Authors Note: As always, most everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. On a side note, to discuss this story, please visit my brand new e-group, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD This is the new address, people were having trouble joining it earlier, but the trouble should be all fixed now. Join me!
She'd told her friends that she was going to discuss the terms of Draco's agreement to surrender dark arts paraphernalia with him. They'd all looked worried, except for Glin, who'd whispered "have fun" in her ear before pushing her back towards him. In Glin's defense, however, she hadn't been a party to most of the Draco related issues, and therefore was unable to see him in such shady lighting as the others did. Lupin had taken Minnie home earlier to show her a text about transfiguration from the late eighth century he'd uncovered during his travels. There weren't anymore excuses to stay away from him, yet there was a tiny voice in her head, telling her to get away while she had the chance.
She walked slowly towards him, her feet sluggish and unwilling. She would have blamed it on the butter beer, but she hadn't had all that much. He was standing there in the middle of the room, making no mistake of the fact that he was waiting for her. It felt like hours before she finally reached him. He folded her into her arms, and they apparated home.
They were on the sofa, and Ron was kissing her. It wasn't really what she'd thought it'd be like. He wasn't actually as repulsive as a dead trout either, not that she thought about it. He wasn't entirely unattractive, if you liked that tall, skinny, good-looking playboy type, if you liked that sort of thing. She most certainly didn't like that sort of thing. Wait, did she like that sort of thing? Regardless, liking that sort of thing was irrelevant. She didn't date other people's boyfriends and... what in the hell was he doing? Better yet, what in the hell was she doing?
"Ron." She pushed at him, trying to dislodge him from the shoulder he'd just uncovered.
"Hmm?" He looked up at her, eyes all innocent, as if he hadn't taken... why was she laying on top of him?
"Stop. I've got to think for a minute." She collapsed on top of him in a way she assured herself absolutely reeked of platonic friendship. "I'm not the kind of girl who does this sort of thing," she explained, gesticulating wildly even though she kept almost hitting him in the face. "I mean, you're not even really my type."
"What type is that?" He asked wearily, pushing them both into a sitting position.
"Well I usually date men who I at least get along with. They either have a job or do something terribly exciting. They're usually named something terribly exotic, like Fabio or Armand or Jean-Paul. I mean, think about the very name Ronald. It's not only terribly boring, it suggests boring to the very degree of weird. They dress well, or at the very least dress interestingly. They're usually quite dynamic, and very well read. Ron, you are none of these things. Additionally, you're just out of a relationship, and I don't do rebound guys. I mean date them. Well, I guess I do neither. Or is it don't do both? I'm so confused!" She wailed and buried her head in his shoulder.
"Well, first off, I'm not just getting out of a serious relationship. I was just getting out of a serious relationship a month ago when I asked her to marry me or leave me. I knew she wasn't going to say yes, I just needed to make changes, and I thought that maybe that would help. It didn't, and the whole relationship was absolutely ridiculous in the first place. How can you be in a relationship with someone who won't let you look at them unless they've made sure their appearance is absolutely perfect? You can't. It wasn't going anywhere, it was just something to do. Besides, there wasn't any chemistry there. She was just a pretty thing to hand on my arm until I found who I was really looking for."
She threw her hands up into the air, somehow managing to accidentally clipping him on the back of the head. "Fantastic. I've taken up with a man who wants a trophy girlfriend."
"If you didn't want to have sex with me, then what was with the pathetic 'I can't recall my apartment number, let's have a sleepover at your place?'" He said the last bit with an over-emphasized American accent, while batting his eyelashes.
He probably should have seen the slap across the face coming. "I said apartment, not flat, that proves I was drunk off my ass. You were going to take advantage of a poor inebriated girl."
"Take advantage? Poor inebriated girl?" He scoffed. "You've been around the block more times than my fathers flying Ford!"
"Are you actually completely over Fleur?"
"Yes!" He roared.
"Oh," she said quietly before shouting "102 Green Pine, number four!"
"What?"
"My flat number!" She shouted back at him before pouncing on him and systematically removing all of his clothing.
They'd gone straight for his bedroom. There was no talk of love, no whispered words of uncertainty, no angst-ridden monologues detailing why this was exactly the wrong thing to be doing. For once, there were no owls at the window, no screams in the night. There was nothing to blame it on, not liquor, not illness, not lack of sleep.
There was passion. Passion when he took her mouth with his. Passion when his tongue touched hers and her hands grabbed at his neck to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. Passion, like an explosion behind Ginny's eyes, like the ocean beating at rocks on the shore, then crashing back to the sea.
There was possession. Possession in her unquenched need to be better, more worthy of his love than any of his other lovers, real or imagined. Possession in his kiss, upon every inch of her skin, his need to brand her flesh with his flesh, to make her really and truly his. Possession as their heartbeats raced out of control, but beat in perfect synchronicity with each other.
There was need. Need in her eyes as they locked on his, searching for a mirror of her own soul. Need in his heart to make this last forever. Need in their hunger to be so close that nothing on earth could distinguish between the two of them, and nothing in heaven could take them apart. Need like the need to breath, to live, to die.
There was tenderness. Tenderness as he kissed the corners of her eyes, as he called out her name in a hoarse, husky whisper. Tenderness as he cherished her in every way humanly possible. Tenderness that made her weep with the sheer volumes it spoke about him.
And finally, there was relief. Sheer glorious relief that came with the fulfillment of their desires so long denied. Relief in the ending of the great insufferable rift that had hung between them. They collapsed in a sweaty tangled heap.
Glin lay naked with her head smushed flat into Ron's chest. She was out of breath, almost panting, and perspiring like a madwoman. Her eyes kept blurring in and out of focus, and for some reason she couldn't quite fathom, there was a rubber arrow stuck to her rear. She tilted her head to look up at Ron. "Have we gone completely insane?"
He chuckled. "It would explain the arrow."
"I mean this is..."
"Incredibly satisfying," he finished.
"I was going to say 'highly irregular,' or possibly even 'the product of a parallel universe, which has merged with ours, creating a rift in some space time continuum.'" She said pointedly. "I mean, for fuck's sake, everything is going to be all awkward now."
"Why?"
"Because we had sex, and we can't even stand each other. Ron, we've taken a relationship we don't even have to the proverbial 'next level.' And quite frankly, I think a great majority of the world agrees with me when I say that is fucked up on so many levels, I can't even fathom how truly fucked up it is."
"Actually, we have sex, not had sex," he corrected her as he beeped her on the nose affectionately. "And I can more than stand you."
"Don't do that! Don't... beep my nose! We don't do that Ron! We make rude, petty comments about each other, and bicker uncontrollably! We don't do cute little affectionate gestures like nose beeping! And you cannot stand me!" She ranted in exasperation. "And rest assured, we don't 'have' sex, because we are not having it again.
"I beg to differ. I actually find some of your little quirks quite endearing," he said, beeping her nose again.
"Like what, and you'll stop that if you don't want to pull back a bloody stump."
"Well there's the way you call things by the wrong name when you're preoccupied, like when you ordered a tea and a cookie instead of a biscuit at that cafe a few days ago... and I like the way you get all nattered up at people, like you did with Fleur, only it's much cuter when you're nattered up at me about something silly like nose beeping. And I absolutely adore the little sound you make when I nibble at the inside of your elbow."
"You can't base a relationship on sex and unwelcome nose beeping, Ron."
"So fuck the relationship. Let's just shag, and nose beep and occasionally be around each other when we can stand it."
"For some reason, that makes perfect sense. Let's not tell other people though. It might make their heads explode. I'm taking a shower now." She hopped off of him, perfectly content with the resolution and now talking about a completely different subject. Ron found this to be extremely weird, but not without it's appeal.
"Fine, I'll just get into bed then. It's only two or so, I suppose I could still get some sleep."
"You're not going to take a shower with me?"
"If we do that we'll just spend the whole time being dirty, and then the hot water will run out, and the water'll be all cold when we want to clean up afterwards..."
"Ron, you silly sonofabitch, that's half the fun!"
Draco lay with his eyes open, Ginny curled on his chest, her eyelids drooping as she fell into sleep.
"I love you," she murmured. His body tensed, and she turned her head to look up at him. His eyes had gone all glittery and hurtful again. She leaned up and kissed him tenderly, until they went all soft shimmery silver again. She put her hand to his mouth. "I know you won't say it back. I'm honestly not sure you'll ever say it to anyone but Marigold. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you make anything about this dirty. Because it's not, and we both know it." She settled her head back onto his chest and fell asleep to rhythm of his hand stroking her hair.
When Draco woke, his bed was empty.
She'd told her friends that she was going to discuss the terms of Draco's agreement to surrender dark arts paraphernalia with him. They'd all looked worried, except for Glin, who'd whispered "have fun" in her ear before pushing her back towards him. In Glin's defense, however, she hadn't been a party to most of the Draco related issues, and therefore was unable to see him in such shady lighting as the others did. Lupin had taken Minnie home earlier to show her a text about transfiguration from the late eighth century he'd uncovered during his travels. There weren't anymore excuses to stay away from him, yet there was a tiny voice in her head, telling her to get away while she had the chance.
She walked slowly towards him, her feet sluggish and unwilling. She would have blamed it on the butter beer, but she hadn't had all that much. He was standing there in the middle of the room, making no mistake of the fact that he was waiting for her. It felt like hours before she finally reached him. He folded her into her arms, and they apparated home.
They were on the sofa, and Ron was kissing her. It wasn't really what she'd thought it'd be like. He wasn't actually as repulsive as a dead trout either, not that she thought about it. He wasn't entirely unattractive, if you liked that tall, skinny, good-looking playboy type, if you liked that sort of thing. She most certainly didn't like that sort of thing. Wait, did she like that sort of thing? Regardless, liking that sort of thing was irrelevant. She didn't date other people's boyfriends and... what in the hell was he doing? Better yet, what in the hell was she doing?
"Ron." She pushed at him, trying to dislodge him from the shoulder he'd just uncovered.
"Hmm?" He looked up at her, eyes all innocent, as if he hadn't taken... why was she laying on top of him?
"Stop. I've got to think for a minute." She collapsed on top of him in a way she assured herself absolutely reeked of platonic friendship. "I'm not the kind of girl who does this sort of thing," she explained, gesticulating wildly even though she kept almost hitting him in the face. "I mean, you're not even really my type."
"What type is that?" He asked wearily, pushing them both into a sitting position.
"Well I usually date men who I at least get along with. They either have a job or do something terribly exciting. They're usually named something terribly exotic, like Fabio or Armand or Jean-Paul. I mean, think about the very name Ronald. It's not only terribly boring, it suggests boring to the very degree of weird. They dress well, or at the very least dress interestingly. They're usually quite dynamic, and very well read. Ron, you are none of these things. Additionally, you're just out of a relationship, and I don't do rebound guys. I mean date them. Well, I guess I do neither. Or is it don't do both? I'm so confused!" She wailed and buried her head in his shoulder.
"Well, first off, I'm not just getting out of a serious relationship. I was just getting out of a serious relationship a month ago when I asked her to marry me or leave me. I knew she wasn't going to say yes, I just needed to make changes, and I thought that maybe that would help. It didn't, and the whole relationship was absolutely ridiculous in the first place. How can you be in a relationship with someone who won't let you look at them unless they've made sure their appearance is absolutely perfect? You can't. It wasn't going anywhere, it was just something to do. Besides, there wasn't any chemistry there. She was just a pretty thing to hand on my arm until I found who I was really looking for."
She threw her hands up into the air, somehow managing to accidentally clipping him on the back of the head. "Fantastic. I've taken up with a man who wants a trophy girlfriend."
"If you didn't want to have sex with me, then what was with the pathetic 'I can't recall my apartment number, let's have a sleepover at your place?'" He said the last bit with an over-emphasized American accent, while batting his eyelashes.
He probably should have seen the slap across the face coming. "I said apartment, not flat, that proves I was drunk off my ass. You were going to take advantage of a poor inebriated girl."
"Take advantage? Poor inebriated girl?" He scoffed. "You've been around the block more times than my fathers flying Ford!"
"Are you actually completely over Fleur?"
"Yes!" He roared.
"Oh," she said quietly before shouting "102 Green Pine, number four!"
"What?"
"My flat number!" She shouted back at him before pouncing on him and systematically removing all of his clothing.
They'd gone straight for his bedroom. There was no talk of love, no whispered words of uncertainty, no angst-ridden monologues detailing why this was exactly the wrong thing to be doing. For once, there were no owls at the window, no screams in the night. There was nothing to blame it on, not liquor, not illness, not lack of sleep.
There was passion. Passion when he took her mouth with his. Passion when his tongue touched hers and her hands grabbed at his neck to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. Passion, like an explosion behind Ginny's eyes, like the ocean beating at rocks on the shore, then crashing back to the sea.
There was possession. Possession in her unquenched need to be better, more worthy of his love than any of his other lovers, real or imagined. Possession in his kiss, upon every inch of her skin, his need to brand her flesh with his flesh, to make her really and truly his. Possession as their heartbeats raced out of control, but beat in perfect synchronicity with each other.
There was need. Need in her eyes as they locked on his, searching for a mirror of her own soul. Need in his heart to make this last forever. Need in their hunger to be so close that nothing on earth could distinguish between the two of them, and nothing in heaven could take them apart. Need like the need to breath, to live, to die.
There was tenderness. Tenderness as he kissed the corners of her eyes, as he called out her name in a hoarse, husky whisper. Tenderness as he cherished her in every way humanly possible. Tenderness that made her weep with the sheer volumes it spoke about him.
And finally, there was relief. Sheer glorious relief that came with the fulfillment of their desires so long denied. Relief in the ending of the great insufferable rift that had hung between them. They collapsed in a sweaty tangled heap.
Glin lay naked with her head smushed flat into Ron's chest. She was out of breath, almost panting, and perspiring like a madwoman. Her eyes kept blurring in and out of focus, and for some reason she couldn't quite fathom, there was a rubber arrow stuck to her rear. She tilted her head to look up at Ron. "Have we gone completely insane?"
He chuckled. "It would explain the arrow."
"I mean this is..."
"Incredibly satisfying," he finished.
"I was going to say 'highly irregular,' or possibly even 'the product of a parallel universe, which has merged with ours, creating a rift in some space time continuum.'" She said pointedly. "I mean, for fuck's sake, everything is going to be all awkward now."
"Why?"
"Because we had sex, and we can't even stand each other. Ron, we've taken a relationship we don't even have to the proverbial 'next level.' And quite frankly, I think a great majority of the world agrees with me when I say that is fucked up on so many levels, I can't even fathom how truly fucked up it is."
"Actually, we have sex, not had sex," he corrected her as he beeped her on the nose affectionately. "And I can more than stand you."
"Don't do that! Don't... beep my nose! We don't do that Ron! We make rude, petty comments about each other, and bicker uncontrollably! We don't do cute little affectionate gestures like nose beeping! And you cannot stand me!" She ranted in exasperation. "And rest assured, we don't 'have' sex, because we are not having it again.
"I beg to differ. I actually find some of your little quirks quite endearing," he said, beeping her nose again.
"Like what, and you'll stop that if you don't want to pull back a bloody stump."
"Well there's the way you call things by the wrong name when you're preoccupied, like when you ordered a tea and a cookie instead of a biscuit at that cafe a few days ago... and I like the way you get all nattered up at people, like you did with Fleur, only it's much cuter when you're nattered up at me about something silly like nose beeping. And I absolutely adore the little sound you make when I nibble at the inside of your elbow."
"You can't base a relationship on sex and unwelcome nose beeping, Ron."
"So fuck the relationship. Let's just shag, and nose beep and occasionally be around each other when we can stand it."
"For some reason, that makes perfect sense. Let's not tell other people though. It might make their heads explode. I'm taking a shower now." She hopped off of him, perfectly content with the resolution and now talking about a completely different subject. Ron found this to be extremely weird, but not without it's appeal.
"Fine, I'll just get into bed then. It's only two or so, I suppose I could still get some sleep."
"You're not going to take a shower with me?"
"If we do that we'll just spend the whole time being dirty, and then the hot water will run out, and the water'll be all cold when we want to clean up afterwards..."
"Ron, you silly sonofabitch, that's half the fun!"
Draco lay with his eyes open, Ginny curled on his chest, her eyelids drooping as she fell into sleep.
"I love you," she murmured. His body tensed, and she turned her head to look up at him. His eyes had gone all glittery and hurtful again. She leaned up and kissed him tenderly, until they went all soft shimmery silver again. She put her hand to his mouth. "I know you won't say it back. I'm honestly not sure you'll ever say it to anyone but Marigold. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you make anything about this dirty. Because it's not, and we both know it." She settled her head back onto his chest and fell asleep to rhythm of his hand stroking her hair.
When Draco woke, his bed was empty.