Disclaimer Again: Everyone so far, save Marigold belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me, and most certainly not that ridiculous Stouffer woman.
A note to my Beta's- and you know who you are. Thanks for being critical and positive all at the same time. This is Chapter 13. I hope it doesn't go straight downhill from here...
~The Glitter Pixie
It was after much cajoling, much pleading and a tag team of puppy dog eyes that Draco found himself sitting cross-legged opposite Ginny. He'd already been to the bathroom, where he'd been told to first wash his hands, then returned to have some kind of goop rubbed on them. Ginny took his hand in hers and set to work.
The fumes either dissipated or disappeared completely, because quite suddenly he couldn't smell them any longer. Her small hands traveled over his, rubbing whatever the hell it was into his "cuticle beds," and before he could zone out completely, she looked at him expectantly. The noxious smell returned.
"Well," she said while making a little shooing motion with her hand. "Go wash that off."
"I already washed them once," he grumbled. "If you didn't want it on my hands why did you put it there in the first place?" Without waiting for an answer, he got up and stalked to the bathroom.
When he returned to his cross-legged position across from her, her small hands took possession of his again. Again, the smells went away, and he sat dazed in front of her. Her pretty little rosebud of a mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear her talking. He could, however, hear his own shallow breathing in his ear, playing in sync with the erratic beating of his heart. He needed something to focus on, something to jar him out of this weird, drunken state of being. Neville. He could focus on Neville.
"Did you ever do this for Neville?" He blurted out without realizing he was going to say it aloud.
"Occasionally," Ginny replied with a small, sad smile. She found that she could bear to talk about Neville now that she knew he had died to save someone else, now that she knew he'd died to save Draco and Marigold. Very deep inside of her a little bit of her heart was saying that losing Neville had been worth it if it had brought her here. "I didn't do it very often, because I felt kind of guilty about the whole thing," she admitted. "He'd say yes to anything I asked of him, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do the same for him. He made me feel guilty quite a great deal, actually. He showered me with love, and somehow I just couldn't give that love back to him. I loved him because he was a great friend, but I'm not sure I would have married him. He deserved much more than I could give him."
"Oh," Draco replied. He wasn't exactly sure what she meant. She'd wheedled him into having his nails painted, and she didn't show a bit of remorse. He was fairly certain that this was a sign. Unfortunately, he was unsure if this was a good sign or a bad sign. On the one hand, her lack of guilt about his nail painting could mean she found him irresistible, but on the other hand it could mean she didn't care enough about him to worry about his feelings. Perhaps he should stop overanalyzing things and focus more on the lovely way he little hand was wrapped about his wrist. The fleshy part of her palm was nestled against the pulse point on the bottom of his wrist, and her little thumb and pinky were about an inch short of meeting at the top.
After a few more minutes of mindless gawking, Draco realized she was talking again. Mainly he realized she was talking because she'd stopped touching him.
"What?"
"They're done, you just have to wait for the top coat to dry," she smiled apologetically. "It's not express like the others."
"Oh," Draco replied. "What exactly am I supposed to do while I wait?"
"Some people like to blow on them," Ginny suggested as she packed her manicure supplies away.
"What?" Draco said, looking askance. "That's a little forward, and may I remind you that little pitchers have big ears?"
Ginny rolled her eyes before replying. "First off, she's sleeping like a log, and secondly, you know perfectly well I meant your nails, Mr. Gutterhead."
"Oh."
"You seem to be saying that quite a great deal tonight," Ginny observed. "Feeling a bit monosyllabic?"
"If my nails weren't wet," he threatened in low tones.
"Oh you big baby," she said as she grabbed his wrist and blew lightly on his fingers. He stopped complaining, just watched her little head right below his and felt her warm breath on his hands.
She looked up at him to see why he was so still, and found his eyes boring into her own. They had darkened like he did when he was angry and for a moment she wondered what she had done wrong.
Then his lips closed over hers and she only wondered one thing. How on earth could she make him promise to never stop?
It all happened very slowly for Draco. One minute they were arguing and the next moment they were kissing. Perhaps he was kissing her and she was just there, but who worried about semantics at a time like this? In any case, it was his heart that had just exploded, and it was his tongue grazing the dimple on Ginny's bottom lip. He had the feeling again, the feeling that he wasn't supposed to be doing any of this for some inane reason. He felt... rather dizzy actually. Maybe it was the paint fumes again, or maybe it was that he was overtired. Then again, it might have something to do with the fact that Ginny's arms were wrapped around him and she was massaging his back in a way that made his pulse go faster that a quidditch match between Potter and an armadillo... But then her tongue was in his mouth and he stopped worrying because his nervous system pretty much short-circuited.
Ginny was a hairsbreadth away from raising the white flag of surrender to the almighty powers of Ravish-Me-Red when she heard something. It wasn't anything more than a rustle of bedclothes as Marigold rolled over, but it was enough to snap her out of her momentary mindlessness. Regretfully, she moved her hands to Draco's chest and pushed. He moaned into her mouth and she almost gave up, but she gathered her wits about her and pushed again harder, separating them.
They were both breathing heavily, though Draco appeared worse off. His eyes were glazed and half-lidded. Dazed he stared at her out of his still-dark eyes and muttered, "Wow."
"A little too... wow," Ginny added dryly with an inclination of the head in Marigold's direction.
Draco's countenance immediately changed. His eyes opened wide and he almost leapt off the bed.
"Sorry," he stammered as he edged out the door. "I need to be..." he searched for the words. "Not here now."
Ginny stared at the empty door frame for a few moments, hoping that he would realize where he needed to be and would return. When he didn't come back, she straightened the tangled bedclothes and slipped in next to Marigold. Ginny knew how nightmares worked. Sometimes, they came back and all you wanted was to be held in the arms of someone who loved you, the arms of someone who made you feel safe. She wondered what was so important to Draco that Marigold couldn't wake up safe in his arms. A silent tear fell down her cheek as she gathered the sleeping child in her arms. The same deep, dark corner of her heart that had felt losing Neville was acceptable wondered why Ginny couldn't wake up safe in Draco's arms, too.
A note to my Beta's- and you know who you are. Thanks for being critical and positive all at the same time. This is Chapter 13. I hope it doesn't go straight downhill from here...
~The Glitter Pixie
It was after much cajoling, much pleading and a tag team of puppy dog eyes that Draco found himself sitting cross-legged opposite Ginny. He'd already been to the bathroom, where he'd been told to first wash his hands, then returned to have some kind of goop rubbed on them. Ginny took his hand in hers and set to work.
The fumes either dissipated or disappeared completely, because quite suddenly he couldn't smell them any longer. Her small hands traveled over his, rubbing whatever the hell it was into his "cuticle beds," and before he could zone out completely, she looked at him expectantly. The noxious smell returned.
"Well," she said while making a little shooing motion with her hand. "Go wash that off."
"I already washed them once," he grumbled. "If you didn't want it on my hands why did you put it there in the first place?" Without waiting for an answer, he got up and stalked to the bathroom.
When he returned to his cross-legged position across from her, her small hands took possession of his again. Again, the smells went away, and he sat dazed in front of her. Her pretty little rosebud of a mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear her talking. He could, however, hear his own shallow breathing in his ear, playing in sync with the erratic beating of his heart. He needed something to focus on, something to jar him out of this weird, drunken state of being. Neville. He could focus on Neville.
"Did you ever do this for Neville?" He blurted out without realizing he was going to say it aloud.
"Occasionally," Ginny replied with a small, sad smile. She found that she could bear to talk about Neville now that she knew he had died to save someone else, now that she knew he'd died to save Draco and Marigold. Very deep inside of her a little bit of her heart was saying that losing Neville had been worth it if it had brought her here. "I didn't do it very often, because I felt kind of guilty about the whole thing," she admitted. "He'd say yes to anything I asked of him, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do the same for him. He made me feel guilty quite a great deal, actually. He showered me with love, and somehow I just couldn't give that love back to him. I loved him because he was a great friend, but I'm not sure I would have married him. He deserved much more than I could give him."
"Oh," Draco replied. He wasn't exactly sure what she meant. She'd wheedled him into having his nails painted, and she didn't show a bit of remorse. He was fairly certain that this was a sign. Unfortunately, he was unsure if this was a good sign or a bad sign. On the one hand, her lack of guilt about his nail painting could mean she found him irresistible, but on the other hand it could mean she didn't care enough about him to worry about his feelings. Perhaps he should stop overanalyzing things and focus more on the lovely way he little hand was wrapped about his wrist. The fleshy part of her palm was nestled against the pulse point on the bottom of his wrist, and her little thumb and pinky were about an inch short of meeting at the top.
After a few more minutes of mindless gawking, Draco realized she was talking again. Mainly he realized she was talking because she'd stopped touching him.
"What?"
"They're done, you just have to wait for the top coat to dry," she smiled apologetically. "It's not express like the others."
"Oh," Draco replied. "What exactly am I supposed to do while I wait?"
"Some people like to blow on them," Ginny suggested as she packed her manicure supplies away.
"What?" Draco said, looking askance. "That's a little forward, and may I remind you that little pitchers have big ears?"
Ginny rolled her eyes before replying. "First off, she's sleeping like a log, and secondly, you know perfectly well I meant your nails, Mr. Gutterhead."
"Oh."
"You seem to be saying that quite a great deal tonight," Ginny observed. "Feeling a bit monosyllabic?"
"If my nails weren't wet," he threatened in low tones.
"Oh you big baby," she said as she grabbed his wrist and blew lightly on his fingers. He stopped complaining, just watched her little head right below his and felt her warm breath on his hands.
She looked up at him to see why he was so still, and found his eyes boring into her own. They had darkened like he did when he was angry and for a moment she wondered what she had done wrong.
Then his lips closed over hers and she only wondered one thing. How on earth could she make him promise to never stop?
It all happened very slowly for Draco. One minute they were arguing and the next moment they were kissing. Perhaps he was kissing her and she was just there, but who worried about semantics at a time like this? In any case, it was his heart that had just exploded, and it was his tongue grazing the dimple on Ginny's bottom lip. He had the feeling again, the feeling that he wasn't supposed to be doing any of this for some inane reason. He felt... rather dizzy actually. Maybe it was the paint fumes again, or maybe it was that he was overtired. Then again, it might have something to do with the fact that Ginny's arms were wrapped around him and she was massaging his back in a way that made his pulse go faster that a quidditch match between Potter and an armadillo... But then her tongue was in his mouth and he stopped worrying because his nervous system pretty much short-circuited.
Ginny was a hairsbreadth away from raising the white flag of surrender to the almighty powers of Ravish-Me-Red when she heard something. It wasn't anything more than a rustle of bedclothes as Marigold rolled over, but it was enough to snap her out of her momentary mindlessness. Regretfully, she moved her hands to Draco's chest and pushed. He moaned into her mouth and she almost gave up, but she gathered her wits about her and pushed again harder, separating them.
They were both breathing heavily, though Draco appeared worse off. His eyes were glazed and half-lidded. Dazed he stared at her out of his still-dark eyes and muttered, "Wow."
"A little too... wow," Ginny added dryly with an inclination of the head in Marigold's direction.
Draco's countenance immediately changed. His eyes opened wide and he almost leapt off the bed.
"Sorry," he stammered as he edged out the door. "I need to be..." he searched for the words. "Not here now."
Ginny stared at the empty door frame for a few moments, hoping that he would realize where he needed to be and would return. When he didn't come back, she straightened the tangled bedclothes and slipped in next to Marigold. Ginny knew how nightmares worked. Sometimes, they came back and all you wanted was to be held in the arms of someone who loved you, the arms of someone who made you feel safe. She wondered what was so important to Draco that Marigold couldn't wake up safe in his arms. A silent tear fell down her cheek as she gathered the sleeping child in her arms. The same deep, dark corner of her heart that had felt losing Neville was acceptable wondered why Ginny couldn't wake up safe in Draco's arms, too.