AN: A few of you have asked about formatting holding here at ff.net -- here's what I do: I write in Word, then I save my work as an HTML file in Word, then upload that saved file as html to ff.net. I've never had a problem w/it not saving the formatting. Thanks everyone for all the kind words, they've really meant a lot. :) I hope you continue to enjoy the ride!

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Chapter 6: Any Given Quidditch Match

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The mornings before big Quidditch games, Ginny thought, were almost always colder than any other day of the year.

There was such a chill in the air that she could see her breath as she hurried along the massive grounds at Hogwarts. She thought about doing some sort of warmth charm, but Professor Dumbledore frowned upon that sort of thing. He always encouraged the students to be as self-sufficient as they possibly could without using magic. It built character, he claimed.

Albus Dumbledore cared about each and every student at Hogwarts and it showed in the little things. He came to every Quidditch match, bundled in his heavy velvet robes and overcoat to combat the frigid temperature.

Ginny buried her face further into the collar of her own coat, hurriedly making her way down to the lake where she was supposed to meet Draco. His Majesty, as she'd begun to think of him sarcastically, had summoned her via the owl his mother had bought him for Christmas last year. It was an odd note, as though he'd gone through some trouble to make sure no one but her would understand it:

Meet me where I first kissed you. Eleven o'clock, before the match. Don't be late.

D.M.

Only Draco, she sighed, could make her catch her breath with his first sentence, and cause her to scowl with his last. Of course she had no intention of being late, because she'd already ticked him off enough this week as it was. She hoped her penance for the sweaters wouldn't be too humiliating.

Hoped, that is, but wasn't holding her visible breath.

Just before a person reached the lake, there was a small hill you had to climb; one that, if you were to lay on top of it, flat to the ground, you could observe the whole of the lake below without being easily observed by anyone near the water. And so, even though it was blindingly cold, when Ginny saw Draco down by the water, his back to her, she was seized by an uncontrollable urge to catch him unaware, just for a little while.

Flattening her body to the ground, she rested her head against her folded arms and allowed herself the guilty pleasure of observing Draco Malfoy.

He seemed alert in a lazy sort of way, like he always did. It took her a moment to realize why he was facing the way that he was, and when she did, she wondered what it meant. His posture was facing toward the school, toward the path she normally took to the lake. Today, because she'd wanted to wish Harry luck before the match, she'd detoured to the Quidditch field long enough to do so, then crossed around to the lake.


A look of intense concentration etched itself on his face, as though he were willing Ginny to come into view. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of the pants he wore beneath his Quidditch robes (God he looks so good in green, even if it is Slytherin green) and his shoulders were slouched slightly as though carrying a heavy burden.


Draco looked tired, she realized. The arrogance that normally clung to him like a second skin seemed totally eradicated in the face of his fatigue. Hasn't he been sleeping properly? Ginny shook her head. This whole being in love with Draco Malfoy business had certainly played havoc with her priorities. Whether or not Draco Malfoy was getting the required eight hours a night should not have been foremost in her mind, yet, as she watched him, it was nearly the only thing she could think of, save the irrational desire she had to crawl into bed with him and gently rub his back until he fell asleep.

Glancing down at the watch Harry and Hermione had given her for Christmas the year before, Ginny sighed. One minute after eleven. She knew she should approach this meeting today with some degree of contrition, but all she seemed able to muster was the perverse need to push a few more of his buttons. When he was angry with her, it made her feel awful in a way that had nothing to do with fear, but it was still better than when he looked at her as if she wasn't there at all. She would never be the girl he loved, but at least if she became the girl he hated, he would not remain indifferent to her. Surely being something -- even something bad -- was better than being nothing at all.

Picking herself up, Ginny made her way down to the lake. He was leaning against the giant tree near the water now, staring out at the stillness, but he didn't fool her. He'd no doubt heard the leaves crunching beneath her feet, signaling her arrival. He hadn't wanted to be caught waiting for her with anything other than bored detachment, and Ginny hid a grin.

"You're late," he noted crisply.

"Surprised you noticed," she pointed out. "Only a minute, after all. Desperate to see me?"

"Hardly," he scoffed, "just miserably cold and ready to get out to the Quidditch field."

The easy, obvious way he said it wiped any mirth right out of Ginny's head. She was curious whether or not he'd bring up what had happened between them in the library; she wondered if she'd have the courage to. Somehow, she doubted it.

"Well, get on with it, then," Ginny muttered. "You're not the only one freezing his bum off."

"And a lovely bum it is," he murmured appreciatively, casting his gaze over her rear end.

"Shut up," she mumbled, casting her eyes downward, her cheeks flushing. What she really wanted to chastise him for was saying things he didn't really mean. "What's my punishment to be, then?" she asked crisply after a moment of silence. "A thousand lashes with your Firebolt Deluxe? Confinement in the Malfoy family dungeons? Sponge bathing Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Not even I'm that cruel," he declared, sounding offended. "Besides, you know I don't see much of Crabbe and Goyle anymore."

"Right. I'd forgotten." She hadn't forgotten, of course. It was one of those things she'd noticed about him when she'd started really paying attention to the little details of his life. In truth (and she would be truthful with herself, at least) she hadn't been nearly as upset by the Order's mandate as she'd convinced herself of at the time. Draco Malfoy had been at times a source of great humiliation and endless fascination.

"You seem to forget a great many things," he said, and his eyes had grown cold again. It suited him, she thought numbly; the cold complemented his features, removing the humanity from the man, leaving only icy, painful beauty. The expression on her face must have telegraphed her confusion to him, because he moved closer to her, his countenance darkening. "Part of our agreement clearly stated that you would be mine exclusively."

"Your servant," she corrected quickly. It caused her physical pain to think that he could refer to her as his and feel no more affection for her than he did his broomstick, or any other of his possessions.

"Regardless," he ground out, "your being my servant implies that your personal time is no longer your own -- it belongs to me. Everything you are belongs to me--"

"For another week!" she cried.

"More like ten days," he rejoined childishly.


Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fine. Ten days, then. After those ten days have expired, however--"

"It's of no concern to me how you conduct yourself after our bargain has been fulfilled," Draco interrupted icily. "I am only troubled with my own interests."

"What are you getting at?" Ginny wondered, thinking this couldn't possibly be all about the sweaters.

"This is about you fawning over a Hufflepuff sixth year when you were supposed to be working on your Potions homework with me," Draco snapped.

Her brows drew together in consternation. "But Potions homework is just a cover. It doesn't matter who I study with and Kyle needed the help--"

"What in bloody hell could you possibly see in a useless git like Kyle McGraw, anyway?" Draco ranted. "He follows you around like a trained puppy, hoping you'll pat his head and give him a treat."

"It's not like that," Ginny insisted. "We're just friends."

"I don't make a habit of snogging my friends in the library," Draco said firmly.

"No, just your servants!" she snapped before she could stop herself. No four words had ever felt so freeing and so humiliating at the same time. Part of her wished she could take them back, and part of her wished she'd said more before coming to her senses.

He moved even closer to her then until their robes touched and she had to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep from touching him.

"I don't understand," he whispered, his voice low and even, "how you can respond to me the way you do, how you can burn like steel to flint, then cozy up to that idiot McGraw as though he's got even the foggiest notion of how to please you."

"Well," she mumbled, having trouble catching her breath, her brain short circuiting, "there's the fingering."

His eyes narrowed unpleasantly and Ginny quickly checked her memory to find out what she'd just said. Her mouth opened wide in shock when she did.

"I mean -- that is, I hear he's, um, quite . . . adept! -- in certain areas and, erm--"

"You certainly seem to know an awful lot about your friend," Draco noted, sneering in distaste. "I don't know half as many interesting things about my friends."

"Perhaps that's because you haven't got any!" she muttered, pulling away from him. Hot, desperate humiliation coursed through her nervous system, forcing the harshest words she could imagine from her lips. "I realize it's hard for you to imagine, Malfoy, but not all of us can simply turn our emotions on and off. We can't pretend we don't feel things for others simply because it's inconvenient." Tears were pricking her eyes. It was beginning to hurt to be around him. This was why denial had been such a dear, dear friend to her -- denial meant she could fulfill their bargain at no expense to her heart.

"I forbid you to see him -- or any other boy --"

"Fine. For the next week, I won't see him. And the very second our arrangement is over, I promise you, I'll head over to Kyle McGraw straightaway and spread--"

His hands closed around her arms like bands of steel and he shook her once, sharply. "You shouldn't promise things you're incapable of delivering on, you stupid little girl," he hissed, shaking her again.

"What do you know about what I'm capable of?!" she shouted back.

"You're biting off a sight lot more than you can chew, I know that. You use the way you look, the way I'm attracted to you as a weapon -- have done from the beginning, I realize now."

"What are you on about?" she asked, genuinely confused.

He released his grip on her arms so quickly that she nearly tumbled to the ground. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he turned away from her.

"You should have more respect for yourself than you do," he muttered, and it seemed to Ginny that he wasn't even talking to her anymore, was instead ranting to himself like a crazy person. "More respect for your body and, so long as our arrangement is in place, for me."

"Good God, he kissed me! And it was just a harmless little kiss at that! It didn't mean anything!" Ginny wasn't sure why it was so imperative that she make this abundantly clear, but it was.

"Right," he chuckled humorlessly. "That's why you've been spending all that time with McGraw, walking to and from classes, snuggling up in the halls like a pair of besotted wombats."

"Wombats?" Ginny repeated absently.

"I know how hard this week's been for you," Draco continued, "having finals and all. I was trying to be nice and not give you any additional work on top of your normal duties."

"Oh, yes, very generous of you to let up on the slave labor," Ginny noted sarcastically.

"And how do you thank me?" Draco continued, ignoring her. "By spending every free moment I've given you, not studying, as I'd intended, but mooning over Kyle McBleedin'Graw!"

"We take most of the same classes!" Ginny burst out. "And he's nice--"

"I don't want to hear it," Draco said obstinately.

"Oh, you silly git," Ginny muttered, "just let me--"

"I said I don't want to hear you going on about him!" Draco yelled.


"So you won't even let me explain," Ginny said, disbelief coloring her voice.

"I have no interest in your explanation," Draco said coolly. "I don't care why you did what you did, it only matters to me that you did it." Then, he moved toward the large tree by the water and extracted a garment bag from behind it. "This is your punishment."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "My punishment is a garment bag? Am I to climb inside and let it suffocate me?"

He actually rolled his eyes at her, which gave her a little jolt of amusement -- Draco Malfoy did not take to rolling his eyes. Sneering was about the only outward display of disgust he ever demonstrated, and an eye-roll from the guy that usually played things cool as a cucumber made Ginny feel at least a little smug.

"No, idiot," Draco said lazily, "you're supposed to wear what's inside it."

She didn't see what was so bad about that.

"At today's match."

Ah. Still, not as horrible as it could--

"And you're going to have to think of something to, oh, cheer while you're wearing it."

"I hate you."

"Oddly enough, I'm prepared to live with that."

Then, Draco unzipped the bag and pulled out her new outfit. Ginny wished, more than anything, that the earth would open wide and swallow her whole.

"I . . . that's not -- I mean, I can't -- I wouldn't -- I'll freeze to death!"

"No you won't," Draco argued calmly. "I've already put a warmth charm on it. You'll be exuding gentle warmth a centimeter away from your skin. A frostbitten slave is a useless slave, after all."

For a moment, she actually contemplated arguing with him. Surely if she begged enough he'd let up on this punishment. One look into his serpent's eyes sealed her mouth shut. There would be no bartering, no pleading -- he wasn't likely to find either amusing and she sensed she'd tested his patience enough for the day.

If only he loved her back, she thought, she could experiment with all the different ways she could test his patience.

Shaking herself a little, Ginny snatched the garment bag from Draco's hand, and, with an undignified 'hmph' of outrage, she disappeared behind the tree to change. A few moments later, she re-emerged and couldn't stop herself from folding her arms across her chest self-consciously.

It was a lovely costume, certainly, if she'd been a dancer. Drawn in flowing shades of Slytherin silver and green, it seemed tailor made for her. The bodice was little more than a bikini top, thin spaghetti straps holding up the pure silver velvet with a sheer, loose green scarf that covered -- but did not obscure -- her midriff, leaving her back almost completely bare. Even worse was the skirt, a long silk number done in Slytherin green, perfectly molded to her hips that, seeming so elegant on first glance, proved to be less than ladylike. When she walked, twin slits up the side of both her legs, nearly to her nonexistent panty-line (Draco had left a note inside the bag, instructing her that all undergarments were to be discarded) asserted themselves with gusto. On her feet, she wore flat silver slippers.


Dimly, Ginny thought it might make a lovely costume for a masquerade, that is, of course, if she decided to go out dressed as a whore.

"I cannot wear this in public," she said in a choked voice, tears springing to her eyes.

"But you will," Draco said, his voice like steel. He walked toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently tracing her clavicles. "You'll wear this little outfit and you'll be perfectly aware of your body all day. And hopefully you'll learn not to betray me as you cheer me on to victory."

"I didn't--"

"And remember," he interrupted, "if I lose this match, Ginny, I'll need to be consoled. So root extra hard."

Her eyes widened, grasping the full extent of his meaning, "But . . . but we had a--"

"A bargain? I believe I already mentioned how unsatisfactory I found our bargain. Besides -- I am, after all, but a spoilt rich brat who can't keep a promise."

"I hate you," she whispered again, tears gently spilling over onto her cheeks. Oh, how she wanted to hate him, wanted this -- humiliation -- to hurt less. "You can't . . . I told you before, you can't ask me to--"

"Ginny," he murmured gently, brushing her tears away, "you beautiful, silly girl." Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his hands skimming over her bare back. She caught her breath a little at the contact and was so busy trying not to tremble, she barely heard what he whispered into her ear.

"I'm not asking."

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