Dungeon Five Ch. 4
Draco woke up the next morning with a pounding in his head that mirrored the alarm he'd set up the night before. For a second, the back of his throat burned as his stomach churned. He actually thought he'd throw up, but he waited it out and it soon passed.
Last night had been fun—breakup aside. He had gotten to hang out with his friends and had got gloriously drunk, as he'd intended. He, unfortunately, hadn't hooked up with anybody, but it had been mostly out of respect to Pansy, and he was actually feeling pretty good about it.
That was yesterday, though, because "feeling good" was about as far from what he was feeling right now as it could get.
With great effort, Draco managed to push himself out of bed and towards the direction of his bathroom. He wondered, as he stripped completely, what had possessed him and Weasley to schedule their lesson today before lunch.
It was after he'd already been under the deliciously hot spray for some time that he remembered why. They both had Quidditch practice after lunch. Gryffindors first and then Slytherin. He couldn't help but groan at the thought that his day was going to be a busy one, and he didn't even have a proper cure for his headache.
Draco stretched his time in the shower for as long as he could before he had to get out and start shaving. He ended up cutting himself on the blade for the first time since third year and had to make a mental note to have Weasley take a look at it later.
The thought gave him brief pause at the familiarity at which it came to him, but he ended up shrugging it off. It wasn't his fault that she had made her skills in mending wounds known, and he sure as fuck wouldn't let it go to waste.
He dressed himself in dark trousers and an even darker cardigan over an undershirt hurriedly before leaving. He would have to tidy his hair on the way if he didn't want to be late.
The walk through the dungeons was pretty uneventful, if only because everybody else was either still asleep because of last night or outside enjoying the bit of sun they'd gotten. By the time he got to Dungeon Five, he was already regretting putting on the cardigan.
Draco put his things on the table and didn't have to wait long before Weasley walked in.
"Morning," she greeted with a yawn, which she tried to smother with her hand.
He noticed that she was dressed appropriately for the unusually warm weather. The light jeans she was wearing stopped the middle of her calf and—to his utter horror—had rips on the knees and thighs. Her top was a simple white shirt that was short and tight enough to get his attention before he forced his eyes away.
"Good morning, Weaslette," he offered as he eyed her shoes. They appeared to be some kind of white Muggle tennis shoes. They reached her ankles and had a blue star on the outside, and Draco found himself liking how they looked on her.
"Do you have to call me that?"
He looked up just in time to see her wrinkle her little nose. "Ah, apologies," he said, not sounding apologetic at all. "Would you prefer Weasley?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." She raised her freckled nose in the air in what he thought was a surprisingly good imitation of his mother. "I would much rather you call me Ginny, though."
He didn't really know what to say to that. Ginny? That sounded awfully intimate and not at all something he, Draco Malfoy, should ever call her. He didn't have much time to ruminate on that, though, because Weasley interrupted his thoughts with a snort.
"Whatever, Malfoy." She shook her head in amusement at him. "Have you had any breakfast?"
The question caught him off guard for a moment before he shook his head at her. "No." He smothered a yawn of his own. "I just woke up, really."
"Me too." She grinned at him brightly. "Let's go, then. A big, greasy breakfast will make us both feel better."
"Who said I wasn't feeling well?" He challenged her even as his feet moved towards the exit.
Weasley scoffed. "Please, you look like you would rather keel over and die than do any work today."
"Are you saying I look bad, Weasley?"
"No, I'm saying you look hungover." She looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "Besides, I saw how you were drinking that Firewhisky like it was pumpkin juice yesterday. I'm surprised you're even up and functioning today."
It was true. He did drink a lot yesterday. But not nearly as much as she seemed to think. He was used to much heavier drinking. There was something else that caught his attention in her sentence, though.
"Were you watching me, little Weasley?" He smirked at her and watched, completely fascinated, as pink dusted her cheeks in the slightest of ways.
"Don't be absurd." She turned her face from him and stopped in front of a fruit painting.
Draco was about to continue teasing her, but he balked when Weasley reached out and tickled the pear. He gaped even worse when the pear actually turned into a dork knob and he was suddenly looking at an exact replica of the Great Hall.
Only that wasn't right because there weren't this many house-elves in the Great Hall. In fact, in all his seven years at the bloody school, he'd never actually seen a house-elf apart from—
"Dobby?" He raised his eyebrows at the elf.
"Master Malfoy!" The elf's big ears flapped as he bowed so low his nose touched the floor. "You shouldn't be in the kitchens, sir! If the young master wanted something to eat, Dobby would most certainly take it to young Master Malfoy's quarters! Dobby is a good elf!"
Draco looked into the elf's wide, fearful eyes and frowned. "You can make me something to eat here, Dobby. I wasn't actually aware that I was heading towards the kitchens." He raised an eyebrow at Weasley.
"Oh, yes." The girl rolled her eyes. "Silly me to take you to the kitchens when I said we were getting some breakfast."
A small smirk tried to make itself known on his lips, but he didn't let it show. He hadn't even questioned where they were going, just followed her blindly, and that was a slightly disturbing thought to have.
"Hello." Ginny extended a hand towards Dobby. "I'm Ginny Weasley."
"Oh!" Dobby grasped at her and stumbled a few steps. "Dobby will make breakfast for Master Malfoy and his Miss Weezy right away, sir!" And with a pop he was gone.
"Right, uh." Weasley cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable, and moved towards the replica of the Gryffindor table.
Before she could go far, Draco took her wrist and unceremoniously dragged her to sit at the Slytherin table. He put her on one end of the table and sat across from her before she huffed at him. He only responded with a shrug.
"So." He leaned back on his seat and crossed his legs in front of him. "Last night. You were watching me."
He didn't bother to contain his smirk when he saw the blush from earlier returning. It was amusing the way it stretched across her cheeks. Weasley took a moment—in which she looked adorably embarrassed—before she seemed to compose herself.
"I watched as Pansy Parkinson broke up with you, if that's what you mean. Everyone did.".
Draco frowned at her. He knew the face he was making would certainly have made others run in the other direction, but Weasley simply bit her bottom lip worriedly and looked at him through her lashes.
"Sorry." And she did sound sorry. "Shouldn't have said that."
Draco nodded slowly before grimacing. He released a frustrated breath when he realised that he actually wanted to talk about this. It was just his luck that he was hungover, tired and not at all fit to resist some impulses. So he talked.
"She said we were terrible together." He exhaled forcibly through his nose. "Can you believe that? We spend more than two years together and even longer as best friends, and suddenly we're terrible together?"
Weasley looked at him cautiously. "Well, you did fight and break up a lot…"
"Yes, I suppose we did." He methodically rolled his sleeves to his elbows. "But still, we made up just as much, and I know she enjoyed that part."
Their eyes met just as hers widened, and he cursed himself for letting the innuendo slip out. He had to remind himself that this wasn't Blaise or Crabbe and Goyle—he couldn't make a lewd comment and then laugh about it. This was Weasley.
Then she snorted. The girl actually snorted at his terrible innuendo and proceeded to hide the uncontrollable giggles that followed with her hands. He couldn't stop his grin if he tried.
"I'm sure she did." Weasley put her head in her hands and let her last giggles escape.
Draco scoffed and shook his head, the remains of a grin still on his lips. ""Anyway, I don't think we'll make up this time."
She didn't try to give him false hope with empty words. She simply said, "That sucks, mate."
Draco couldn't appreciate her more. It did suck, but the truth was that he wasn't heartbroken about it, and maybe that said something about their relationship. Maybe it really wasn't meant to be.
Just then, Dobby popped over and bowed low before raising his tiny hands over the table. With a snap of his long, bony fingers, their breakfast appeared before them. The elf bowed again before popping away. Draco didn't even register the action because he was already pouring himself some tea.
"So."
He looked at Weasley over the rim of his cup. "What?"
"Dobby is your family's house-elf… How come he's here in the kitchens?"
Draco put his cup back on its saucer. "Dobby has been my family's elf since before I was born." He didn't pause while buttering his toast. "He was ordered to take care of me when I came along and was a nanny of sorts when I was younger. When I turned seventeen, my parents gave him to me. He's my personal elf now, but I have no idea what he's doing in the kitchens. Maybe that's where all the house-elves at Hogwarts stay."
"That is such a"—she narrowed her eyes and waved her hands around for a bit, as if trying to find the right word—"an upper crust thing. I can't even." She shook her head at him with a small grin.
Draco shrugged. "It's common amongst purebloods. Oh, wait. I meant amongst the Sacred—" His eyes widened at his faux pas. "I, uh..." He cleared his throat and looked helplessly at her.
"Maybe we should drop this subject." Her tone was light enough, but there was a definite tightening to her mouth.
He did what he always did in these types of situations, which was fall back on his manners. "My apologies." Then he frowned, mostly at himself, because what the actual fuck? He wasn't usually this bad at words.
"Moving on, Malfoy." Weasley raised her eyebrows at him. "You look like you cut yourself." She gestured at his jawline.
"Yes, I did." It somehow felt wrong to ask her to do something for him after his earlier blabber, but he didn't have to, because she offered herself.
"I can take a look at it after brekkie if you want."
And that's how Draco found himself in his current position—looking up at Weasley from his seat and her body further warming his with their proximity. It got to the point that it was almost too much. One of her knees was on the bench between his legs and she had one hand leaning his face up..
"Wait, wait," he tried not to gasp. "Let me take off this cardigan." That didn't sound right. "It's fucking hot today. Don't know how you aren't feeling it."
Weasley stepped back and let him slip the cashmere of his body. He tried not to make eye contact as he did, because he was already half-hard as it was, but apparently he didn't need to. Her eyes were too busy tracking the movement of his arms. Huh. The Weaslette was checking him out, and unabashedly at that.
"I would be on fire if I was wearing a sweatshirt in this weather," she said.
"Cardigan," Draco said, just to distract himself from the fact that she was back in her earlier position. This time, he could feel her heat much better with just one layer on. It looked like his plan had backfired.
"Whatever, posh boy."
He felt her breath on his cheek and the hair on his arms raised in response. Thankfully, it didn't take long for Weasley to heal him. He thanked fucking Salazar that she was too busy covering up her own blush to notice him adjusting himself in his trousers. It looked like he was right back to stake one, what with his body behaving like that of a thirteen year old's.
Merlin, kill him now.
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