Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.
She looks good in my bed, Draco thought to himself. If only the circumstances were different. He barely knew the woman, and yet his soul had almost shattered when she'd collapsed in the catacombs. He'd carried her the rest of the way, then put her in his bed. None of the guest rooms had been used in years, and he certainly wasn't going to put her in the wing his parents had occupied. He hadn't entered his father's room since his return, because of this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that it would reek of the evil of Lucius more than the rest of the house.
He'd called a doctor, a discrete one, and had her examined. There wasn't anything wrong with her aside from extreme exhaustion and the scrapes on her hands. The doctor had tended to her hands, then left, advising Draco to let her sleep, and for her to rest for a good week before taking on anything stressful. Draco took his advice, sleeping in one of nearby guestrooms, which was dusty, and had a lumpy mattress, which was why it was him sleeping on it rather than Ginny. He'd been doing only the necessary amount of business, spending the rest of the time waiting for his sleeping beauty to awaken.
Draco spent Sunday morning lounging on the unoccupied side of his bed and reading the Prophet. A rather interesting column struck his eye when he reached for the features section.
"T'is the Season for Commitment"
By Lavender Finnigan
It seems that in the wake of the Dark Lord's reign of terror, witches and wizards everywhere are making their love known. Marriage is in, and everyone seems to be getting into the swing of things.
Hermione Granger has finally reeled in her beau. The Boy Who Lived reportedly popped the question after a night on the town in Diagon Alley. The two have yet to reveal their plans to anyone, but my sources never lie!
Granger's former love is getting hitched, too. Retired Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum is wedding England's very own Cho Chang. Chang, one may recall, led the Wasps to two World Cup victories. It will be a second marriage for both.
Pansy Parkinson, who one may recall as the former wife of Draco Malfoy, is also engaged this week. In a press conference, Parkinson announced her engagement to the heir to Jet Frangoso, heir to the fortune behind many Knockturn Alley shops. When asked about what soured her previous marriage, Parkinson's words had a decidedly acid bite.
"When our dear Marigold passed on, Draco simply wasn't able to cope," she said. "I began to wonder if he ever cared about me or our daughter at all. Fortunately, I have every faith that my future husband will always show his love for me and any children we might have. I am very happy to finally be with a man who knows how to treat a woman."
However, not all of the proposals are ending in I do's. Without a doubt, a "no" is a surefire way to put a damper on any relationship.
Ronald Weasley, 26, brother of Percy Weasley, who perished heroically as the Dark Lord's last victim, is getting a lesson in what happens when you pop the question too soon. The junior Weasley reportedly asked an unknown Frenchwoman to be his bride last week. Sources say the woman, who is supposedly half Veela answered with an emphatic "I don't."
Ginny's first thought was one of contentment. It was cold out, and here she was in her nice warm bed. She was still tired, so she rolled over to return to sleep.
There was something there. Ginny's still groggy mind didn't process much beyond the fact that the something was warm, comfortable and safe. She draped an arm across it, snuggled into it and fell back to sleep.
Draco was alarmed when he first realized the extent of his predicament. Ginny had successfully trapped him. Her head was snuggled into his chest, and her arm circled his waist. His first reaction was to push her back to her side. Well, maybe not his first reaction. His first reaction was much less... acceptable. Perhaps if he shifted his arms a bit he could roll her over to the other side... It took a great while to prepare for the delicate maneuver, but at last he was ready to try. Shifting his weight carefully, he rolled Ginny back to her pillow. For a moment the temptation to kiss her was almost overwhelming. Her slightly open lips were only a few millimeters below his... He closed his eyes, hoping the temptation would pass if he'd just stop looking at her for a moment. Just as he was about to return to his side, Ginny murmured something, and then her lips were touching his.
Ginny wasn't fully awake. Her eyes were blurry with sleep, and she was kissing someone. She knew this wasn't Neville anymore that what she'd snuggled up against earlier. She knew it was wrong for some reason; forbidden. The kiss felt dangerous, and made her whole body shiver, yet gave her a warm feeling of contentment. And it didn't feel wrong. If anything it felt more right than anything ever had before.
Draco didn't know what to do at first. He froze, his eyes going wide. Her mouth was moving more insistently against his, demanding an answer. Her arm moved from his waist, traveled up his back and curled about his neck. Its twin followed, then moved up to the back of his head, pulling him down and deepening the embrace. He wanted nothing more that to give in, to savor this moment because it was all he would ever get, his only taste of true happiness. He couldn't though. There was this little nagging voice in the back of his mind saying she wouldn't do this if she knew it was you. She'd never love a git like you. He missed the way he had been a year ago, without regrets without little nagging voices that said he couldn't have the one thing he wanted most. He had said what he wanted, done what he wanted and taken what he wanted, all with the idea that the world owed it to him. He couldn't go back though, so he just lay there in torment as Ginny kissed him, unable to pull back, but unable to respond.
Finally he pushed himself out of her embrace as much as he could. She was surprisingly strong for a woman of her size, and her mouth was still close enough that every word brushed his lips against hers.
"Gin, please," he pleaded. "Let me up."
Her eyes fluttered open and looked up at him. Then her whole face shattered, and Draco knew it was with the realization that he wasn't Neville, that Neville was dead and she would spend a lifetime without anymore good morning kisses. She looked so hurt, so goddamned betrayed that he thought he would die on the spot for denying her a life with love.
She let her hands drop back to the tangled bedclothes, releasing him. He rolled back to his side and got up.
"I should probably see about lunch," he said to her. "I'll let you freshen up. The bathroom is to your right."
It was then that she noticed she wasn't wearing her robes, rather she was wearing an overly lacey nightgown that smelled strongly of mothballs. She didn't recall getting into it. She opened her mouth to ask Draco about it, but he had already left, presumably to make lunch.
She looked about the room. It was sparsely furnished, but immaculately decorated. The hardwood floor was covered by an enormous Persian rug. The tapestries were of a dark hunter green and matched the bed curtains and bedspread. She had always imagined Malfoy having black satin sheets. Instead they were cotton and a very rich red color, halfway between aubergine and crimson.
She untangled herself from the bedclothes and walked stiffly into the bathroom. She ached everywhere, and a nice hot shower would probably help with that problem.
Her most serious problem wasn't going to be solved by taking a hot shower. She didn't know how she was going to look him in the face after kissing him like that. She'd dreamt about him, dreamt about waking up in his arms and kissing him good morning. It had been wrong of her. Neville was barely in his grave and here she was dreaming about shagging other another man ten ways from Tuesday. It would figure that the only good night of sleep she'd had since Neville's demise had been in the bed of another man. As if her life didn't seem like a bloody soap opera already.
When she stepped into the hot spray of water she almost moaned. Her body felt as if it had been in the same position for day rather than the six or seven hours she'd been asleep. Perhaps she'd just go back to bed when she got home.
Noticing shampoo and conditioner already in the shower, she tended to her hair. They smelled of rosemary and lavender. It was a classic combination, but she found it a little overpowering when compared to her regular attar of roses. Unfortunately the aromas of Draco's toiletries had a much higher sedative power than her own, and her eyelids began to droop. It was time to get out.
Sighing, she shut the water off and dried herself. The nightgown she'd been wearing was much too itchy to put back on. She spied a bathrobe of black sating hanging on a hook and wrapped it around herself. Her wand and regular robes hadn't been in the bedroom, so she supposed this was as freshened up as she was going to get.
She towel dried her hair a bit more, and walked back into the bedroom to find Draco sitting in front of the fireplace, his back to her.
"Feeling better?" He asked without turning.
"Much," she said. "I', sorry I took so long, but the shower looked incredibly inviting and I didn't
want to go home filthy."
"Go home?" He queried. He still didn't turn to look at her. He knew that if he turned to look he would be completely lost. She would be standing there in the ratty old nightgown he'd found in one of the guestrooms, practically drowning in it because it was, at the very least, three sizes too large. Her hair would be halfway down her back, dark, wet and tangled. He wondered for a moment if her eyes would still look broken, like they had before. She was silent so he asked again, louder. "What do you mean go home?"
"Well, I've been a terrible imposition. As soon as you point me towards my robes and wand, I'll be out of your hair."
"No," Draco said firmly. "The doctor said you've been running yourself ragged. You're to stay in bed for a week."
"What doctor?" Ginny asked, rather perplexed.
"The one I called when you passed out cold on the floor."
"Well, he's quite obviously a quack," Ginny replied belligerently.
"Really?" Draco drawled. He stood up, faced her, knowing he'd have to do it sooner or later. He was unpleasantly surprised to find her wearing his robe. His very flimsy, practically indecent robe... He forced his eyes to her face. She was angry. Even across the room he could see the anger in her eyes, buzzing like a bee trapped in a jar. He continued. "Then why are there bags under your eyes?"
"It's the stress, nothing more."
"Being overstressed doesn't cause a person to sleep like a rock for 32 hours straight."
"I missed all of Saturday?" She wondered aloud. The smart ass smirk on his face was saying "I told you so." He wasn't going to win that easily. "If I've slept 32 hours then I'm all caught up then, aren't I? Now show me my clothes and wand and I'll be out of your hair."
He crossed the room so quickly she was afraid he was going to slap her. He didn't though, just held her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.
"You little fool," he said. "How long since you've had a good night's sleep?"
"Good is subjective," she said, her eyes slipping away from his.
"How long since you've slept more than an hour a night?" She wouldn't look at him, just murmured something unintelligible. "How long?" he bellowed at her. "A week?" She shook her head as much as she could. "Two?" Again, she shook her head. She was crying now, silently, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"God Gin, it's been three weeks since he died, and you haven't been sleeping since then?" She nodded at this and wrenched her face out of his hands. She turned away so that he wouldn't see her crying any longer.
"It can't go on like this. You know it can't," he told her back. She didn't say anything, just continued to cry. "It's killing you, and it's the last thing he would have wanted." He couldn't deal with her crying. It was painful to watch, and he knew he should do something. Putting his arms around her would be awkward, especially after the whole kissing incident. Perhaps he could bribe her.
"Gin, come on now... I didn't mean to... don't cry... If you stop crying I'll get you anything you want from your flat."
She sniffled and turned around. "I'm not staying here. I won't be held prisoner."
"Think of it as a vacation then," he cajoled. "Chez Draco: A mint on every pillow, a smile on every face, eh?"
Dumbledore had told her to take a few weeks off, and Draco was being awfully nice. Besides,
Neville had died for him. He couldn't be all bad. Perhaps being pampered was just what she needed.
"Alright, but I'll have to owl Mum so someone knows I'm gone. I'll tell her I've gone to Majorca or something."
"That's a good girl," Draco replied. "Now write me a small list of the things you'll need from your flat."
She looks good in my bed, Draco thought to himself. If only the circumstances were different. He barely knew the woman, and yet his soul had almost shattered when she'd collapsed in the catacombs. He'd carried her the rest of the way, then put her in his bed. None of the guest rooms had been used in years, and he certainly wasn't going to put her in the wing his parents had occupied. He hadn't entered his father's room since his return, because of this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that it would reek of the evil of Lucius more than the rest of the house.
He'd called a doctor, a discrete one, and had her examined. There wasn't anything wrong with her aside from extreme exhaustion and the scrapes on her hands. The doctor had tended to her hands, then left, advising Draco to let her sleep, and for her to rest for a good week before taking on anything stressful. Draco took his advice, sleeping in one of nearby guestrooms, which was dusty, and had a lumpy mattress, which was why it was him sleeping on it rather than Ginny. He'd been doing only the necessary amount of business, spending the rest of the time waiting for his sleeping beauty to awaken.
Draco spent Sunday morning lounging on the unoccupied side of his bed and reading the Prophet. A rather interesting column struck his eye when he reached for the features section.
"T'is the Season for Commitment"
By Lavender Finnigan
It seems that in the wake of the Dark Lord's reign of terror, witches and wizards everywhere are making their love known. Marriage is in, and everyone seems to be getting into the swing of things.
Hermione Granger has finally reeled in her beau. The Boy Who Lived reportedly popped the question after a night on the town in Diagon Alley. The two have yet to reveal their plans to anyone, but my sources never lie!
Granger's former love is getting hitched, too. Retired Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum is wedding England's very own Cho Chang. Chang, one may recall, led the Wasps to two World Cup victories. It will be a second marriage for both.
Pansy Parkinson, who one may recall as the former wife of Draco Malfoy, is also engaged this week. In a press conference, Parkinson announced her engagement to the heir to Jet Frangoso, heir to the fortune behind many Knockturn Alley shops. When asked about what soured her previous marriage, Parkinson's words had a decidedly acid bite.
"When our dear Marigold passed on, Draco simply wasn't able to cope," she said. "I began to wonder if he ever cared about me or our daughter at all. Fortunately, I have every faith that my future husband will always show his love for me and any children we might have. I am very happy to finally be with a man who knows how to treat a woman."
However, not all of the proposals are ending in I do's. Without a doubt, a "no" is a surefire way to put a damper on any relationship.
Ronald Weasley, 26, brother of Percy Weasley, who perished heroically as the Dark Lord's last victim, is getting a lesson in what happens when you pop the question too soon. The junior Weasley reportedly asked an unknown Frenchwoman to be his bride last week. Sources say the woman, who is supposedly half Veela answered with an emphatic "I don't."
Ginny's first thought was one of contentment. It was cold out, and here she was in her nice warm bed. She was still tired, so she rolled over to return to sleep.
There was something there. Ginny's still groggy mind didn't process much beyond the fact that the something was warm, comfortable and safe. She draped an arm across it, snuggled into it and fell back to sleep.
Draco was alarmed when he first realized the extent of his predicament. Ginny had successfully trapped him. Her head was snuggled into his chest, and her arm circled his waist. His first reaction was to push her back to her side. Well, maybe not his first reaction. His first reaction was much less... acceptable. Perhaps if he shifted his arms a bit he could roll her over to the other side... It took a great while to prepare for the delicate maneuver, but at last he was ready to try. Shifting his weight carefully, he rolled Ginny back to her pillow. For a moment the temptation to kiss her was almost overwhelming. Her slightly open lips were only a few millimeters below his... He closed his eyes, hoping the temptation would pass if he'd just stop looking at her for a moment. Just as he was about to return to his side, Ginny murmured something, and then her lips were touching his.
Ginny wasn't fully awake. Her eyes were blurry with sleep, and she was kissing someone. She knew this wasn't Neville anymore that what she'd snuggled up against earlier. She knew it was wrong for some reason; forbidden. The kiss felt dangerous, and made her whole body shiver, yet gave her a warm feeling of contentment. And it didn't feel wrong. If anything it felt more right than anything ever had before.
Draco didn't know what to do at first. He froze, his eyes going wide. Her mouth was moving more insistently against his, demanding an answer. Her arm moved from his waist, traveled up his back and curled about his neck. Its twin followed, then moved up to the back of his head, pulling him down and deepening the embrace. He wanted nothing more that to give in, to savor this moment because it was all he would ever get, his only taste of true happiness. He couldn't though. There was this little nagging voice in the back of his mind saying she wouldn't do this if she knew it was you. She'd never love a git like you. He missed the way he had been a year ago, without regrets without little nagging voices that said he couldn't have the one thing he wanted most. He had said what he wanted, done what he wanted and taken what he wanted, all with the idea that the world owed it to him. He couldn't go back though, so he just lay there in torment as Ginny kissed him, unable to pull back, but unable to respond.
Finally he pushed himself out of her embrace as much as he could. She was surprisingly strong for a woman of her size, and her mouth was still close enough that every word brushed his lips against hers.
"Gin, please," he pleaded. "Let me up."
Her eyes fluttered open and looked up at him. Then her whole face shattered, and Draco knew it was with the realization that he wasn't Neville, that Neville was dead and she would spend a lifetime without anymore good morning kisses. She looked so hurt, so goddamned betrayed that he thought he would die on the spot for denying her a life with love.
She let her hands drop back to the tangled bedclothes, releasing him. He rolled back to his side and got up.
"I should probably see about lunch," he said to her. "I'll let you freshen up. The bathroom is to your right."
It was then that she noticed she wasn't wearing her robes, rather she was wearing an overly lacey nightgown that smelled strongly of mothballs. She didn't recall getting into it. She opened her mouth to ask Draco about it, but he had already left, presumably to make lunch.
She looked about the room. It was sparsely furnished, but immaculately decorated. The hardwood floor was covered by an enormous Persian rug. The tapestries were of a dark hunter green and matched the bed curtains and bedspread. She had always imagined Malfoy having black satin sheets. Instead they were cotton and a very rich red color, halfway between aubergine and crimson.
She untangled herself from the bedclothes and walked stiffly into the bathroom. She ached everywhere, and a nice hot shower would probably help with that problem.
Her most serious problem wasn't going to be solved by taking a hot shower. She didn't know how she was going to look him in the face after kissing him like that. She'd dreamt about him, dreamt about waking up in his arms and kissing him good morning. It had been wrong of her. Neville was barely in his grave and here she was dreaming about shagging other another man ten ways from Tuesday. It would figure that the only good night of sleep she'd had since Neville's demise had been in the bed of another man. As if her life didn't seem like a bloody soap opera already.
When she stepped into the hot spray of water she almost moaned. Her body felt as if it had been in the same position for day rather than the six or seven hours she'd been asleep. Perhaps she'd just go back to bed when she got home.
Noticing shampoo and conditioner already in the shower, she tended to her hair. They smelled of rosemary and lavender. It was a classic combination, but she found it a little overpowering when compared to her regular attar of roses. Unfortunately the aromas of Draco's toiletries had a much higher sedative power than her own, and her eyelids began to droop. It was time to get out.
Sighing, she shut the water off and dried herself. The nightgown she'd been wearing was much too itchy to put back on. She spied a bathrobe of black sating hanging on a hook and wrapped it around herself. Her wand and regular robes hadn't been in the bedroom, so she supposed this was as freshened up as she was going to get.
She towel dried her hair a bit more, and walked back into the bedroom to find Draco sitting in front of the fireplace, his back to her.
"Feeling better?" He asked without turning.
"Much," she said. "I', sorry I took so long, but the shower looked incredibly inviting and I didn't
want to go home filthy."
"Go home?" He queried. He still didn't turn to look at her. He knew that if he turned to look he would be completely lost. She would be standing there in the ratty old nightgown he'd found in one of the guestrooms, practically drowning in it because it was, at the very least, three sizes too large. Her hair would be halfway down her back, dark, wet and tangled. He wondered for a moment if her eyes would still look broken, like they had before. She was silent so he asked again, louder. "What do you mean go home?"
"Well, I've been a terrible imposition. As soon as you point me towards my robes and wand, I'll be out of your hair."
"No," Draco said firmly. "The doctor said you've been running yourself ragged. You're to stay in bed for a week."
"What doctor?" Ginny asked, rather perplexed.
"The one I called when you passed out cold on the floor."
"Well, he's quite obviously a quack," Ginny replied belligerently.
"Really?" Draco drawled. He stood up, faced her, knowing he'd have to do it sooner or later. He was unpleasantly surprised to find her wearing his robe. His very flimsy, practically indecent robe... He forced his eyes to her face. She was angry. Even across the room he could see the anger in her eyes, buzzing like a bee trapped in a jar. He continued. "Then why are there bags under your eyes?"
"It's the stress, nothing more."
"Being overstressed doesn't cause a person to sleep like a rock for 32 hours straight."
"I missed all of Saturday?" She wondered aloud. The smart ass smirk on his face was saying "I told you so." He wasn't going to win that easily. "If I've slept 32 hours then I'm all caught up then, aren't I? Now show me my clothes and wand and I'll be out of your hair."
He crossed the room so quickly she was afraid he was going to slap her. He didn't though, just held her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.
"You little fool," he said. "How long since you've had a good night's sleep?"
"Good is subjective," she said, her eyes slipping away from his.
"How long since you've slept more than an hour a night?" She wouldn't look at him, just murmured something unintelligible. "How long?" he bellowed at her. "A week?" She shook her head as much as she could. "Two?" Again, she shook her head. She was crying now, silently, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"God Gin, it's been three weeks since he died, and you haven't been sleeping since then?" She nodded at this and wrenched her face out of his hands. She turned away so that he wouldn't see her crying any longer.
"It can't go on like this. You know it can't," he told her back. She didn't say anything, just continued to cry. "It's killing you, and it's the last thing he would have wanted." He couldn't deal with her crying. It was painful to watch, and he knew he should do something. Putting his arms around her would be awkward, especially after the whole kissing incident. Perhaps he could bribe her.
"Gin, come on now... I didn't mean to... don't cry... If you stop crying I'll get you anything you want from your flat."
She sniffled and turned around. "I'm not staying here. I won't be held prisoner."
"Think of it as a vacation then," he cajoled. "Chez Draco: A mint on every pillow, a smile on every face, eh?"
Dumbledore had told her to take a few weeks off, and Draco was being awfully nice. Besides,
Neville had died for him. He couldn't be all bad. Perhaps being pampered was just what she needed.
"Alright, but I'll have to owl Mum so someone knows I'm gone. I'll tell her I've gone to Majorca or something."
"That's a good girl," Draco replied. "Now write me a small list of the things you'll need from your flat."