Legend
Chapter XVI: Games People Play
by Marie McKinnon
Hogsmeade was fresh and green for the first time since Spring Holiday. A pale yellow sun warmed the students as they roamed the village happily, laughing and shouting to their friends. Most of them wore their more comfortable Muggle clothes, though some could be found sporting the black robes that marked them as mages-in-training. Ginny was one of these, hiding her very skimpy ensemble beneath the swath of black fabric. She grinned at all of the staring boys, tossing her head and allowing the fiery mass to cascade down her back. Good looks could be used as weapons, she realized, to torture those who were captivated by them.
Draco stood alone by the side of the road, clearly in pain. She must be doing this on purpose, he thought. She wants to hurt everyone, and she's doing it right. None of us can resist that hair, that walk, or those eyes. We're crawling along behind her, like dogs on her leash, drooling and watching those legs take step after confident step forwards. His mind writhed. He'd been tortured by so many dreams of her, of being milimeters above her lips and then waking up. They were patterned with the dream-girl and her figure, her perfection, until he could hardly tell one from the other. Her words--or were they Ginny's words?-- were racing around the empty places in his mind, chasing each other into corners and permanently branding themselves into his memory.
A growl by his ear shook him out of his reveries. "Don't think about it. She's mine."
"Like she was the last time, right, Potter?" He grinned malevolently.
"Oh, she's mine, all right," Harry said. "Every night she's come into the common room wearing indescribably form-fitting clothes and has sat down next to me. That says something. She likes me as much as I like her, and when she walks this way, she'll stop and come over."
Despite the Gryffindor's hope, Ginny walked right past them, not even acknowledging their presence. Draco was struck again by her beauty. She even made the Hogwarts robes look good, and they were designed to look awful on everyone. His smirk made Harry furious, angry enough to pound that twisted, cocky smile into the ground.
"She'll stop and come over, will she, Potter? I think you've been proved wrong once more."
He seethed in silence, plotting revenge. On Malfoy, that is. What he had in mind for Ginny was a fantasy he cherished in hope of finally getting his own room and getting her in it.
*
"Right, Slytherins versus Gryffindors. If you refuse to answer a question or do what you're dared, you're out. You leave once you get out. Agreed?"
"Agreed," chorused the group. It had come, as all of these stories must, to the inevitable game of Truth or Dare. The Gryffindors insisted that they would win, while the Slytherins disagreed loudly and maliciously. Whoever won received bragging rights over the opposite House for the rest of the year.
Early in the game, a Slytherin asked Ginny if she was wearing normal clothes under her robes. A calm glare and a cool answer in the affirmative earned her the dare to take off the robes so everyone could see what she was wearing.
"If you insist," she said, peeling off the black material. Her slightly tan skin glowed against the white of her tight halter top. Draco grinned, unaware that he was doing it. So that was what Potter had meant by form-fitting clothes. She could come sit next to him anytime she wore that. By then Ron was out, having been dared to kiss Pansy Parkinson, which he would not do on any condition.
"Potter," Thomas Nott said. "Would you mind telling the group what first comes to mind when you think of Miss Weasley over there?"
"I would mind," he growled, " but I'll do it anyway. Probably how much I'd love to do certain things that would have to be censored from this conversation with her. Other than that, that I've never seen anyone as drop-dead gorgeous as she is."
Finally, all of the Slytherins but Thomas and Draco were out. Ginny remained as the sole Gryffindor.
"I've an idea," Nott said, and whispered an extensive plan into his friend's ear. A pinkish tinge appeared in Draco's cheeks, but his smile was unmistakable.
Ginny was sprawled on the grass, legs stretched out in front of her. The sudden touch of two cold fingers gave her shivers. They ran up one of her legs, then past her waist, and up her ribs, catching folds of white cloth and bringing the bottom of her shirt up. His eyes were locked on hers, and he knew that this was what he'd been dreaming of. She sat there, letting him, and staring right into his intense, metallic gaze. Pinpoints of ice traced the curve of her neck, savoring the contact that scorched them so unbearably that he couldn't keep hold of her for one more second. His fingers slid into the air deliberately.
"Well," she said, breaking the tangible silence that stretched between them. Her hope that he would carry through with his plan of kissing her had swollen to a dream, haunting her at night with his halt right above her mouth. She couldn't pretend she didn't shiver when he touched her or that his eyes didn't send a creeping sensation of warmth and flattery when she found them focused on her. "Nott, either you tell me why you dared him to do that or you leave."
"See you later, then," he said. Once he was out of earshot, the game resumed.
The words popped out of Draco's mouth before he thought them. "If I gave you the stars, what would you give me in return?"
Ginny's smile became predatory. Her favorite quote rose to the surface of her mind, waiting for her to take the initiative, and she did. It had caught her attention when she'd first read it, both from the situation and the power conveyed by the strategically placed words. Unfolding so elegantly that she could have been a feline instead of a human, she stood, assuming a position that displayed her profile, dark eyes, and long legs. She saw him swallow, but felt his eyes rove over her from top to bottom.
The smile became more pronounced as her voice reverberated through the clearing. "I think you know what I can promise you--sensations you are only dimly aware of--ecstasy, mounting, growing, swelling, bursting, endless and no satiety, no end until you know the crucifixion of love, and scream for the cross, and help to drive the nails, while every nerve, every white, writhing nerve, joins the demonic and whips itself to a rage of exulting and raging passion. You lick your lips. You think you know. What you know is only a whisper beside the pandemonium I promise you."
His breaths came quick and rough. She was the dream-girl. It seemed that the voice of this avenging angel held more earth-shattering power than he'd ever imagined. To hold that power in his arms and bury himself in it, to immerse himself in the aching, fierce beauty that wrapped her in its glory. He stared, gaped, swallowed to wet his dry mouth. And she knew. Her confident smile told him that she knew she had won, because after that speech, he couldn't keep his mind out of the gutter.
Her power faded a bit as she became the gorgeous, skilled fifth year he had dreamed about. "Now," she said, smiling as viciously as a wolf, "I dare you to do what you're thinking of." It was apparent that she thought she would win, because he wouldn't dare do what she knew he was thinking.
She was wrong. "Have you any idea how dangerous that could be?" He asked, regaining his composure. "I could have been thinking about destroying Hogwarts, killing Potter, the Mudblood, and your brother with one curse, raping, then killing you, or even destroying myself. What would I have done if I'd been thinking one of those things?"
"You would have done it," she said coolly, waiting for his refusal.
"I would have," he repeated, nodding. "You may consider yourself unlucky that I wasn't thinking of doing those things, because what I was thinking of will give me such pleasure that it will become my dream to re-create the moment. You, however, will scream and beat against your mind in an effort to escape. But it won't work, because you can't stop me."
By now he had backed her against a tall tree with smooth, worn bark. He didn't see the tree. All he saw was her face. Her smile was gone, replaced by a bland expression of disbelief. Lips quirked into a smirk, she let him look at her, and saw what he was going to do before he did it.
Her smirk disappeared under the controlled, forceful impact of his mouth. Long fingers descended to her waist, where they drew her scorching heat closer to his torso. Legs became a knot, and she stumbled, clinging to his shirt for balance. He took this chance to pull her closer. If he'd thought that he couldn't have been burned more by contact with her, he was wrong. His lips were on fire, dancing across her face and over her mouth. Fireworks exploded in Draco's head, telling him that he would need to breathe sometime soon. He did so quickly, returning to those soft, flaming lips that tasted of chocolate and mint.
She gasped for breath, shocked by the intensity of his kiss. Leaving her mouth half open, Ginny actually allowed his hands to lace all over her back and waist, sending prickles of cold where they'd been. In that half second that her mouth had been open, he'd slid his tongue into her mouth, sandpapering the humid cavern and learning every detail of it. She decided that he shouldn't have to do all the work and curled her tongue around his, unprepared for his returning grip. Her arms went around his neck, almost buried in his white-blond hair. She was chilled to the marrow from the icy shivers her body absorbed from his skin.
Two things hit him at once, neither of which was Ginny's fist (for which he was very thankful). She hadn't tried to murder him, and she was kissing him back. A moan of pleasure escaped his lips. It hurt to have her, but such an ecstatic pain that he craved it. He captured her mouth again, delving deeper and forcing her to the ground. She writhed under his frigid touch, a cold that sent jolts of electricity through her veins. Those pinpoints of frost crept under her shirt, exploring her flat stomach and the lower ribs. Her breath hissed out in an almost-groan as she glued herself to him. His fingers crept lower, to her hips and legs, spreading the cold.
After thirty minutes, during which both of them retained their clothes, he peeled himself off of her mouth with a sigh. She was flat on her back on the ground, hair dishevelled, and breathing hard. He was still over top of her, arms length above with his palms supporting his weight. He wanted to say something, but all he could think of was 'd***, is she good.'
"What," came Ginny's flat voice, "was that?"
Draco smirked and traced the outline of her face with his index finger. "That was me trying to demonstrate that I am horribly infatuated with you."
"You demonstrated all right," she said, still chilled.
"Don't pretend, Ginny. I won't believe you if you say you didn't enjoy that, because I know you did. You-- you're glowing," he finished weakly. And she was. Her silver haze was resting on her skin, bathing her in its glow.
"So are you," she replied calmly. So there was her answer. That was why he--and presumably Harry-- was drawn to her. It was the magic they all had that gave her that sense of power and the magnetism to have Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter want her so badly.
He rolled off and sat up in the grass, running a hand through his rumpled hair. "That quote," he said finally. "Where did it come from?"
"The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights, by John Steinbeck. It was the part where Morgan was seducing Lancelot."
"Right, Morgan and Lancelot. Anything about Arthur in that part?"
"No. Hold on, you're not trying to say that I'm related to Morgan, are you? Because someone's already asked me that, and it's not true."
He ran his hand through his hair again. "Have you heard that old Muggle story about Arthur's return?"
"Yes." She rolled her eyes. "Everyone's heard that. It was prophesied by a witch that if Arthur came again, it would be to save England when it was in horrible trouble. I think she also said that if the legend were re-written something really important would happen."
"Tell me, in the story, did Morgan's seduction work on Lancelot?"
"No," she said with conviction. "He was in love with Guinivere."
"Then we've already started re-writing the legend. I know I've got to be Lancelot, because I've been having these dreams about what just happened. Potter's probably dreaming about Excalibur. What're yours?"
"Morgan's opal, I think. I don't really need it."
"What do you mean, 'I don't really need it?' She couldn't do very much magic without her opal."
"I can."
He stared. No one, he repeated, no one could do magic without their wand. Especially not a petite fifteen-year-old who, he found himself thinking, was definitely equal to Morgan in her power. Maybe even stronger.
She sat up and tried to tame her curls with a few hand combings. It didn't work. Sighing and nervously pulling down the hem of her shirt, she turned over the recent events. It was amazing how he had gone from a lusty teenage boy to a scholar in a matter of seconds. His apparent comfort with the Arthurian legend was reassuring, but he was staring at her as though she'd suddenly grown horns.
"Show me," he said quietly. He wouldn't believe that she could do what she indicated until he had solid proof.
Ginny had to think a moment before she came up with a spell. Not really a spell, but an exercise she'd been working on from one of the towers, it involved shaping her magic outside of her body. With little effort, a perfect sphere balanced on her index finger. Luminescent, glittering with scintilla of magic, it sent off the unmistakable sense of skill that its creater emanated. Slowly, deliberately, it rose above her head. She wasn't even focused on it. Her eyes were on Draco's and her hands were on her hips.
The glowing orb left a trail of sparks in the air above Ginny's head. It hovered at the same height as the tree, then exploded into a shower of light particles that blazed and landed in her hair, burning with magic that didn't catch anything on fire. His mouth hung open. She had done it with such ease that it could have been any ordinary task, like tying her shoes or brushing her teeth. Most sorcerers had to stare at their magic to get it to do anything, and even Morgan had pointed at things. She had done neither, and stood, basking in the glow of her success, without any sign of exertion.
She reached out and shut his mouth with the light shove upwards of her crooked index finger. "Believe me now?"
He rubbed his jaw where the very finger that had upheld the ball of light had touched him. "Holy crap" was all he could say. "How the hell did you do that?"
"I can't explain it. I just did." She shrugged, as though those sorts of things happened to her every day. "And what was that about the legend already having been re-written? Nothing's happened yet."
"Weasley, if that wasn't seduction, I don't know the meaning of the word. Even if you weren't trying to affect me, it sure as hell worked." He looked slightly bitter, like he didn't want to admit that he'd fallen for someone. "Anyway, as long as you don't let Potter--erm--do anything, there will be no Sir Mordred to worry about, and then his reign won't be disrupted."
Ginny went red at the mention of Sir Mordred. "You have a point. I don't plan on letting that b****** get anywhere near enough to do that, so worry not, Sir Best Knight. No one shall steal me from your arms."
"Not for lack of trying," he responded. It was all part of the game, but he planned on winning.
Disclaimer: Oohh! She chose, and now poor Harry's left in the dust. Good riddance, I say. He was way too cocky and deserved a comeuppance. This is supposed to be a disclaimer, right? Mighty JKR owns everybody, and Sir Thomas Malory and John Steinbeck own the Arthurian legend. Next chapter: they come up with a unique way to publicize their relationship. REVIEW OR NO MORE MAGIC HAPPENS AT THIS KEYBOARD!
Chapter XVI: Games People Play
by Marie McKinnon
Hogsmeade was fresh and green for the first time since Spring Holiday. A pale yellow sun warmed the students as they roamed the village happily, laughing and shouting to their friends. Most of them wore their more comfortable Muggle clothes, though some could be found sporting the black robes that marked them as mages-in-training. Ginny was one of these, hiding her very skimpy ensemble beneath the swath of black fabric. She grinned at all of the staring boys, tossing her head and allowing the fiery mass to cascade down her back. Good looks could be used as weapons, she realized, to torture those who were captivated by them.
Draco stood alone by the side of the road, clearly in pain. She must be doing this on purpose, he thought. She wants to hurt everyone, and she's doing it right. None of us can resist that hair, that walk, or those eyes. We're crawling along behind her, like dogs on her leash, drooling and watching those legs take step after confident step forwards. His mind writhed. He'd been tortured by so many dreams of her, of being milimeters above her lips and then waking up. They were patterned with the dream-girl and her figure, her perfection, until he could hardly tell one from the other. Her words--or were they Ginny's words?-- were racing around the empty places in his mind, chasing each other into corners and permanently branding themselves into his memory.
A growl by his ear shook him out of his reveries. "Don't think about it. She's mine."
"Like she was the last time, right, Potter?" He grinned malevolently.
"Oh, she's mine, all right," Harry said. "Every night she's come into the common room wearing indescribably form-fitting clothes and has sat down next to me. That says something. She likes me as much as I like her, and when she walks this way, she'll stop and come over."
Despite the Gryffindor's hope, Ginny walked right past them, not even acknowledging their presence. Draco was struck again by her beauty. She even made the Hogwarts robes look good, and they were designed to look awful on everyone. His smirk made Harry furious, angry enough to pound that twisted, cocky smile into the ground.
"She'll stop and come over, will she, Potter? I think you've been proved wrong once more."
He seethed in silence, plotting revenge. On Malfoy, that is. What he had in mind for Ginny was a fantasy he cherished in hope of finally getting his own room and getting her in it.
*
"Right, Slytherins versus Gryffindors. If you refuse to answer a question or do what you're dared, you're out. You leave once you get out. Agreed?"
"Agreed," chorused the group. It had come, as all of these stories must, to the inevitable game of Truth or Dare. The Gryffindors insisted that they would win, while the Slytherins disagreed loudly and maliciously. Whoever won received bragging rights over the opposite House for the rest of the year.
Early in the game, a Slytherin asked Ginny if she was wearing normal clothes under her robes. A calm glare and a cool answer in the affirmative earned her the dare to take off the robes so everyone could see what she was wearing.
"If you insist," she said, peeling off the black material. Her slightly tan skin glowed against the white of her tight halter top. Draco grinned, unaware that he was doing it. So that was what Potter had meant by form-fitting clothes. She could come sit next to him anytime she wore that. By then Ron was out, having been dared to kiss Pansy Parkinson, which he would not do on any condition.
"Potter," Thomas Nott said. "Would you mind telling the group what first comes to mind when you think of Miss Weasley over there?"
"I would mind," he growled, " but I'll do it anyway. Probably how much I'd love to do certain things that would have to be censored from this conversation with her. Other than that, that I've never seen anyone as drop-dead gorgeous as she is."
Finally, all of the Slytherins but Thomas and Draco were out. Ginny remained as the sole Gryffindor.
"I've an idea," Nott said, and whispered an extensive plan into his friend's ear. A pinkish tinge appeared in Draco's cheeks, but his smile was unmistakable.
Ginny was sprawled on the grass, legs stretched out in front of her. The sudden touch of two cold fingers gave her shivers. They ran up one of her legs, then past her waist, and up her ribs, catching folds of white cloth and bringing the bottom of her shirt up. His eyes were locked on hers, and he knew that this was what he'd been dreaming of. She sat there, letting him, and staring right into his intense, metallic gaze. Pinpoints of ice traced the curve of her neck, savoring the contact that scorched them so unbearably that he couldn't keep hold of her for one more second. His fingers slid into the air deliberately.
"Well," she said, breaking the tangible silence that stretched between them. Her hope that he would carry through with his plan of kissing her had swollen to a dream, haunting her at night with his halt right above her mouth. She couldn't pretend she didn't shiver when he touched her or that his eyes didn't send a creeping sensation of warmth and flattery when she found them focused on her. "Nott, either you tell me why you dared him to do that or you leave."
"See you later, then," he said. Once he was out of earshot, the game resumed.
The words popped out of Draco's mouth before he thought them. "If I gave you the stars, what would you give me in return?"
Ginny's smile became predatory. Her favorite quote rose to the surface of her mind, waiting for her to take the initiative, and she did. It had caught her attention when she'd first read it, both from the situation and the power conveyed by the strategically placed words. Unfolding so elegantly that she could have been a feline instead of a human, she stood, assuming a position that displayed her profile, dark eyes, and long legs. She saw him swallow, but felt his eyes rove over her from top to bottom.
The smile became more pronounced as her voice reverberated through the clearing. "I think you know what I can promise you--sensations you are only dimly aware of--ecstasy, mounting, growing, swelling, bursting, endless and no satiety, no end until you know the crucifixion of love, and scream for the cross, and help to drive the nails, while every nerve, every white, writhing nerve, joins the demonic and whips itself to a rage of exulting and raging passion. You lick your lips. You think you know. What you know is only a whisper beside the pandemonium I promise you."
His breaths came quick and rough. She was the dream-girl. It seemed that the voice of this avenging angel held more earth-shattering power than he'd ever imagined. To hold that power in his arms and bury himself in it, to immerse himself in the aching, fierce beauty that wrapped her in its glory. He stared, gaped, swallowed to wet his dry mouth. And she knew. Her confident smile told him that she knew she had won, because after that speech, he couldn't keep his mind out of the gutter.
Her power faded a bit as she became the gorgeous, skilled fifth year he had dreamed about. "Now," she said, smiling as viciously as a wolf, "I dare you to do what you're thinking of." It was apparent that she thought she would win, because he wouldn't dare do what she knew he was thinking.
She was wrong. "Have you any idea how dangerous that could be?" He asked, regaining his composure. "I could have been thinking about destroying Hogwarts, killing Potter, the Mudblood, and your brother with one curse, raping, then killing you, or even destroying myself. What would I have done if I'd been thinking one of those things?"
"You would have done it," she said coolly, waiting for his refusal.
"I would have," he repeated, nodding. "You may consider yourself unlucky that I wasn't thinking of doing those things, because what I was thinking of will give me such pleasure that it will become my dream to re-create the moment. You, however, will scream and beat against your mind in an effort to escape. But it won't work, because you can't stop me."
By now he had backed her against a tall tree with smooth, worn bark. He didn't see the tree. All he saw was her face. Her smile was gone, replaced by a bland expression of disbelief. Lips quirked into a smirk, she let him look at her, and saw what he was going to do before he did it.
Her smirk disappeared under the controlled, forceful impact of his mouth. Long fingers descended to her waist, where they drew her scorching heat closer to his torso. Legs became a knot, and she stumbled, clinging to his shirt for balance. He took this chance to pull her closer. If he'd thought that he couldn't have been burned more by contact with her, he was wrong. His lips were on fire, dancing across her face and over her mouth. Fireworks exploded in Draco's head, telling him that he would need to breathe sometime soon. He did so quickly, returning to those soft, flaming lips that tasted of chocolate and mint.
She gasped for breath, shocked by the intensity of his kiss. Leaving her mouth half open, Ginny actually allowed his hands to lace all over her back and waist, sending prickles of cold where they'd been. In that half second that her mouth had been open, he'd slid his tongue into her mouth, sandpapering the humid cavern and learning every detail of it. She decided that he shouldn't have to do all the work and curled her tongue around his, unprepared for his returning grip. Her arms went around his neck, almost buried in his white-blond hair. She was chilled to the marrow from the icy shivers her body absorbed from his skin.
Two things hit him at once, neither of which was Ginny's fist (for which he was very thankful). She hadn't tried to murder him, and she was kissing him back. A moan of pleasure escaped his lips. It hurt to have her, but such an ecstatic pain that he craved it. He captured her mouth again, delving deeper and forcing her to the ground. She writhed under his frigid touch, a cold that sent jolts of electricity through her veins. Those pinpoints of frost crept under her shirt, exploring her flat stomach and the lower ribs. Her breath hissed out in an almost-groan as she glued herself to him. His fingers crept lower, to her hips and legs, spreading the cold.
After thirty minutes, during which both of them retained their clothes, he peeled himself off of her mouth with a sigh. She was flat on her back on the ground, hair dishevelled, and breathing hard. He was still over top of her, arms length above with his palms supporting his weight. He wanted to say something, but all he could think of was 'd***, is she good.'
"What," came Ginny's flat voice, "was that?"
Draco smirked and traced the outline of her face with his index finger. "That was me trying to demonstrate that I am horribly infatuated with you."
"You demonstrated all right," she said, still chilled.
"Don't pretend, Ginny. I won't believe you if you say you didn't enjoy that, because I know you did. You-- you're glowing," he finished weakly. And she was. Her silver haze was resting on her skin, bathing her in its glow.
"So are you," she replied calmly. So there was her answer. That was why he--and presumably Harry-- was drawn to her. It was the magic they all had that gave her that sense of power and the magnetism to have Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter want her so badly.
He rolled off and sat up in the grass, running a hand through his rumpled hair. "That quote," he said finally. "Where did it come from?"
"The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights, by John Steinbeck. It was the part where Morgan was seducing Lancelot."
"Right, Morgan and Lancelot. Anything about Arthur in that part?"
"No. Hold on, you're not trying to say that I'm related to Morgan, are you? Because someone's already asked me that, and it's not true."
He ran his hand through his hair again. "Have you heard that old Muggle story about Arthur's return?"
"Yes." She rolled her eyes. "Everyone's heard that. It was prophesied by a witch that if Arthur came again, it would be to save England when it was in horrible trouble. I think she also said that if the legend were re-written something really important would happen."
"Tell me, in the story, did Morgan's seduction work on Lancelot?"
"No," she said with conviction. "He was in love with Guinivere."
"Then we've already started re-writing the legend. I know I've got to be Lancelot, because I've been having these dreams about what just happened. Potter's probably dreaming about Excalibur. What're yours?"
"Morgan's opal, I think. I don't really need it."
"What do you mean, 'I don't really need it?' She couldn't do very much magic without her opal."
"I can."
He stared. No one, he repeated, no one could do magic without their wand. Especially not a petite fifteen-year-old who, he found himself thinking, was definitely equal to Morgan in her power. Maybe even stronger.
She sat up and tried to tame her curls with a few hand combings. It didn't work. Sighing and nervously pulling down the hem of her shirt, she turned over the recent events. It was amazing how he had gone from a lusty teenage boy to a scholar in a matter of seconds. His apparent comfort with the Arthurian legend was reassuring, but he was staring at her as though she'd suddenly grown horns.
"Show me," he said quietly. He wouldn't believe that she could do what she indicated until he had solid proof.
Ginny had to think a moment before she came up with a spell. Not really a spell, but an exercise she'd been working on from one of the towers, it involved shaping her magic outside of her body. With little effort, a perfect sphere balanced on her index finger. Luminescent, glittering with scintilla of magic, it sent off the unmistakable sense of skill that its creater emanated. Slowly, deliberately, it rose above her head. She wasn't even focused on it. Her eyes were on Draco's and her hands were on her hips.
The glowing orb left a trail of sparks in the air above Ginny's head. It hovered at the same height as the tree, then exploded into a shower of light particles that blazed and landed in her hair, burning with magic that didn't catch anything on fire. His mouth hung open. She had done it with such ease that it could have been any ordinary task, like tying her shoes or brushing her teeth. Most sorcerers had to stare at their magic to get it to do anything, and even Morgan had pointed at things. She had done neither, and stood, basking in the glow of her success, without any sign of exertion.
She reached out and shut his mouth with the light shove upwards of her crooked index finger. "Believe me now?"
He rubbed his jaw where the very finger that had upheld the ball of light had touched him. "Holy crap" was all he could say. "How the hell did you do that?"
"I can't explain it. I just did." She shrugged, as though those sorts of things happened to her every day. "And what was that about the legend already having been re-written? Nothing's happened yet."
"Weasley, if that wasn't seduction, I don't know the meaning of the word. Even if you weren't trying to affect me, it sure as hell worked." He looked slightly bitter, like he didn't want to admit that he'd fallen for someone. "Anyway, as long as you don't let Potter--erm--do anything, there will be no Sir Mordred to worry about, and then his reign won't be disrupted."
Ginny went red at the mention of Sir Mordred. "You have a point. I don't plan on letting that b****** get anywhere near enough to do that, so worry not, Sir Best Knight. No one shall steal me from your arms."
"Not for lack of trying," he responded. It was all part of the game, but he planned on winning.
Disclaimer: Oohh! She chose, and now poor Harry's left in the dust. Good riddance, I say. He was way too cocky and deserved a comeuppance. This is supposed to be a disclaimer, right? Mighty JKR owns everybody, and Sir Thomas Malory and John Steinbeck own the Arthurian legend. Next chapter: they come up with a unique way to publicize their relationship. REVIEW OR NO MORE MAGIC HAPPENS AT THIS KEYBOARD!