a hiss of irritation then took a step back.

"Weasley, your flat won't let me in," I called, crossing my arms and waiting for her to do something about it. A moment later her head popped out of her bedroom and I nearly burst out laughing. Fortunately I only managed to say something I probably shouldn't have.

"So what, you don't want to go tonight so you are going to look as ridiculous as you possibly can in hopes you'll be sent home?" I asked, staring at the large tubes in her hair. Her face, which had been lit up in a smile, instantly slipped down into a scowl.

"And you expect me to let you in when you talk to me like that?" she asked, pursing her lips in a way that reminded me oddly of McGonagall. Luckily I managed to keep my mouth shut this time and not point that out as well. She glared at me for a moment longer then let out a sigh. "You are allowed in, Draco Malfoy," she said, then her head disappeared back into her bedroom.

I stared after her for a moment then took a hesitant step forward. This time nothing stood in my way and I entered her flat, closing the door behind myself. "New wards then?" I asked, glancing about the place. There seemed to be an almost organized feel to it though it was still a mess as usual.

"Mm-hmm." Her voice drifted over to me from inside her bedroom, and I had to consciously keep my feet planted where they were so as not to go over to the door and push it open. "It's like with vampires, but without the long sharp teeth and the nibbles." I frowned at that, but decided it was probably best if I didn't comment. I'm not sure I want to know what she means by "nibbles".

"Woof!" someone said from the vicinity of the balcony. A moment later the fuzzy beast that Weasley calls her pet can bursting from the sliding glass doors, it's claws scratching at the wooden floors in it's scramble to get to me. I felt myself cringe just thinking about the damage the beast left in its wake, though as I looked down at the floor I noticed an odd absences of scratches.

"Well, that wasn't delayed at all," I said to it as the mangy beast collided with my legs, causing me to stumble backward. "Hey!"

The fuzzy thing began to dance about my legs, making odd yipping noises, that were far too high-pitched for my liking. I stared wearily down on it, wondering if I offer it my hand if I would get it back. Just as I was about to try and move away from it, Weasley's head once again emerged from the bedroom, some of the rollers missing from her hair.

"Sneazel," she said in a warning voice, which the dog seemed to completely ignore as it continued to bounce around. She looked at me with irritation on her face. "You set him off, shut him up." She then disappeared back into her room.

I glared at the door, but refused to think about it. I was the one to insult her first so I suppose I deserved that. Still doesn't mean that she has to be that irritated with me. I don't want to go to this stupid party any more than she probably does. I hate these events, even if it means that I get to spend time with Weasley. But if she is going to be like this... Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe I really don't want to spend time with her. Maybe all of those revelations were because of the fever. Maybe I still have one. I pressed my hand against my forehead, but it didn't feel any warmer than it should have.

With a sigh I dropped my hand on the beast's head, who was still bouncing around me. He instantly became quiet and sat down, as though all he wanted was a pat on the head.

"I don't know how you put up with her," I muttered at it, scratching its ear. Its tongue began to loll out of its mouth and it looked lazily up at me through its mismatched eyes.

When the mutt didn't reply to my question I stopped petting it and wandered over to where Weasley's studio was set up. There seemed to be more paintings than the last time I had been in here, most of them stacked against the walls. I walked over to the pile closest to me and looked at the painting sitting in the front. It was a jumble of colours and shapes, ultimately making an image of a face. On closer inspection it looked like Weasley's face, though it was all distorted as though she was trying to paint more than one perspective at once.

I glanced at the bedroom door, only to stop when I realized that it was open a crack. I could see her standing in front of her mirror, her hands up as she did something with her hair. Her top was missing, giving me more than a brief glimpse of the fine curve of her back and an eyeful of her chest. I swallowed and looked away. Dammit. Doesn't she realize that the door is open? Doesn't she realize that I am standing here, and all it would take for me to get to her would be to push the door open and cross the room to her? That her bed is steps behind her?

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to get the journey out of my mind, and ignore the wonderful ideas of what we could do once we were on that bed. I could hear her addictive noises already, and they were driving me insane. Honestly, you would think I haven't had sex in ages. Well, I haven't really. Not good sex that wasn't disrupted by images of red flashing through my mind anyway. Bloody hell.

I opened my eyes and looked down on the first thing in front of me, which just so happened to be a portrait of my mother. I stared at it, and she stared back at me, smiling in her usual way. I blinked. She must have finished it. I actually forgot that I commissioned her to paint it, though I am not quite sure how I could have done that. I suppose it is a good thing that I had to come and get her then, seeing as I will need to take this with me.

I wonder what would have happened if she never came to my flat last week and I never actually remembered about the painting. Would she have just owled me for the rest of the money and sent it to me, or come to see me in person? I suppose there is no real way of knowing, and there is no point of wondering since it's not an issue anymore. We're talking. Sort of.

"Ow, dammit," Weasley's voice drifted over to me. I glanced over at the bedroom door, but from where I was standing now I could no longer see her. I took a step towards it, not realizing what I was doing, to see if I could hear her better. "Ow," she repeated.

"Weasley, you ok?" I asked, taking another step, then another. When she didn't respond I walked right up to the door, but kept my head turned away from the opening. "Weasley?"

"Grr," was all I heard, and I couldn't help but frown. What the hell is she doing in there? "Ow," she said again and I closed my eyes briefly.

I really hope that she has something on other than her knickers, otherwise I think I am going to regret this. Before I could think more about what I was doing I turned and entered the room, knocking slightly as I did so. I kept my head down, waiting for her to scream at me, but when she didn't I cautiously looked up. What I saw still took my breath away.

The rollers were out of her hair now, and it cascaded down her bare back in waves. My eyes skimmed over her, and I realized that she was wearing a dress that should not be allowed out in public. It was worse than the summer dress Lovegood had left for her because this one was not designed to look flirty, but down right sexy. It showed off her figure even more so than the one she had worn when I decided that I love to see her angry.

The dress swooped low, exposing her back to the air, just barely covering her arse. I could see the indents in her lower back, and it took me a moment to look away from them. They seem like rather perfect places to run your fingers over, now that I look at them.

With a shake of my head, I rammed my hands into my pockets, lest they got a mind of their own yet again, and looked at Weasley in the mirror. Big mistake. She was glaring at herself, her cheeks flushed in anger and frustration. I followed the blush downwards, and didn't stop until I reached the top of her dress – which was lower than I had expected it to be. It went down in a v, with straps at her shoulders, but it showed much more than I want any bloke seeing – no, anyone for that matter.

She bloody well better be wearing a giant sweater over this thing. Somehow I get the feeling that it would defeat the point she is trying to get across. Dammit all.

I shifted slightly, suddenly feeling more than a mite uncomfortable and cleared my throat. She turned her glare from herself to me, glaring back at me from the mirror. I smirked at her.

"Having troubles, Weasley?" I asked, taking another step towards her before I even realized what was happening. I should cut my legs off, shouldn't I? Then this won't happen anymore. No, then she will have to come to me. Would she? She came when I was sick, but then that was Blaise's meddling. Yet she did stay longer than he had expected. A lot longer. Longer than I even thought she would. Not that I had been in my right mind at the time, but that is beside the point.

"No," she said, turning her eyes away and glaring at her hands, which are resting around her ears. I focused in on them, noticing that they were there for the first time. She had an earring on one hand, and was pulling at her ear with the other. She violently jabbed it forward then let out a hiss of pain. "Dammit," she swore, glaring even harder at the earring as if it was the bane of her existence.

"Well, don't kill yourself," I said, and before I could stop myself I had my hands out of my pockets and was walking towards her. When I got close enough to feel the heat of her body radiate next to mine – and she felt so warm – I pulled the earring from her fingers and brushed her hands away. Without thought I began putting the earring into her hole as gently as I could.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see her watching me in the mirror, but I tried to pretend that I didn't notice. Didn't notice the anger slipping away to be replaced with surprise. All I tried to pay attention to was what my hands were doing. Not to how she smelt, or how warm she felt, or how soft her skin was against mine, or what kind of noises I could draw out of her when I was in the position that I am. All I tried to pay attention was to putting her earring in. I will be the first to admit that I failed miserably.

"You know, I could have done it myself," she said, not frowning in anger now, but with something else. I looked away from her face and busied myself with putting in her other earring as well, the scent of her wafting towards me as I moved to her other side. I brushed her hair away from her neck, my fingers accidentally brushing against her skin as I did so. I felt a shock run through them, and tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the way her head slowly tipped away from me, exposing her neck. How easy would it be just to dip my head and- no.

"Right, and that is why you were standing here swearing for the last few minutes," I drawled, putting in the other earring as quickly as I could. The sooner I get the thing in her then sooner I can get away from her. Get these thoughts out of my head. Get back to a life that hasn't been invaded by Weasley. Yet I don't think getting away from her now is going to make that happen. I don't think that there is any escape from her anymore, save the blessing of brain damage or death. Even then it might still be a lost cause.

"I wasn't swearing," she said, her voice sounding softer then usual.

I glanced at her in the mirror to see her watching me. I looked at myself and realized that I was still standing right beside her, even though I had put in her second and last earring a while ago. I was standing close enough that if I just dipped my head, like this, I could brush my lips against the skin of her neck. Her eyes widened as I pressed a kiss onto her soft skin. "You look beautiful," I said before I could stop myself.

A delicious blush (and since when do I think her blushing is delicious?) started from somewhere underneath her dress and continued up until it was on her face, making her eyes seem browner than before. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but shut it again a few moments later, then tried again. I smirked at her. If I would have known doing stuff like this would shut her up I would have been doing it from day one. Well, no, I wouldn't, and I am still not sure why I am doing it now, but-

"Woof!" Weasley's blasted beast said, barging into the room, sending the door crashing into the wall. I pulled back from Weasley just in time to miss her hair whipping me in the face as she spun about. "Woof!" the daft thing said again, bounding forward only to drop down into a sitting position before us. He looked up at me with those blasted mismatched eyes and seemed to laugh. I glared at it from over Weasley's freckled shoulder.

"Sneazel," she snapped, then looked down on her watch. If I had expected her to yell at the mangy mutt and turn back to me I was sorely disappointed. All she did was shake her head slightly and walk out of the room, patting her thigh as she went. I knew it wasn't for me. "Come on, let's get you some supper."

"Woof!" the thing said yet again, jumping to its feet and scrambling out of the room, its tail held at an angle that seemed to say "ha ha." But that's ridiculous, isn't it? It's just a dog, right? It's not magical or anything, is it? Since when could Muggle pets be magical? But then, cats are Muggle pets as well, aren't they? But they don't get the same kind as we do. But I can still swear that thing came in here on purpose, as though it didn't want me to do anything with Weasley. The little bastard.

Feeling suddenly very disgruntled I walked out of the bedroom, glancing woefully at the bed as I went. Whatever could have happened isn't going to anymore, thanks to that stupid thing. She had best not leave him alone with me if she wants to keep it.

I walked into Weasley's studio once more. I could hear her talking to the stupid thing, but I ignored her voice and returned to the stack of painting I had been looking at before. The next painting didn't seem to make any sense, and neither did the next one.

"Those are all the pieces that are going into my show," she said, her voice suddenly beside me. I turned to look at her, to see her smiling faintly at the paintings. For some reason I wished that I was in them, just so that she would smile at me like that as well, with fondness and longing. Where the hell did that come from?

"You have a show?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the horrid ideas running through my mind. She nodded, but didn't say anything. "When?"

"In a few weeks," she replied with a shrug, then turned away and pulled out her wand. "I suppose we should take this with us, right?" she asked, gesturing towards the portrait of my mother. I turned and looked at it as well then nodded silently.

With a silent wave of her wand, brown paper leapt up around the painting until it was completely covered. Then with another wave twine wrapped its way around, tying off in the center with a small bow. Then she shrunk it down to pocket size. She plucked it off of the easel and turned, staring down on it before turning those damn twinkling eyes on me.

"I usually ask for the money now, before I hand over the piece," she said. There was a slight smirk on her lips that looked very out of place. I had half a mind to wipe it off, but her mutt would probably stop me before I could do it properly. "But I get the feeling that you won't just take the painting and run." She held the painting out to me. "So here."

I took a step towards her and removed it from her hands. I felt a chill run through me as my fingers brushed hers. Bloody hell, why does she have to feel so soft? "Oh, and why do you feel that? Think I can't resist you or something?" I smirked at her.

"Oh, nothing of the sort," she replied, brushing her long bangs along the contours of her face. Her eyes caught in the light and twinkled more. "You signed a magical contract when you hired me. If you don't pay me within a fortnight your nose will fall off, among other things." The smirk on her lips spread as mine slipped away. "And with the lifestyle you live I have a feeling that you are going to need a few of those bits, if you catch my meaning."

I forgot about that bit. "You're a devil, you know that?" I asked her, trying to the keep the images she brought to my mind out of it. But wait, my lifestyle? She ruined that, but I suppose she doesn't know, does she? I wonder what she would say if I told her. Probably laugh in my face. And really, who wouldn't? I haven't had decent sex in a month because I can't get you out of my head and it distracts me? I would laugh my self silly if it wasn't me telling this sad story. Bah.

"I know," she said, an impish smile suddenly on her face. I scowled at her, then shoved the painting into my cloak pocket. "So where is it exactly that we are going?"

"Malfoy Manor," I replied, still scowling.

She glanced around. "Are we going to floo, because I don't really feel like walking that far." Her smile dipped into a slight grin. How many different smiles does this woman have? How many does she need?

"What? And screw up my gorgeous hair?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

I watched as she eyed my head, her smile slipping ever so slightly. She didn't comment though, so after a moment I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out a little box. Weasley's eyes fell on it and I could have sworn that she stiffened slightly, but didn't react otherwise. What? Did she think I was proposing to her or some shit like that? I want her body, not sure if I could put up with the rest of her for the remainder of my life. Though if the way my mind is obsessing is any indication I don't think I ever will escape her, so why not- and this is where I stop thinking. "I have a Portkey."

"Oh good," she said her eyes still on the box as I pulled it open to reveal a golden marble. "Just let me grab my purse."

"You mean after all of this time you still aren't ready?" I asked, watching her rear end sway as she walked towards her bedroom. A part of me wanted to follow her in and forget all about my mother's party, to see if this time her mutt wouldn't interrupt us, but I have a feeling that there will be repercussions if that were to happen. So I stayed put and waited for her to come back out.

I glanced around her flat once more, suddenly realizing that I had yet to feel the urge to sneeze. Usually by now my nose is getting twitchy, so why not now? I leaned in closer to the table beside me, only to see no dust on it at all. Frowning slightly I swiped my finger across the surface and looked closer. Nope, no dust. She actually dusted? What earth shattering event made that happen?

"I took your advice." Her voice was directly behind me, and I nearly started with surprise. Instead I turned and looked down at her. I could almost feel the heat radiating off of her. "Sneazel's stopped sneezing."

I stared at her for a moment then smirked. "So you mean to tell me that you listened to a Malfoy and he was right?" I asked slowly, my smirk spreading as her face crumpled. Well, she didn't think that I wouldn't cash in on that one did she? "How does that make you feel, Weasley? Anything else you thought I was wrong about? Want to see I was right there as well?"

"You are such an ass," she hissed, turning away and walking over to the coat rack. She pulled a black cloak off of it and wrapped it around her shoulders, blocking my once wonderful view of her rear.

"Yes, but I am a pretty one," I said with a shrug, moving towards her with the Portkey outstretched.

"Says who?" she asked as she glanced around once before waving her wand and dimming most of the lights and putting out a few more. The shadows played off her face, but instead of the lost woman that I saw the last few times she was cast in shadow I saw the fiery one, the one I lo- the one whose anger I love. She glared up at me, the shadows catching in the hollows of her eyes, exposing what her make up had done a good job of hiding up till now.

Has she really been that tired? Has she really gotten that little sleep? I glanced around the room myself, noticing for the first time that she left the lights on bright enough that it would be hard to hide in. That bastard might have given her a few bruises, but I don't think some of them are going to be healed any time soon. The realization made me want to kill him once more. Only that is pointless, seeing as he is already dead.

"Quite a few people actually," I finally replied, holding up the Portkey and reaching out to touch it with my other hand. Weasley reached out as well, and we touched it at the same time. I felt the usual tug at my naval, and a few moments later we were standing just outside the manor's property line.

I could see it looming on the hill, the sun setting behind it in a red sky. The lights were glowing in what should have been a warm and inviting way, but the sky and the shadows it cast made it look anything but inviting. I suddenly got a pang of dread. This was a mistake, wasn't it? I should have run away when I had the chance. I glanced at Weasley, watching the red of the sky cast odd colours on her pale skin. A very big mistake.

The cool autumn breeze swirled around us and I saw Weasley pull her shawl more closely around her. My arm twitched to wrap around her as well, but I held myself back. What the hell is up with this? Just because I can't stop thinking about her, doesn't mean that she can't stop thinking about me, or even wants my advances. It's bad enough that I already kissed her once tonight, well, sort of. Bloody hell, I need to get a grip on myself.

"Your mother doesn't count, Malfoy," she said, turning away from me to look up at the house. "You grew up here?"

"Sadly," I said before I could stop myself. She glanced at me with a frown, but I refused to open my mouth again. Instead I just started walking towards it, feeling my skin tingle as I passed through the over abundance of security wards wrapped around the place. Weasley followed a moment later; she passed through without pause.

"I expect that's supposed to mean something?" she asked, suddenly at my side. I glanced at her to find her watching me with an expression I can only assume was meant to look uninterested, but didn't come close. All Weasley's wear their emotions on their sleeves, don't they?

"No," I said, looking away from her. "It didn't mean anything." She was about to say something so I changed the subject before I could make myself sound anymore like an overemotional freak. Like she wants to hear about how lonely it was to grow up in a house with no other children around. The Cheating Bitch never cared. Actually, all she ever cared about was how much the place was worth so she would be prepared for when it became half hers. Why am I wallowing in the past so much all of a sudden? "I hate these sorts of events, don't you?"

"Like a thorn in my side," she said darkly, her face getting moody all of a sudden. Well, that was easy enough. Good thing she's easily distracted as well. Oh bloody hell. "I can never keep track of all the stuffy fake people who would just as soon smile at you as they would stab you in the back."

"Well, I wouldn't say they would do that it like that exactly. There would be some plotting and some scheming before hand."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin," she said as we reached the stairs leading up to the main doors.

"Well, seeing as that's the house that I was in..." I said, trailing off as she began to walk up the stairs. I hung back ever so slightly and watched as she moved up the stairs. Well, it's not like she is going to be going up many flights of stairs once she is in the bloody house, and it's not like I am ever going to see her in this dress again, is it? I've gone nutters, haven't I?

"Doesn't mean that you have to-" her voice cut off as the double doors began to open of their own accord, revealing the manor's front hall. I glanced around at the candlelight that was everywhere, catching at the crystal and gold that adorned the large hall. Mother had even managed to get the winding staircase, which sweeps up to the second floor, to sparkle.

I glanced over at Weasley, only to do a double take when I realized that she was sparkling just as much as the room. Bloody hell. I suddenly have the desire to either kill whoever invented sparkling charms or kiss them for making her look like this. Man, this is getting ridiculous. It won't work – I need to get this through my thick skull. Either that, or I have to force her out. For some reason I feel reluctant to do that.

"Not one to be stopped by grandeur, are you?" I asked, pulling my cloak off and letting go of it. As always it was caught by one of the house elves. It looked blearily up at me, and I turned to Weasley, who had yet to take off her cloak.

"You're keeping that on, are you?" I asked. She looked at me and I gestured towards the thick wool covering around her shoulders. It would be a bleeding shame if she left it on. That wonderful view kept hidden from the world. Maybe it would be a better idea if she did leave it on.

"What?" she asked, suddenly looking at me as though she forgot I was here. "Oh. No." She fumbled with it, then took it off, carefully handing it to the house elf. It barely glanced at her before making itself unnoticeable once more while carrying our things away to the closet. I could never understand what that Granger woman was talking about, if we didn't employ them they wouldn't have anything better to do. Look at our old elf, he's still dotting on Potter as though the man owned him, despite his freedom.

"I thought you would be used to this sort of stuff by now, what with your father's current position," I said, watching as her eyes returned to shifting all over the room. I have never been all that impressed by what my mother does with this house. Well, I suppose I shouldn't say that as I used to be in awe when I was kid. But that was a long time ago and I have long since realized that just because something sparkles doesn't mean it sparkles through and through.

Weasley scowled at me. "It's not that, it's just, well, it just gave me an idea for a painting." She shrugged. "And I'm trying to get as much of it in so I can paint it later."

"You could always come back here. I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind," I said with a shrug of my own, not quite realizing what I was saying until it was out of my mouth. That's the second time this has happened tonight. What's wrong with me? You can't tell me that her appearance has scared the sanity out of me, or inhibited my ability to keep what should be kept in my mouth in.

She stared at me for a moment then shook her head, glancing at the staircase once more. "No, it's all about the moment. It wouldn't be the same if I just came back."

I frowned at her for a moment, observing her as she looked about the room some more. It's easy to forget when she looks like this that she really isn't all that sane. When she's dressed normally she has this aura about her that says that there is just something subtly off about her. When she looks like this though, it's easy to think that she is just as normal and regal as the rest of the women that go out to functions like this, perhaps even more so. It's funny how the thought of her being a loony suddenly doesn't seem as disturbing as it should, even when a few minutes ago the thought- well, we'll not go there.

The door to our left open and the sound of hundreds of voice talking at once, with the accompaniment of music, suddenly drifted into the room. I glanced over to see my mother, looking as lovely as ever in her new robes, walking towards us, her hand resting on Snape's arm. "Draco, Ginevra!" my mother's voice suddenly chimed from across the room. "You actually made it. How wonderful, don't you think Severus?"

Snape looked at me like a man who wanted nothing more than to disagree, and to escape the party as soon as he could, but instead all he did was nod as my mother would have expected. Sometimes I wonder how it was possible for my mother to mould a man like Snape into someone who is almost presentable to the public in situations like this. My brain hurts whenever I start though, so I usually stop before I really get anywhere.

"Happy birthday mother," I said, stepping forward and dropping a kiss on her cheek. She smiled up at me. "You look absolutely stunning tonight."

"Must be old age kicking in," she said with a slight smirk. She turned her eyes to Weasley and smiled. "Though I am sure that is not why you are looking as wonderful as you are tonight, Ginevra. I must say, that dress does all the right things for you."

"Oh, thank you," Weasley said, the blush once again returning to her skin. I closed my eyes briefly, trying not to think about what I had done to make it go like that a little while ago. Stupid mutt. "And happy birthday."

"Thank you," my mother replied, glancing at me before turning her attention to Snape. "I am assuming you both remember each other, Severus and Miss Ginevra Weasley. You did teach her, did you not?"

Snape glanced between the three of us before sighing ever so slightly. "Yes, I did Narcissa," he told my mother, then looked to Weasley. "It's good to see you again Wea- Miss Weasley."

It took Weasley a split second before she smiled back at him. "It's good to see you again as well." I got the distinct impression, by looking at the lack of smile in her eyes, that she was thinking the opposite. However, if my mother, or Snape himself for that matter, noticed no one called her on it. I forgot that Snape had been anything but pleasant to the Weasleys. Apparently Weasley hadn't forgotten though, just as she didn't forget about her hatred for me.

"Well, I know that you two don't want to spend the evening with a bunch of old people," my mother said, obviously trying to get rid of the gowning tension. "So why don't the two of you have a couple of dances then disappear. I won't say anything about it."

I stared at my mother, barely preventing my mouth from falling open. Since when does my mother give me a ticket out of a situation like this? She knows I hate events like this, and usually she takes malicious pleasure in making me stay for the entire event, from beginning to end. She never- I glanced at Weasley. Oh bloody hell no. Not her too.

When I looked to her again she was already walking away, her arm still wrapped around Snape's. "Why do they get to leave," I could hear him grumbling, to which my mother remained silent, the manipulative bint that she is.

"Your mother and Snape?" Weasley demanded as soon as the doors swung shut again, leaving us in silence. I looked over at her, suddenly remembering that she was there. How could I have though when she is the reason my mother is having such fun at my expense? This was all a ploy, wasn't it? She's trying to set me up, just like Blaise is. How is this possible? My own mother? Trying to set me up with a Weasley? I refuse to believe it.

"It took me a while to get used to it too," I replied, my eyes traveling over her face. Why do her freckles not bother me like they used to? Why do they look almost cute now? "I still get the odd nightmare every now and then."

"I think I am going to be having them now as well," she said, dropping her head and closing her eyes as though she was in pain. "It's just wrong."

I stared at her and felt the sudden urge to pull her into my arms. I can't explain it. She doesn't look as though her world is about to end this time, nor is she crying. She's just standing there being snarky. But I suppose you don't really need a reason to want to hold someone in your arms, do you? Well, you do if it is a Weasley you want to be holding, but still. I think this whole evening is turning into one big fucking mistake. I should have put my foot down. Now my mother is going to think that she's won. I won't let her win. Not when Weasley's concerned.

"So what say you to taking up on my mother's offer?" I asked before I could stop myself. This is exactly what the blasted woman wants! We can't play along with her plan! "A few dances and we can bugger off before the stuffier members of my mother's ilk try to stab you." I held out my arm before I could stop myself. What is wrong with me? What has happened to my usual control over my body?

"Don't repeat what I say, Malfoy," she said, wearily eyeing my arm before finally reaching out and taking it. I felt her warmth radiate into me and I could not help but greedily pull her a little closer to me as we walked towards the doors leading into the dance hall. "Insanity doesn't become you."

"I don't know whether I should take that as a compliment or an insult," I said, glancing down on her as the doors opened before us. Her eyes didn't widen this time as though she was surprised by the large amount of people here. Nor did her eyes wander around like the last time, drinking in everything around her. All she did was glance around the room then looked up at me and smiled. I felt something in my heart twist.

"Seeing who we are, I think it would be safest to take it as an insult," she said, her eyes twinkling once more in the fresh candlelight around us. Blast those stupid eyes if hers. "So are you going to lead me out to the dance floor, or am I going to have to drag you over there?" Her smile dipped down into a smirk, and I scowled at her before glancing at the aforementioned floor.

There were about a hundred too few people dancing, so it would be easy for people to realize exactly who I was dancing with. Whatever the two of us were trying to hide from the public, whether it be fabricated or not, would all be for not. If we went out there it wouldn't take long before the word got around that the two of us really are an item, regardless of whether we are or not. It won't matter if we tell them otherwise after this, because they will have seen us and have made up their minds.

I glanced around the room, only to see the people around us already staring and whispering. No, coming here was that moment. Now it doesn't matter what we do anymore, they already think we are together. And why does that notion not make me as angry as it should? Why don't I care that the world suddenly has its proof that Weasley and I are an item. Not that we are, but for some reason the thought really doesn't bother me like it did before. Oh fuck it.

"What, and let all my mother's friends see that I let a Weasley lead me around by the balls?" I asked, turning my scowl, which was apparently on my face already, down on her. She let out a snort.

"As if they don't know already," she said, then began to walk forward into the crowd around us, trying to take me in tow.

It only took me two steps to catch up with her and before I could stop to really think about what I was doing, I swept her onto the dance floor and into a waltz. It took me a moment to realize that as I moved she was actually managing to keep up with me. The Cheating Bitch was never the strongest dancer.

This is getting ridiculous. I need to stop comparing Weasley to that blasted woman. They are nothing alike, as I have really begun to notice. Weasley can dance, and sleeps on the right side of the bed, and doesn't get mad when I sneeze, and she doesn't leave me when she very well could – all things opposite of that horrid woman. There's no point in comparing them anymore, as Weasley is nothing like her.

"Why Malfoy," Weasley said with mock astonishment, pulling me out of my revere. I looked down on her to find her smirking at me again. I arched an eyebrow. "You actually know how to lead."

"You say that as if it surprises you," I said, shifting our position so that we wouldn't hit another couple. It seems we started a trend, as the floor is beginning to fill up. We must make dancing look fun. "You do realize who my mother is, don't you?" I glanced over at my mother in question who was currently forcing Snape to dance. If looks could kill. I wonder why my mother is immune to them.

"Oh, I know who she is," Weasley replied, glancing over my shoulder before redirecting her eyes (which are still sparkling) back to me. The song was coming to an end and I almost felt sorry that it would. "I just never realized you were actually capable of absorbing what she was teaching you."

I stopped moving and frowned at her as she smirked back up at me. Why the hell does she have to look so bloody cute when she's like this? Why is it suddenly becoming very difficult for me to dislike her, even when she gives me ample reason to? And why the hell is the band beginning a tango?

"And I am assuming your mother taught you then?" I asked, receiving a nod for an answer. The music swirled around us and I grinned, a plan forming in my mind as plans often do. "Well then, let's see which of our mothers taught us better." And with that I pulled her closer into my arms and began to tango.

o-o-o

I stared up at Malfoy; I couldn't help it. The man could dance. And not in a ho hum I'm rather good at it way, but a drop your mouth open holy shit way. I'm probably biased due to the fact that all my former boyfriends couldn't dance to save their lives and am being blown away by the fact that he can actually dance, but still. Not that I consider Malfoy to be my boyfriend. That would just be weird.

But still, he can dance. And not only can he dance but he knows how to lead and to lead well. He actually makes me want to like dancing again, and that's saying something. As well, he forces me to actually try and remember everything that my mother taught me when my brothers were away in school or off playing and leaving me behind. I am actually truly amazed at what I remember and that my feet are actually taking the routes that they are supposed to be taking.

He smirked down on me as we stalked across the dance floor, his body pressed so close to mine that I would be surprised if oxygen could fit between us. The heat of him was nearly intoxicating, but it was the scent of him that truly was. I don't know what kind of cologne he wears, but mixed with his natural scent and he becomes dangerous. Seriously dangerous. It keeps forcing me to remember his lips brushing against my neck and his fingers gently gliding ovet the skin of my ears as he put my earrings in.

I still can't believe he did that either. I was perfectly content to stand there and curse at myself as I struggled to put them in. He didn't need to come in there being all noble and put them in for me. And he certainly didn't need to tell me that I look beautiful. But for some reason I can't get mad at him for it. For some reason hearing him say that made me feel so happy, so-

Bloody hell. What is happening to me! The way I am going you would think that I actually like him or something. That his opinion of me really matters. Ok, so I don't hate him anymore, but it doesn't mean I have to stay with him when he's sick, or let him take me to his mother's birthday party, or allow him to put my earrings in for me, or even to let him kiss me and bloody well enjoy it. Bah. It just isn't making sense. I should be running like a bat out of hell away from him, but all I am doing is tangoing with him and, dare I say it, having fun. How can I have fun with a Malfoy of all people? The world has gone mad.

The song was coming to an end, and he dropped me into a dip as though I weighed nothing, smirking at me from over my chest, which is heaving by the way. His breath was coming out in hot puffs, travelling across my skin and causing goose bumps to rise. I smirked back at him, raising my leg to his hip.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Weasley," he said, his smirk broadening. "You do remember what our school crest said, don't you?"

"If that wasn't a loaded comment, not to mention cheesy, then broomsticks don't fly," I said, rolling my eyes. I glanced around to see people staring at us. For some reason I couldn't bring myself to care. "You going to let me up anytime soon or are we going to spend the rest of the evening in this position?"

"Nothing I ever say is 'cheesy', Weasley," he said as he began to pull me into an upright position. A new song began, but neither of us moved to go with it. We just stood there, near the edge of the dance floor, as people began to dance around us.

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes.

The gesture brought my attention back to his hair and I almost frowned at it. I don't know what it is, but I hate it slicked back like that. I didn't realize it until now, but I haven't seen him wear it like that since we were back in school. With it like this he looks so much like his father that it's more than a little disturbing. I much prefer him with his hair down. It makes him look much more attractive. Not that I have a right to tell him to not wear it like that, seeing as we're only, well, what ever we are. I think he would just laugh in my face if I told him.

I glanced around and suddenly realized that we still weren't dancing, but were still standing in each other's arms. I hesitated for a moment then moved back, away from him and his intoxicating heat. He looked blankly at me for a moment then started to smirk. I started talking before he could say something about it.

"So are we done dancing then?" I asked, glancing around at the couples that were still going at it. When I turned back he was still smirking at me.

"Now Weasley," he said, his smirk spreading further. "I didn't think you were the type of woman to rush into these sorts of things. I always assumed it would take at least five dances and a few drinks before you would be ready to go."

My face fell into a glare as his innuendo clicked in my mind. "You are impossible," I said, then turned and began to walk away.

Just when I was thinking that I could possibly tolerate him he has to go and open his mouth. The way he goes you would thing that the only thing he has on his mind is sex. He is male though, so perhaps I am not far from the truth. I don't care what people say, once a guy hits puberty sex never leaves their mind. It's just that as they get older they get better at covering it up so that we think they are actually gentlemen. Not that I would ever consider Malfoy to be a gentlemen.

"You don't have to get so touchy about it, Weasley," Malfoy said, coming up beside me as I dodged multiple well-dress guests. All of whom, might I add, were looking at me oddly. Probably not used to Weasleys associating with Malfoys in a willing matter. Not that I blame them. "It's not like it would ever happen." A moment later I felt him take my hand and tuck it into the crook of his arm.

I glared up at him suddenly feeling disappointment for reasons that I don't want to understand. "Oh, right, the whole I look like trash bit and you wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole, right?" I snapped, trying to pull my hand back. I don't know why I was suddenly feeling so offended, but I was. I gave another jerk on my hand, but he had grabbed onto it with his free one and held on. He frowned down on me.

"If my memory serves me right, it's you who doesn't want to be touched by me," he drawled, looking pointedly down on my hand, which I was still trying to yank out of his grasp as we continued to walk across the room. "You're the touchaphobe."

I stopped yanking at my hand and glowered at him. "So are you saying that you suddenly want to touch me?" I asked, not quite sure I wanted to know the answer or why I was even asking the question. I should know better than to ask a loaded question like that. Do I really want things to lead one way or the other? Can't we just leave things as they are, with this odd relationship filled with tension and unknowingness? I suppose that we can't. Pity.

He stared at me for a moment, that expressionless mask on his face once more, before he cocked an eyebrow at me. We had gotten to a set of doors by this point, different ones from which we had come in, and he pushed them open, pulling me through. "I never said I didn't."

I blinked up at him as the doors swung shut, suddenly leaving us in a dimly lit hall that was a lot quieter than the hall we had just been in. Well, I asked the question, didn't I? I was the one who had to open my mouth to find out the truth. And what is it? That Malfoy actually wants to touch me. And now that I think about it, he never actually said that he didn't. He just threw that question back in my face last time I demanded it of him. Funny. I wonder if he still had the same thought in his head then but didn't voice it. So why would he voice it now? And why the hell am I still standing here over analysing all of this? Why am I not running like my life depends on it and getting away from here as fast as I possibly can?

"You never said that you did either," I informed him, hoping to somehow get us away from the topic. I was suddenly feeling much warmer than I wanted to feel, and with him standing beside me being a wonderfully good smelling inferno with bad hair, well, I'll let you fill in the details.

"And what would you do if I did?" he asked, his voice suddenly getting low and slightly husky. He began rubbing his thumb against the part of my wrist that he was still grasping. I felt shivers run through me, but I ignored them. I need to end this before things lead in directions we will regret. It was bad enough that he kissed me once today, isn't it? So what if I enjoyed it, he's still Malfoy. Malfoy who I am supposed to hate. Malfoy who is supposed to hate me. I'm not supposed to want anything more from this relationship, so why is it that I suddenly do?

"Probably hex you into next Tuesday," I said, adding a touch more vehemence than I had intended. If Malfoy noticed though he didn't comment on it, as all he did was snort at me. His thumb still didn't stop moving.

"Why does that response not surprise me?" he drawled, then pulled his hand away, and began to lead me with the hand he still held. "Come on."

I frowned up at him, yet allowed him to take me along with him.

Why would he take my brush off as easily as he did? Maybe he's just playing me. Maybe he is just trying to see if he can get me to confess things and make a fool of myself. Or maybe he feels the same way I do and doesn't know what he wants. Is it possible for a Malfoy not to know what he wants? Do I want to know which idea was actually going through his head?

Trying to rid myself of my thoughts I glanced around the hallways, noticing the rather menacing portraits hanging on the wall. Most of them were scowling at me, or sending me obscene gestures, or even stooping so low as to pull faces at me. I didn't notice I was doing it, but I moved closer to Malfoy as I looked around. "I don't think your portraits like me all that much," I told him, staring at an elderly Malfoy who had begun to choke when he laid eyes on me.

Malfoy glanced around himself then glared at the portraits. I frowned at him in return but didn't comment on his reaction. "They haven't seen a Weasley in here for a few centuries," he said, not talking to me but to the portraits themselves. "And I am sure that if mother hadn't silenced the lot of them they would have quite a bit to say about it too." He shook his head slightly then squeezed my hand as if to reassure me. "But they're only paintings of the dead Weasley, I would think you of all people would know how absolutely harmless they are."

"Doesn't change the fact that they are giving me death glares," I said, wearily watching them though I knew what he said was true. It was just that it was like suddenly standing in a room filled with Malfoys, all of whom acted just like Malfoy used to when we were in Hogwarts, and they were all glaring and leering at me. It was bringing back memories that I had just begun to think were dead. Memories about the things that Malfoy had said and done to me when we were children.

I began to grasp that I really didn't want to remember any of them. That they tainted the person that Malfoy was now, the person that he had become. They made me want to hate him again, and as I looked up at him, glaring at his ancestors for me, I realised that don't want to hate him anymore. Despite all the things that he does to annoy me, or says to make me mad, I think I have come far too close to liking him to want to return to hate. It's not like he would actually carry through with any of the threats that he made back then. He's a different person now; he has changed.

Then a horrible thought occurred to me: what if he is just biding his time, leading me on and gaining my trust. That way he can suddenly turn on me and do all those horrible things in ways that would hurt so much now. In way that would ruin me. I don't think I could handle it.

I can't believe that I am thinking this. Malfoy couldn't do that, could he? He wouldn't, would he? What would he stand to gain? But then, what does he have to gain by doing what he is doing now without ulterior motives? A new conquest perhaps? Who knows. I don't think I want to know either. I think I am just going to go with this, where ever it leads, and damn the consequences. I have to live in the moment, don't I? I can't be worried about what might happen and what could happen, and what should happen. I thought I learnt that a long time ago. I thought Harry proved that to me.

"Don't worry Weasley," he said, patting my hand. "I'm here to protect you."

I looked up at him to find him smirking at me again. I frowned back at him. "Why does that not reassure me at all?" I asked, as we came to the end of the hall, having the option to go either up a staircase or into a dark room. Of course he led me into the dark room, and all those horrible thoughts I had just had rushed back into my mind. I tried to tromp them out, but they persisted. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if there is a history of schizophrenia in my family, as it would explain a lot.

"Probably because you are a Weasley," he said, moving forward as though he wasn't afraid of running into anything in the room. I looked around blindly, the painful run-in with the car returning to my mind. I stepped closer still to him, hoping that he wasn't just putting on a show that would cause me to walk into something yet again.

"And it's in my blood to not trust a Malfoy?" I asked, grinning at him, despite the situation.

He brought us to a stop and released my arm. He began fumbling with something that sounded like fabric. I stood there, watching him in the dark, though I couldn't see much, only his outline. Then suddenly moonlight flooded the room as he pulled back a large curtain, exposing a back yard that would take anyone's breath away.

There were roses of all sorts in a garden that seemed to spread on forever, perhaps even going into the forest that seemed to surround the Manor. I looked around, taking in the canon statues that seemed to accent the garden, giving it a mystical feel that was almost erotic. A cobblestone patio and paths wound their way around, seeming as organic as the objects they surrounded, moss having grown in between the cracks. I am sure it would have been amazing in the daylight, but in the moonlight it was surely stunning. My hand twitched for my paintbrush, but was once again caught up in Malfoy's arm.

"I take it by your expression that you are stunned by the untrustworthy Malfoy garden," he said, reaching out with his free hand and unlocking a glass door that I hadn't even realized we were standing behind. He pulled me out into the garden, though neglected to close the door behind us.

I ignored his snark and looked around as we began to slowly walk through the maze. I am not usually one to be amused by flowers of any type, actually I find them rather cumbersome, but these are my exception; I've never seen flowers like these before. I don't know if it is just the lighting or what, but they are moving. "What is this place?"

"My mother's rose garden," he replied, leading me past a little fenced off courtyard complete with a set of quaint glass furniture. "Father loved giving them to her, and this is the evolution of his gifts." I felt him shrug. "I never knew the stupid flower came in so many varieties."

I looked up at Malfoy again only to find that expressionless look on his face. He was looking out at the garden, which was slowly beginning to fade in my mind, only to be replaced by thoughts of him. It's corny to say, but in the moonlight he suddenly looked more stunning than the any damn flower. It was just like that first night I saw him crossing the street with the moon in his hair. The painting that I woke up to suddenly rose to my mind's eye and I realized that I had gotten eerily close to capturing him as I know him now, even when I didn't know him beyond the prat that he had always been to me before. Creepy.

He turned and looked down on me, his eyes glowing with this odd internal light that I couldn't figure out. It went away as quickly as it was there as a smirk began to spread across his face. I knew before he opened his mouth that he was about to ruin the moment, whatever type of moment this actually was.

"Bet you never thought that we would be standing here together, did you," he drawled, continuing to walk me away from the house. I frowned up at him.

"Are you telling me that you did?" I asked, looking around as we rounded a corner and entered another courtyard, this one with a little fountain and a few benches. It was also surrounded by brick walls, with an exit directly opposite of the one we were entering by.

"Why would I ever imagine myself here with a Weasley, lest of all you?" he asked me, the drawl still evident in his voice. I looked up at him, only to find him watching me. I frowned back.

"You know my answer is going to be the same, so why would you bother asking?" I questioned him, looking at the water nymph that was in the fountain.

"Because I never know with you Weasley," he said, still leading me towards the other exit. "I was, and still am, under the impression that you wanted me from the moment that you saw me in the Gallery."

I couldn't help it. I had to glare up at him. "Why do you keep saying that I want you when it is obvious that you are the one who wants me, but you are just trying to distract me away from it?" I demanded before I could stop myself. I hadn't even thought of it before, but now that I think about it, that is what it seems like with all of his jibes. I think I am glad that I didn't think of this before, otherwise I would have gone mad. Not that I am not mad at the moment, seeing as the thought of him wanting me doesn't disturb me at all, actually it just makes me almost want to want him back.

"Just because I said that you are a whore, Weasley, doesn't mean that I want you," he said, and I felt my glare slip for a moment as a mixture of disappointment and shock went through me once more. "And besides, we're supposed to hate each other."

"Supposed to?" I asked, my eyes narrowing slightly. Something flickered across his face but it was gone before I could tell what it was. "Are you saying that you don't hate me?"

"Are you saying that you do?" he shot back at me, his eyes narrowing as well.

I stared back at him. How is it possible that we can be getting along so well moments before then suddenly turn on each other moments later? Well, I suppose it is because we are not supposed to get along to begin with and it is easier to disagree than to get along. But then that doesn't explain all the times that we have actually gotten along over the past few weeks. I just don't understand any of this anymore.

"That wasn't the question," I shot back at him, frowning now. "Do you hate me?"

"Do you want me to?" he asked, a smirk slowly and lazily finding its way onto his mouth. My frown deepened. He thinks this is funny, doesn't he? Well, I suddenly don't.

"Why is this so difficult?" I demanded, pulling my hand from his grasp and taking a couple steps away from him. He turned and faced me with a curious look. I could feel my cheeks heating up with irritation, but I didn't bother to curb any of it. If he wants to be an ass, then he can deal with me like this. "It's a simple enough question. You either hate me or you don't. It's not that hard, though you are a Malfoy so I suppose that does make certain things harder than others where your emotions are concerned. If you must know, I don't hate you, though I am beginning to wonder why." I glanced away at the fountain, which seemed very canon as well. "And it's not like it's the end of the world if-"

I never got the chance to finish my sentence, and I am not even sure anymore about what it was that I had been trying to say, as his lips came crushing down on mine, cutting me off. His hands were around the tops of my arms, pulling me towards him at the same time as he pushed us both back until my back thump against the brick wall. I was vaguely aware of his body pressing into mine, pinning me against the wall, which scrapped uncomfortably against my bare skin.

I stood there for a moment, pressed between the cold wall and his suddenly extremely warm body, not quite sure what it was I was supposed to be doing. Should I try and fight him off me, I mean, I didn't ask for him to kiss me; or should I just give in and kiss him back, because it is what I have wanted to do since his last kiss; or do I just shut my brain off and let my body do the rest?

I never really got the chance to really decide as he forced my lips apart and slid his tongue into my mouth, meeting mine, which seemed more than happy to share its home if you ask me. This was a different kiss from the last one. While it still screamed possession and ownership, it was slower and more languid as though this kiss was that one that was going to win me over or something, and there was something else. But before I could figure out what that something was I had already begun to kiss him back. My hands, which were trapped between us, slid slowly over the contours of his chest until I could work them around his neck, and over the tops of his shoulders and neck.

This must have been some sort of go ahead for him, for a moment later his hands were all over me. They went from my hair to my chest to my hips to my thighs, never staying in one place very long, nor both being in the same place at once. The feel of them was setting my body on fire, increasing the heat that I was already feeling from his body so that I felt as though I was about to melt. I shifted slightly, trying to ignore the bricks digging into my back, instead trying to focus on the feeling of his moist lips on mine and to explore the feel of his body under my fingertips. And explore I did.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he suddenly demanded, ripping his lips away from mine and grabbing hold of my wrists. I frowned back at him for a moment, before I noticed that his hair was falling roguishly into his face once more. Apparently my hands, while they were doing their roaming, had found his hair and decided to make sure it wasn't slicked back anymore. I nearly giggled except I had the feeling that if I did he would stop kissing me, and suddenly that seemed like the worst punishment in the world.

"I don't like it when you slick your hair back like that," I said, trying to pull my hand free of his so I could fix it some more. He didn't let go though and a moment later I felt both of my wrists being pressed into the wall as well, scrapping along the bricks. "Oh, not this again."

He didn't comment, just crushed his lips against mine with a force that I knew was going to bruise. He shifted against me, forcing one of his legs between mine, his erection suddenly pressing against my lower stomach. I felt a thrill run through me despite the sudden discomfort of my wrists.

His kiss suddenly became more demanding, more needy, as though my messing up his hair had begun a timer to which he would have to finish this before it went off. For my part I kissed him back with all I had, trying, at the same time, to wiggle my hands free. My fingers wanted to feel him again, to discover how long it would take me to get the buttons of his robes undone. But as with last time, he didn't let go. If anything he just held on harder.

"Malfoy if you don't let go of my hands..." I said, as his lips left mine. He didn't even so much as look at me, instead taking to kiss his way across my jaw and down my neck, leaving a moist trail which began to burn in the cold air around us. I was almost certain that steam was emanating from the tail he left.

"I'm serious," I said, beginning to feel irritated as the frustration that had built up inside of me last time began to return. And I wasn't about to be denied what I had had minutes before just because I screwed up his hair.

A moan escaped my lips as he found a sensitive spot above my collarbone and I tilted my head to let him get better access. "If you don't let go of my hands..." I trailed off once more, a small yelp issuing from my mouth instead as he nipped the spot he had just been kissing. He soothed it with a moist kiss before looking up at me, his eyes clouded with lust and something else.

"You are so goddamned beautiful when you're angry," he said, his voice thick as his eyes travelled across my face. I stared back at him, not quite knowing how to respond. A moment later he dropped his head back down, nuzzling the skin between my breasts.

I felt my heart flip over as I thought about what he just said. That's the second time that he's told me I look beautiful tonight. Why does it make me feel like a teenager again? Why does it make me want to give off some girlish squeal and twirl about? It's not like no one has ever said it to me before, though I haven't heard it in a while from someone other than my relatives. And I certainly never expected it from Malfoy, whose lips have once again found my skin. I titled my head back. Why does this feel so right?

Giggling suddenly sliced through my thoughts, and I looked around to see a young couple walking around the corner hand in hand. They stopped walking when they spotted us, but didn't stop giggling foolishly. "Oh sorry," the girl said, turning slightly pink. I felt Malfoy stiffen.

I felt a flare of irritation as I realised the moment, what ever it had been, was shattered. Malfoy pulled himself up and glared after them, finally releasing my wrists from the vice grip as he took a step back. One look at Malfoy and they made short work of going back they way they had come, still giggling all the while.

I watched him, still leaning back against the brick wall. I had this feeling that if I tried to step away from it I would fell flat on my face. He let out an irritated sigh and ran his hands through his now thoroughly messed up hair. Then he turned to me, a grin in place on his kissed-red lips. I shivered. "Go to coffee with me, Weasley," he said. "Tomorrow."

I stared at him. Does he mean like a date? Is Draco Malfoy actually asking me out? How is this possible? And why the hell is he doing it? I suppose I can understand the kissing, but a date? That means that he actually thinks he could like me. Running into me every now and then is one thing, but to actually want to spend time with me? It just seems so wrong. And why the hell am I not totally disgusted by the idea? I know I said I would just go with this situation and see where it goes, but seriously, a date?

Even with all these thoughts running through my mind I still felt myself begin to smile back at him, a blush rising on my cheeks. "You know, that almost sounded like an order," I told him, finally stepping away from the wall and back towards him.

"I could make it one if you say no," he replied, his eyes dropping down to hips before rising up to meet my eyes once more. There was something in his eyes that I needed to get closer to to figure out. Or at least, that was my excuse for wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Then I had better say yes, shouldn't I?" I asked before leaning forward and claiming his lips for myself.

o-o-o

Works Cited:

o- "But really just made me look like some albino penguin." – Sorry, I couldn't help but put in a Draco Sinister rip. I just couldn't. :p

o- "It's like with vampires, but without the long sharp teeth and the nibbles." - Another wonderful idea from Single White Vampire. Nibbles...

o- "If we didn't employ them they wouldn't have anything better to do " – The brief touch on the Unemployed House Elves theory was stolen from Lallie, whose interest in house elves is a little disturbing at times.

o-o-o

A/N: So yes, a little action for you all. Hopefully that makes up for the wait? Or not? Anyhoo, I'm looking forward to the next few chapters, so hopefully that will encourage me to actually write them... What did you think?

Man, many thanks to: Embellished, friends-16uk(I didn't know actually. Do you have the link for the site handy?), Laiannon-fae-elf(I wasn't impressed with the fanficish writing, but I did really enjoy the stuff we got to find out about Voldy as well as Draco's development. The 7th book is going to be huge, and I really hope she is going to take her time to write it otherwise I will go howler monkey style on her ass. ), sunflowerchild(Meh, what else are brothers for:p), Calla-ForEvEa(You'll just have to wait and see. And I was in university for 2 years, but now I am going to an art college for 4. I think I will go back to the U after I am done this degree. Bah. Going to be so poor), Dustbunnie(That's disgusting! I only ever do that if I am really really desperate! Eww! Lol!), Dancer(Arr, stupid Harry. He doesn't deserve her. Draco does. :), wounded-angel(I agree wholeheartedly with that theory, have since I logged back onto the net after finishing the book. Poor misunderstood Snapeypoo, is all I have to say), tulzdavampslayer(Oh, if only Harry really could be shot... I think I have an idea... I think you are the necrophiliac Tulz... honestly, you keep bringing it up. p), a-muses-inspiration(Yah, I was in the ohmygodwow phase for a while too), FemmeDraconis(She kicks you out of bed? That's cruel), Gryffindor'e Newsie(...wow.), emily-zabini, kattrina(My god, I would be writing this story for the rest of my life if I did that! lol), LauraWilson(I cried for the last 5 chapters, luckily I lived in the basement at the time so no one heard me. I hope), Ashen(Well, just think of him as being the grownup version of canon!Draco. And I am sure that if he dies people will figure out a way to bring him back. Never stopped the B5 fans. :p), mt-threat, Criss(Yah, it did seem like total fan service. Your move makes mine seem so puny. Things went well I hope?), sassyplaya(Oh, it's not going to drag on for too much longer. I hope), Miah the Storm Wolf, CCoLoMBiAnMaMi11, Her Guardian Angel, kate(It's the lack of hate in the fandom that drove me to write it. I miss the good old days when they actually hated each other :), bridgetmalfoy(Dear, you are a complete and utter loon, but you're awesome. I actually live on the other end of the country, but I hear Eastern Canada is very pretty. As for art school, go for it. It's rather amusing at times. :p) and Cutemouse-evilsqueak(If only it were as simple as that. Lol. Love your name)