Disclaimer: Characters and places belong to Rowling.
Ginny had been sleeping peacefully when she felt a cold, wet nose nudge her ear. She rolled over in irritation.
"Minerva, I was having a perfectly lovely dream and you just had to wake me, didn't you?"
"I'm hungry."
"Talk to Draco then," she said with impatience. "Didn't he tell you I'm supposed to be resting?"
"He won't give me a treat because you told him not to," the cat whined.
"You're a professor, Minnie. Don't you think you're a bit above whining?"
"I'm not a professor any longer, now am I? I'm a cat. And I'm hungry. Besides," the cat added with a smirk. "If I don't get a treat soon, I might let it slip that you've been moaning 'Draco' in your sleep."
"I have been moaning no such thing!" Ginny exclaimed.
"I'm rarely wrong about this sort of thing. Unless you were saying 'dragon, yes dragon, yes," I'd hazard a guess that you've fallen for him."
"So you'd take advantage of the wily and inscrutable ways of my unconscious for a cat treat?"
"Yes."
"Fine," Ginny sighed. "Next time one of the house elves comes up, I'll let them know you're to have a treat."
"What house elves?"
"This is a mansion. There have to be house elves," Ginny reasoned. "Otherwise he'd have to
cook for himself, and I really can't seeing him cooking anything."
"Well, unless they're holed up in the east wing somewhere, there aren't any house elves."
"Why the east wing?"
"It's magically locked. I've tried everything to get in."
"You've tried everything? How long have you been here?"
"A few hours. One quickly exhausts the amount of non-magical possibilities for door opening. It's pretty much limited to push on it and look for a handle."
"I suppose you're right."
"Let's have dinner now."
Ginny realized that until Minnie was fed, not much of anything was going to get done. Grumbling, she pulled herself out of bed to follow the cat into the kitchen. When she arrived, Draco was stirring something on the stove, and only his back was facing her. She was lost for a moment, looking at his back, not as skinny as it had been in boyhood, but not overly broad either. It was covered by a black robe, standard wizarding wear, that was a striking contrast to his pale skin and silvery hair. His hair was the most striking thing about him, she supposed. It looked very soft and fine, rather like rabbits fur.
"Miss Weasley," the cat said waspishly at her.
Draco spun around then, startled, and saw the very thing he had been avoiding all day. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, as if she were still very tired, and it worried him. What worried him more was that she was still wearing his robe, rather than her own clothing.
"Why are you still wearing that?" He asked. "I put your trunk right by the bed."
"I just came down to feed Minnie, then I'm going back to bed," she told him. "It didn't make sense to change clothes when I'm just going to go back to sleep in a moment."
"You should have changed anyway. You're probably freezing," he argued, turning his back to her and continuing to stir the pot on the stove.
"Well, then, why don't you do something to warm her up?" suggested Minerva innocently. "I'm sure you can think of something."
Her response was a stony glare from Draco and a eye roll from Ginny.
"Soup, people, I was suggesting we get on to the eating portion of the afternoon," the cat explained. "Honestly, one would think I was the one with the dirty mind."
"The stew will be ready in a few minutes. Go back upstairs."
"We'll wait," Minerva told him, hopping onto the counter and peering into the pot. "Potato in a milk base. Lovely. I'll have two bowls."
"You'll have a quarter cup of kibble and that is all," Ginny informed her. "The doctor said if you don't lose weight you'll get sick."
"Yes, well, he also recommended you have me 'fixed,' as if I was some common tramp," the cat argued. "And I do not see how we can trust the judgment of a man who would like to forcibly remove my ovaries."
"He thinks you're just a regular cat!" Ginny retorted. "It's normal for a regular cat!"
"Could we change the subject please?" Draco asked without turning around. "I'd really rather not hear about McGonagall's personal problems."
"Sorry," Ginny said sheepishly.
"Go back upstairs," Draco ordered again.
"Why?"
"You need to put some clothes on."
"I'm already wearing clothes."
"You're wearing a robe."
"Last time I checked a robe fell into the realm of 'clothing.'"
"Not appropriate clothing."
"I'm just going back to bed in a little while anyway. Why bother?"
"Put on your pajamas then. You should be resting not arguing with me about this."
"Walking upstairs wouldn't be resting, it would be a waste of time."
"Fine," Draco said with a note of annoyance. He summoned two bowls, silverware and a tray from the cupboards. He ladled the soup into the bowls, and placed one on the tray and the other on the table in front of Ginny. He then picked up the tray and began to walk from the room.
"Aren't we going to eat together?" She asked him.
"I'm busy," Draco said curtly before disappearing out the door. "Eat and go back to bed. Breakfast will be waiting when you wake."
"The man certainly doesn't mince words, does he?" Remarked the cat.
Ginny had been sleeping peacefully when she felt a cold, wet nose nudge her ear. She rolled over in irritation.
"Minerva, I was having a perfectly lovely dream and you just had to wake me, didn't you?"
"I'm hungry."
"Talk to Draco then," she said with impatience. "Didn't he tell you I'm supposed to be resting?"
"He won't give me a treat because you told him not to," the cat whined.
"You're a professor, Minnie. Don't you think you're a bit above whining?"
"I'm not a professor any longer, now am I? I'm a cat. And I'm hungry. Besides," the cat added with a smirk. "If I don't get a treat soon, I might let it slip that you've been moaning 'Draco' in your sleep."
"I have been moaning no such thing!" Ginny exclaimed.
"I'm rarely wrong about this sort of thing. Unless you were saying 'dragon, yes dragon, yes," I'd hazard a guess that you've fallen for him."
"So you'd take advantage of the wily and inscrutable ways of my unconscious for a cat treat?"
"Yes."
"Fine," Ginny sighed. "Next time one of the house elves comes up, I'll let them know you're to have a treat."
"What house elves?"
"This is a mansion. There have to be house elves," Ginny reasoned. "Otherwise he'd have to
cook for himself, and I really can't seeing him cooking anything."
"Well, unless they're holed up in the east wing somewhere, there aren't any house elves."
"Why the east wing?"
"It's magically locked. I've tried everything to get in."
"You've tried everything? How long have you been here?"
"A few hours. One quickly exhausts the amount of non-magical possibilities for door opening. It's pretty much limited to push on it and look for a handle."
"I suppose you're right."
"Let's have dinner now."
Ginny realized that until Minnie was fed, not much of anything was going to get done. Grumbling, she pulled herself out of bed to follow the cat into the kitchen. When she arrived, Draco was stirring something on the stove, and only his back was facing her. She was lost for a moment, looking at his back, not as skinny as it had been in boyhood, but not overly broad either. It was covered by a black robe, standard wizarding wear, that was a striking contrast to his pale skin and silvery hair. His hair was the most striking thing about him, she supposed. It looked very soft and fine, rather like rabbits fur.
"Miss Weasley," the cat said waspishly at her.
Draco spun around then, startled, and saw the very thing he had been avoiding all day. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, as if she were still very tired, and it worried him. What worried him more was that she was still wearing his robe, rather than her own clothing.
"Why are you still wearing that?" He asked. "I put your trunk right by the bed."
"I just came down to feed Minnie, then I'm going back to bed," she told him. "It didn't make sense to change clothes when I'm just going to go back to sleep in a moment."
"You should have changed anyway. You're probably freezing," he argued, turning his back to her and continuing to stir the pot on the stove.
"Well, then, why don't you do something to warm her up?" suggested Minerva innocently. "I'm sure you can think of something."
Her response was a stony glare from Draco and a eye roll from Ginny.
"Soup, people, I was suggesting we get on to the eating portion of the afternoon," the cat explained. "Honestly, one would think I was the one with the dirty mind."
"The stew will be ready in a few minutes. Go back upstairs."
"We'll wait," Minerva told him, hopping onto the counter and peering into the pot. "Potato in a milk base. Lovely. I'll have two bowls."
"You'll have a quarter cup of kibble and that is all," Ginny informed her. "The doctor said if you don't lose weight you'll get sick."
"Yes, well, he also recommended you have me 'fixed,' as if I was some common tramp," the cat argued. "And I do not see how we can trust the judgment of a man who would like to forcibly remove my ovaries."
"He thinks you're just a regular cat!" Ginny retorted. "It's normal for a regular cat!"
"Could we change the subject please?" Draco asked without turning around. "I'd really rather not hear about McGonagall's personal problems."
"Sorry," Ginny said sheepishly.
"Go back upstairs," Draco ordered again.
"Why?"
"You need to put some clothes on."
"I'm already wearing clothes."
"You're wearing a robe."
"Last time I checked a robe fell into the realm of 'clothing.'"
"Not appropriate clothing."
"I'm just going back to bed in a little while anyway. Why bother?"
"Put on your pajamas then. You should be resting not arguing with me about this."
"Walking upstairs wouldn't be resting, it would be a waste of time."
"Fine," Draco said with a note of annoyance. He summoned two bowls, silverware and a tray from the cupboards. He ladled the soup into the bowls, and placed one on the tray and the other on the table in front of Ginny. He then picked up the tray and began to walk from the room.
"Aren't we going to eat together?" She asked him.
"I'm busy," Draco said curtly before disappearing out the door. "Eat and go back to bed. Breakfast will be waiting when you wake."
"The man certainly doesn't mince words, does he?" Remarked the cat.