Legend
Chapter IV: Fitness
by Marie McKinnon
Ginny shrugged into her fitness uniform as quickly as possible so she could escape the
glare of Pansy Parkinson. Frances' clothes must've been much too small for her, she thought,
self-consciously pulling the shorts down to cover more of her thighs. Oh well. Let 'em stare.
She rubbed her eyes tiredly, trying to make sense of her night. Of all things, a nightmare about a
stone. For all it was worth, it had been an opal, but it was still just a stone. Then she'd woken up
and had been-- there was no other word for it --glowing. A silvery sheen had played over her
skin, then sunk into her blood. She felt it tingle for a few seconds, wondering why it gave her a
sense of immeasurable power, and sat up for half an hour staring at her hands. The opal burned
in her mind. It was connected to the glow and her power somehow. That was for advanced
mages to worry about. She just had to get through fitness.
Gin stepped out of the locker room feigning confidence. Whatever happened, she would
*not* let Malfoy--or any other Slytherin-- embarrass her. Head held erect, she strode across the
field to wait on the track while the teacher and other students caught up. She wasn't one to waste
time, so she began to stretch. The previous night's fury had tightened her muscles, which wasn't
the best thing if she were going to show everyone what was what. As she bent to touch her toes,
she felt a pair of eyes on her back. She spun rapidly, meeting the gaze of none other than Draco
Malfoy. Now that she was facing him, his eyes roved from hers to her feet, making her redden.
She tossed her head, allowing a cascade of fiery curls to be flung into the warm September air.
Still flustered and attempting to maintain a cool appearance, she stalked away.
"D***," he whispered to himself in appreciation of the newly transformed youngest
Weasely. His eyes had taken in every line and curve of her figure and liked what they'd seen.
The face wasn't bad either, he found. Mahogany eyes framed by long lashes perched above a
perfect, straight nose and a full mouth with lips the color of rose petals. Then there was the rest
of her. Very slim, well proportioned, flat stomach, nice curves, and those *legs*-- he knew he
was still staring but couldn't stop.
"No wonder Potter wants her," a voice said by his ear. It was Thomas Nott, another sixth
year Slytherin who became Malfoy's saviour in terms of intelligent conversation. Crabbe and
Goyle were all very well when it came to protection, but their conversational skills were
nonexistent.
He tore his gaze away from the small Gryffindor to splutter "WHAT?!" Had it been
anyone other than Ginny, he would have been taken aback at the use of the word 'wants' instead
of 'fancies,' but it made more sense to say 'Potter wants her' than ' Potter fancies her' for some
reason.
"They had a run-in last night. Caused a row in the Gryffindor common room, I think."
"And?"
Thomas shrugged. "He tried to snog her, but she flipped him onto his back."
"I thought she fancied him," Draco said, looking once more at Ginny and trying to
fathom that the petite, delicate sprite had been able to flip a determined teenage boy who was
twice her size.
"Apparently not." A grim smile played around the edges of his mouth. "I've heard her
brother is rather upset as well." This fact didn't register with Draco, who was still gazing raptly
at her. "You've a chance, for all it's worth."
"A chance at what?"
"At her. If she won't have Potter, she might very well have you."
His silvery eyes looked Ginny over again. "I can't believe this. She's drop-dead
gorgeous." A predatory look passed over his face. "And she'll be mine."
"You might want to initiate them, then."
Crabbe and Goyle had noticed the stranger in their midst and were circling their 'prey'
like vultures. White-blond hair flying, the crusader dashed over to rescue his beautiful damsel in
distress. He snaked an arm around her tiny waist and pulled her away from the scavengers. It
took all of his control not to do as he'd done in his dream and run his fingers up the side of one
of her perfect, perfect legs to learn what she felt like. She's not the dream girl, he told himself.
Too naive. She'd never have the confidence to even consider saying what the dream-person said.
Well, she'll do for now. Her slim fingers twined with his, but not in a gentle manner. Using
every ounce of her strength, Ginny pried the elegantly long digits off of her waist. Even
afterwards she shivered where he'd touched her.
"I wouldn't do that again if I were you," she suggested lightly.
His fingers tingled where she'd touched them. "Or what? You'll flip me like you did
Potter?"
"I might," she said with a slow wolf's smile that showed pearly white teeth. "I just
might."
*
"Mr. Malfoy." A crisp voice cut through the air. "As you seem so eager to compete with
Miss Weasley, why don't you two be volunteers for our first exercise? In a series of athletic
events we're going to determine which of you is in better shape." A malevolent look came into
his eyes. He was tall and lean, very fit, with strong features and a well muscled body. There was
no question who was more athletic. He would win hands down. Easy and graceful for all his
power, Draco walked confidently to the starting point. "You'll begin with those hurdles," the
professor added, "then continue to the balance beam. You must break contact at least once while
on the beam or you'll be required to begin again. Finish by climbing to the top of that rope.
Go!"
Almost before he'd moved Ginny was over the first hurdle. She leapt like a deer and was
loping forwards the very milisecond her first foot hit the ground. Not to be outdone, he sprinted
forwards and immediately tumbled to the ground. Determination not to let a young Gryffindor
prove him inadequate brought him up like a shot. He'd almost caught up when his adversary
reached the balance beam. The grace she'd shown while running hadn't vanished with the added
height. He watched, captivated, as she practically danced across the three-inch wide beam, took
her mandatory leap with a split, and cartwheeled off.
Red curls, whipped by the wind, streamed out behind her as she took stride after relaxed
stride towards the climbing rope, which she scaled with ease. A triumphant grin flashed in
Malfoy's direction as Professor Finmore dashed over with congratulations.
"Brava! Brava! That was lovely! Thirty points to Slytherin!"
"Excuse me, Professor?" Ginny spat. "I'm a Gryffindor!"
"I beg your pardon. I had no idea. Thirty points to Gryffindor, then. Mr. Malfoy, I
suggest you study with Miss Weasley from now on, at least for this class. You don't object to
sharing your fitness expertise with Malfoy in private, do you, Weasley?"
Laughing eyes bore into hers as she replied with gritted teeth "Oh no, not at all,
Professor."
*
Harry walked past the Slytherin table at dinner and was unnerved to see that his arch-nemesis's intense stare was focused on Ginny's red-gold hair and slender waist.
Aggression surged over him. "Don't even think about it," he hissed to Malfoy. "She's
*mine*."
"Prove it," Malfoy returned angrily.
He slid into an empty seat next to Ginny and put a strong, muscled arm around her waist.
She stiffened visibly.
"Play along," he muttered as he nuzzled her ear. "I need to prove something to Malfoy."
"What're you proving?" She asked furiously, clenching her hands into fists to prevent
from punching him while he kissed her neck repeatedly.
Draco's blood boiled. He didn't have anything to do with her, but the sight of Potter
kissing her neck and being so blessed close to her made him unbelievably angry. For God's
sake, Potter was holding her above the hips and not moving his mouth from where it had first
landed on the beautiful curve of her slender neck. All his muscles were taut; he could feel his
jaw clench.
"That you're mine," Harry replied in a husky whisper, pulling her into a standing position
and running his frantic lips over the line of her chin. He could feel her back become tense and
the muscles tighten. Relax, he told her in his head, just let me relax you...
He took a risk and brushed his mouth over hers lightly, coming away from the soft skin
reluctantly. It drew him back for a deep, forceful kiss, but instead of touching her sweet, sweet
lips, he hit something else...
POW
...her fist. A trickle of blood meandered down his chin as Ginny towered above his fallen
form, eyes blazing with a fire brighter than that of her hair.
"I'm yours, am I? Well, you're *dead* if you try that one more time, Potter."
A voice barely keeping very tight control of its disapproval spoke from behind her.
"Miss Weasley," McGonagall said. "Whatever prompted you to hit Potter? I imagine you're
quite close."
"That," Ginny replied coolly, "was entirely the problem. Unfortunately, he seems to be
unable to understand that I would rather anyone else in his year grab me around the waist and do
what he did than he himself."
"What did he do?"
"I imagine he's quite capable of telling you that. I mean no disrespect, Professor, but I
hope he learns that I do not want to be played with." With that, she turned on her heel and
marched out of the room, feeling the laughing eyes of Draco Malfoy all the way out.
Disclaimer: Hahaha! Now she's got Malfoy on her tail. Not mine at all, okay? Coming
soon: their first private practise. What's he going to do to her? Find out next time, but if you
don't review there won't be a next time!
Chapter IV: Fitness
by Marie McKinnon
Ginny shrugged into her fitness uniform as quickly as possible so she could escape the
glare of Pansy Parkinson. Frances' clothes must've been much too small for her, she thought,
self-consciously pulling the shorts down to cover more of her thighs. Oh well. Let 'em stare.
She rubbed her eyes tiredly, trying to make sense of her night. Of all things, a nightmare about a
stone. For all it was worth, it had been an opal, but it was still just a stone. Then she'd woken up
and had been-- there was no other word for it --glowing. A silvery sheen had played over her
skin, then sunk into her blood. She felt it tingle for a few seconds, wondering why it gave her a
sense of immeasurable power, and sat up for half an hour staring at her hands. The opal burned
in her mind. It was connected to the glow and her power somehow. That was for advanced
mages to worry about. She just had to get through fitness.
Gin stepped out of the locker room feigning confidence. Whatever happened, she would
*not* let Malfoy--or any other Slytherin-- embarrass her. Head held erect, she strode across the
field to wait on the track while the teacher and other students caught up. She wasn't one to waste
time, so she began to stretch. The previous night's fury had tightened her muscles, which wasn't
the best thing if she were going to show everyone what was what. As she bent to touch her toes,
she felt a pair of eyes on her back. She spun rapidly, meeting the gaze of none other than Draco
Malfoy. Now that she was facing him, his eyes roved from hers to her feet, making her redden.
She tossed her head, allowing a cascade of fiery curls to be flung into the warm September air.
Still flustered and attempting to maintain a cool appearance, she stalked away.
"D***," he whispered to himself in appreciation of the newly transformed youngest
Weasely. His eyes had taken in every line and curve of her figure and liked what they'd seen.
The face wasn't bad either, he found. Mahogany eyes framed by long lashes perched above a
perfect, straight nose and a full mouth with lips the color of rose petals. Then there was the rest
of her. Very slim, well proportioned, flat stomach, nice curves, and those *legs*-- he knew he
was still staring but couldn't stop.
"No wonder Potter wants her," a voice said by his ear. It was Thomas Nott, another sixth
year Slytherin who became Malfoy's saviour in terms of intelligent conversation. Crabbe and
Goyle were all very well when it came to protection, but their conversational skills were
nonexistent.
He tore his gaze away from the small Gryffindor to splutter "WHAT?!" Had it been
anyone other than Ginny, he would have been taken aback at the use of the word 'wants' instead
of 'fancies,' but it made more sense to say 'Potter wants her' than ' Potter fancies her' for some
reason.
"They had a run-in last night. Caused a row in the Gryffindor common room, I think."
"And?"
Thomas shrugged. "He tried to snog her, but she flipped him onto his back."
"I thought she fancied him," Draco said, looking once more at Ginny and trying to
fathom that the petite, delicate sprite had been able to flip a determined teenage boy who was
twice her size.
"Apparently not." A grim smile played around the edges of his mouth. "I've heard her
brother is rather upset as well." This fact didn't register with Draco, who was still gazing raptly
at her. "You've a chance, for all it's worth."
"A chance at what?"
"At her. If she won't have Potter, she might very well have you."
His silvery eyes looked Ginny over again. "I can't believe this. She's drop-dead
gorgeous." A predatory look passed over his face. "And she'll be mine."
"You might want to initiate them, then."
Crabbe and Goyle had noticed the stranger in their midst and were circling their 'prey'
like vultures. White-blond hair flying, the crusader dashed over to rescue his beautiful damsel in
distress. He snaked an arm around her tiny waist and pulled her away from the scavengers. It
took all of his control not to do as he'd done in his dream and run his fingers up the side of one
of her perfect, perfect legs to learn what she felt like. She's not the dream girl, he told himself.
Too naive. She'd never have the confidence to even consider saying what the dream-person said.
Well, she'll do for now. Her slim fingers twined with his, but not in a gentle manner. Using
every ounce of her strength, Ginny pried the elegantly long digits off of her waist. Even
afterwards she shivered where he'd touched her.
"I wouldn't do that again if I were you," she suggested lightly.
His fingers tingled where she'd touched them. "Or what? You'll flip me like you did
Potter?"
"I might," she said with a slow wolf's smile that showed pearly white teeth. "I just
might."
*
"Mr. Malfoy." A crisp voice cut through the air. "As you seem so eager to compete with
Miss Weasley, why don't you two be volunteers for our first exercise? In a series of athletic
events we're going to determine which of you is in better shape." A malevolent look came into
his eyes. He was tall and lean, very fit, with strong features and a well muscled body. There was
no question who was more athletic. He would win hands down. Easy and graceful for all his
power, Draco walked confidently to the starting point. "You'll begin with those hurdles," the
professor added, "then continue to the balance beam. You must break contact at least once while
on the beam or you'll be required to begin again. Finish by climbing to the top of that rope.
Go!"
Almost before he'd moved Ginny was over the first hurdle. She leapt like a deer and was
loping forwards the very milisecond her first foot hit the ground. Not to be outdone, he sprinted
forwards and immediately tumbled to the ground. Determination not to let a young Gryffindor
prove him inadequate brought him up like a shot. He'd almost caught up when his adversary
reached the balance beam. The grace she'd shown while running hadn't vanished with the added
height. He watched, captivated, as she practically danced across the three-inch wide beam, took
her mandatory leap with a split, and cartwheeled off.
Red curls, whipped by the wind, streamed out behind her as she took stride after relaxed
stride towards the climbing rope, which she scaled with ease. A triumphant grin flashed in
Malfoy's direction as Professor Finmore dashed over with congratulations.
"Brava! Brava! That was lovely! Thirty points to Slytherin!"
"Excuse me, Professor?" Ginny spat. "I'm a Gryffindor!"
"I beg your pardon. I had no idea. Thirty points to Gryffindor, then. Mr. Malfoy, I
suggest you study with Miss Weasley from now on, at least for this class. You don't object to
sharing your fitness expertise with Malfoy in private, do you, Weasley?"
Laughing eyes bore into hers as she replied with gritted teeth "Oh no, not at all,
Professor."
*
Harry walked past the Slytherin table at dinner and was unnerved to see that his arch-nemesis's intense stare was focused on Ginny's red-gold hair and slender waist.
Aggression surged over him. "Don't even think about it," he hissed to Malfoy. "She's
*mine*."
"Prove it," Malfoy returned angrily.
He slid into an empty seat next to Ginny and put a strong, muscled arm around her waist.
She stiffened visibly.
"Play along," he muttered as he nuzzled her ear. "I need to prove something to Malfoy."
"What're you proving?" She asked furiously, clenching her hands into fists to prevent
from punching him while he kissed her neck repeatedly.
Draco's blood boiled. He didn't have anything to do with her, but the sight of Potter
kissing her neck and being so blessed close to her made him unbelievably angry. For God's
sake, Potter was holding her above the hips and not moving his mouth from where it had first
landed on the beautiful curve of her slender neck. All his muscles were taut; he could feel his
jaw clench.
"That you're mine," Harry replied in a husky whisper, pulling her into a standing position
and running his frantic lips over the line of her chin. He could feel her back become tense and
the muscles tighten. Relax, he told her in his head, just let me relax you...
He took a risk and brushed his mouth over hers lightly, coming away from the soft skin
reluctantly. It drew him back for a deep, forceful kiss, but instead of touching her sweet, sweet
lips, he hit something else...
POW
...her fist. A trickle of blood meandered down his chin as Ginny towered above his fallen
form, eyes blazing with a fire brighter than that of her hair.
"I'm yours, am I? Well, you're *dead* if you try that one more time, Potter."
A voice barely keeping very tight control of its disapproval spoke from behind her.
"Miss Weasley," McGonagall said. "Whatever prompted you to hit Potter? I imagine you're
quite close."
"That," Ginny replied coolly, "was entirely the problem. Unfortunately, he seems to be
unable to understand that I would rather anyone else in his year grab me around the waist and do
what he did than he himself."
"What did he do?"
"I imagine he's quite capable of telling you that. I mean no disrespect, Professor, but I
hope he learns that I do not want to be played with." With that, she turned on her heel and
marched out of the room, feeling the laughing eyes of Draco Malfoy all the way out.
Disclaimer: Hahaha! Now she's got Malfoy on her tail. Not mine at all, okay? Coming
soon: their first private practise. What's he going to do to her? Find out next time, but if you
don't review there won't be a next time!