AN: Once again, thanks everyone for the kind words, they really mean a lot. Little One, you asked about the meaning of a word -- try http://www.dictionary.com, it should help you in the future. (Clavicles, however, is the plural for clavicle, which is a fancy way of saying collarbone.)

Hope everyone continues to enjoy, I think we're a little over halfway there now!

~

Chapter 7: Not Quite Everyone Says I Love You

~

"Ginny! Ginny, wait up, you forgot your bag!"

Slowing her hurried pace somewhat, Ginny glanced back at Kyle McGraw and forced a smile onto her face. "Thanks, Kyle," she murmured, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

"Are you doing anything after class?" Kyle asked, settling in to walk beside her. "Because I've got this--"

"Actually, I am doing something after class," Ginny interrupted. "I'm fairly busy for the next week, in fact, and I'm going to have to break our study date for tomorrow."

"Oh." Kyle looked positively crestfallen. "Look, Ginny, if this is about the other day, I'm really sorry--"


"Kyle, it's not--"

"I swear, I'm not going to maul you every time we're alone together," he continued, a goofy smile on his face. "If you're not interested in me like that, we can just be friends--"


"We are friends, Kyle," Ginny said firmly. "Really, I'm just busy this week."

"As long as you're sure that's all it is," Kyle said reluctantly.

"Positive," Ginny assured him with a smile. "We'll get together as soon as I've got some free time. Maybe my brother and his friends will let us tag along to Hogsmeade one night."

"That sounds great," Kyle said happily.

Sensing the opportunity to make a clean break, Ginny gave him a big, fake smile, an enthusiastic wave, and began hurrying away from him.

That had gone much easier than she though it would. Of course, she hadn't exactly been thinking a whole lot about Kyle today. From the moment Ginny had opened her eyes, her thoughts had been consumed with how she could possibly avoid Ron and Harry for the rest of the day. (In all honesty, she was wondering how she might be able to avoid Ron forever, as she didn't think there would ever come a time he'd be willing to discuss Draco Malfoy rationally.)

Before she'd become fully awake, the morning had actually been quite lovely.

Her body had been warm and snug and she'd felt safe in a way she never had before. A sharp jolt of panic had shot through her when she'd felt someone (something?) nuzzling the back of her neck. Her eyes had flown open and the only thing in her vision was the deep green curtain. It was then that she remembered everything: Draco, the previous night, how he was holding her, and the fact that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

They both seemed to realize the position they were in at the same time, because she started to pull away from him at the same time he loosened his hold on her body. Rolling to face him, she'd propped her head on her hand and tried not to look too self-conscious wearing nothing but one of his rudely monogrammed shirts.

"Do you suppose it's safe to leave?" she'd whispered.

Crawling over her, he'd parted the curtains slightly (she wasn't sure why he didn't just part the curtains on his own side of the bed, now that she thought about it) and peeked outside.


"All clear," he murmured, opening them fully.

"I can't leave in this," she'd muttered, indicating her state of undress.

He'd grinned then, and opened his mouth to make some sort of lewd remark. Not possessing the sanity to deal with it at the moment, Ginny had covered his mouth with her hand.

"Find me something that isn't whore-ish to wear," she'd instructed firmly.

Darting out his tongue, he'd licked her palm, which caused her to snatch her hand back like it had been burnt. He raised an eyebrow at her, then disappeared from behind the curtains. Ginny had tried to get her breathing under control and had mostly succeeded when he returned a few minutes later, already dressed himself, with one of his robes in hand.

"You should be able to make it back to Gryffindor Tower in this," he'd said, tossing her the robe.

Pulling the robe on quickly, she'd all but ran out of Slytherin Dungeon and all the way back up to the Gryffindor common room, picking up an extra burst of speed when she realized the robe and the shirt beneath it smelled like Draco. She smelled like Draco after spending a night in his bed with his body wrapped around hers.

I'm a slut, she'd thought as she quickly dressed in her own clothes and robes, tucking Draco's beneath her bed. I'm a slut and I didn't even get a good shag out of it.

After a day spent ducking into shadows whenever she saw Ron or Harry and skipping lunch for fear of running into either of them, Ginny was on her way back down to Slytherin dungeon, as ordered. Draco had tucked a note into her borrowed robe (why he couldn't simply speak to her like a normal person, instead of always communicating through little hidden notes, she'd never understand) that read:

Same time, same place. Bring Herbology materials.


D.M.

With such flowery words, how could she resist?

~

"Look, I'm never going to care enough to get this right, so maybe we should just shove the whole useless thing."

"I'm sorry, is this Draco Malfoy suggesting that he should quit something simply because it's hard?"

"It's not hard," Draco insisted, "it's stupid and useless. There's a difference."

"Of course," Ginny murmured, rolling her eyes, "how silly of me."

"When am I possibly going to need to know how to grow a Whomping Willow? I've got servants who'll plant and care for one if I ever need it."

"What if you were suddenly poor and couldn't afford servants and needed a Whomping Willow to guard what you held most dear?" Ginny pointed out sensibly.

"That," Draco said firmy, "will never happen."

"You'll never be poor?"

"I'll never have some tree guarding what I hold most dear," he muttered, a muscle in his jaw ticking as thunder crashed outside the dormitory window.

There was a lot of tension hovering around Draco, and Ginny decided to pause the study session for a little while, hoping that he would be able to attain some of that inner poise he was so famous for.

Everyone in the school was out on the grounds watching the "show." Lightning and thunder had been fairly consistent for the past hour. Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape had conjured up a clear, protective barrier that allowed the students to sit outside comfortably without getting wet and sick. Draco and Ginny, she suspected, were the only students who had stayed inside. (Unless Hermione had managed to convince Harry and Ron to stay in, but they had been pretty keen on not only going, but in dragging her along with them.)

Though the Slytherin common room was empty, Draco had still insisted on once again concealing them behind the curtains of his four poster bed. "It's your virtue I'm protecting," he'd said pompously when she'd questioned him about it. "Someone could get sick of staring up at the bloody sky and walk in on us in a compromising position."

"What?" she'd asked, "Me tutoring you? Or are you planning something torrid, Mr. Malfoy?"

She'd been trying to tease him, but all his attention had been focused on the window and it seemed he barely heard her, let alone took the time to decipher her tone. At any rate, he hadn't answered and she hadn't pressed things, instead climbing up onto his bed and allowing him to draw the curtains around them. The candelabra was glowing brightly as Ginny read aloud. Draco kept one hand against the edges of the curtains so that every time a clap of thunder sounded he could peek through them.

"If you'd rather be out there with the rest of them," Ginny said after it became clear to her he was too focused on the storm to listen to her, "I certainly don't mind packing it in early."

"I don't care what you mind," Draco snapped, letting the curtain fall closed. "Eager to get out of here, Weasley? Young Kyle waiting for you?"

Heaving an impatient sigh, Ginny tossed One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi aside and folded her arms across her chest.


"For your information," she informed him primly, "I ran into 'young Kyle' in the halls today and told him, in no uncertain terms, that I would not be available to him in any way for the next week." Ginny didn't think it was terribly important to mention that she'd also made it clear to Kyle that all they would ever be was good friends.

"And after that?" Draco asked, his upper lip curling the slightest bit.

"What business is it of yours?" Ginny wondered, jutting her chin out at him. "You said that your concern would run out when our bargain did--"

"So I did," Draco snapped. "And so long as our bargain hasn't run out, I've got a new order for you -- you'll be spending the night again."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "But--"

"Oh, save it," Draco muttered. "I'm not asking you to do anything lewd."

"Then why am I staying?" Ginny burst out.

"Because I said so," Draco ground out in a tone that was not to be argued with.

"Fine," Ginny said tersely. "In that case, I'm tired and I'd like to go to sleep now."

"Fine," Draco agreed, his tone as insolent as hers had been. "Sleep sounds lovely."

They glared at one another for a moment, then Draco began to strip out of his clothes. Turning her back to him, Ginny did the same. It wasn't until she'd gotten down to her underwear that she realized she didn't have anything to change into.

"Here," his voice said near her ear. His arm had snaked around her body, and clutched in his fist was another of his sweaters ('Silly Git' in white thread over dark brown cashmere). Ginny took it without a word and quickly slipped into it. When she turned around again, Draco was once again wearing a pair of pajama bottoms without a top. She wondered if he bought them separately like that, or if he simply discarded the tops because he had no use for them.

Draco always seemed to carelessly discard the things he had no use for.

Both of them climbed beneath the covers and Ginny tried not to think about how nice it felt, how it could easily grow to feel natural, climbing into bed with Draco Malfoy. He muttered something under his breath and the candelabra dimmed until she could just barely make out his features. Her gaze tracked lower and she was once again drawn to the vicious scar that ran the course of his lower torso.

A particularly loud crack of thunder sounded and, in the darkness, Ginny finally saw what she'd been missing: every time there was thunder, Draco's entire body tensed, coiled tight, until a few seconds had passed.

"You're afraid of the storm," she said in an awed voice before she could stop herself.

Snapping his head around, Draco's eyes looked scared and desperate, like an animal that knew it was about to be killed and in the worst possible way. His breathing grew more labored and Ginny bit her lower lip, wishing she could call back the words she'd just spoken.

"Yes," he bit out, "I'm afraid of the storm."

"My brother Charlie's afraid of thunderstorms," Ginny said quietly. "He was born during one. Mum and Dad were in the middle of nowhere, stranded without their wands. They had Floo powder, but no way to make a fire. Dad had to deliver Charlie himself; Charlie nearly died." She focused her gaze on his scar, rather than staring back into the intense eyes that were completely trained on her. "When he was a baby and there was a thunderstorm, he'd cry and cry and no matter what Mum did, he wouldn't stop. He's better now, of course. He does what you do, sits so still that you'd hardly think anything's the matter with him, if only he'd blinked even once in the past hour."

"I was born on one of the sunniest days in London's history," Draco said quietly after a moment. "My mum said . . . she said I was the only light in her life and that all the sunshine that day proved it. She said I was born to live in the sunshine."

"That's nice," Ginny said lamely, at a loss for why such a memory would evoke the sadness she heard in Draco's voice.

"My father forbade me from going out in the sun," he continued. "Said he was afraid my skin would burn, because it was so fair."

"Well that's stupid, isn't it?" Ginny said, blushing when she realized how that must have sounded. "Not that I'm calling your father stupid -- it's just . . . you haven't got a skin condition, have you?" Draco shook his head. Or at least, she thought he had, given that she was still staring at his scar. "Then the reason your skin's so fair is because your father won't let you go out into the bloody sun."

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Draco muttered. "I don't even know why I brought it up."

"Perhaps it's just one of those things you needed to say out loud," Ginny suggested. "I know there's loads of stuff I always feel better having said aloud." Draco didn't say anything to this, which prompted Ginny to roll onto her side, taking her gaze from his scar long enough to look at his face.

He looked so tired, she thought, reaching up without thought to smooth the hair away from his face. He tensed, almost as though she'd struck him, and for some reason, this gave her enough courage to continue stroking his hair gently. This was something she'd watched her mother do for Charlie a thousand times during a storm. Stroked his hair and tried to distract him.

"Does it hurt?" she murmured, glancing down at the scar.


Draco's gaze followed hers. "Yes," he answered simply.

Ginny began gnawing on her lower lip, trying to decide if it was wise to pursue this topic of conversation. It was likely that her best course of action was to continue stroking his hair until he fell asleep. But she'd been curious since she'd first seen the scar, doubly so once she'd thought about how easy it would be to have removed. Why hadn't he done so? She knew Harry kept his scar as a reminder, sort of a physical manifestation of his parents' love. Somehow, Ginny doubted Draco's scar was a 'We love you, son,' from the Malfoys.

"Spit it out, brat," Draco murmured. His eyes were closed and Ginny smiled a little at the affection she could have sworn she detected lingering in his voice.

"How did it happen?" she blurted out, scratching his scalp lightly with the tips of her fingernails.

"My father," he began after a moment, "walks with a cane. Horribly ostentatious bit of trash carved in the shape of a serpent. My father doesn't need a cane, of course, but he likes to pretend that he does in the interest of lulling his enemy into believing him frail."

"Does your father have many enemies?" Ginny wondered.

"Enough," Draco said vaguely. "He also has a very paranoid view of the world; thinks everyone's out to get him and he's got to do anything and everything to protect the Malfoy family name."

"And he thinks walking around with a limp will do that," Ginny commented doubtfully.

"If it doesn't," Draco said dryly, "the fact that, at the end of the cane, rests a razor-sharp blade will certainly help."

"Razor-sharp blade?" Ginny gulped.

"Sharp enough to give me this," Draco said, taking her hand from his head and placing her fingers against the slightly upraised skin over his abdomen.


"Your father did this to you?" Ginny whispered, carefully tracing the thin line.

"When I was six," Draco continued, "we kept unicorns on our property. Illegal, of course, but I hadn't known that at the time. I thought they were beautiful, even took to naming one of them I fancied my favorite, even though they all looked exactly bloody alike. My father knew it was my favorite and because of that, because he wanted to teach me a lesson about how weak loving things was, he sold that unicorn to a man who wished to kill it so that he could sell off the horn for magic and its blood for medicinal purposes.

"I cried so hard that day. My father screamed at me to stop, warned me to stop, and I tried, I really did, but it was impossible. I don't think I've ever cried that hard, before or since. I could actually feel the bones in my chest shaking, refusing to settle, and every breath I took burned. I was six years old and my heart was broken. Memory from early childhood is supposed to fade, but I can still remember exactly the way it burned, the exact pitch of my father's screams.

"Eventually, my father decided to stop me a different way: by slashing me with that damned cane. The wound went quite deep and it was the strangest thing: it hurt so much that my tears dried up at once. I remember that so clearly, how I'd never felt such intense pain and shock all at once and I couldn't possibly cry over it. He put a charm on me to stop the bleeding, presumably so that I wouldn't die, but he left me with every bit of the pain and the assurance that the cut would scar."

"But why?" Ginny whispered, horrified, her own eyes filled with hot tears. Her heart was aching for Draco, both the boy he'd been, and the young man he'd become who was telling his story so stoically, so emotionlessly, save the tears that filled his eyes but would not fall.

"So that I would always remember what love costs," Draco spat bitterly. "That no good would ever come of it, only pain. I've cried a handful of times since that day, and every time, the damn thing stings and tingles. I'm fairly certain Father had it made that way. And it's so goddamned ironic that every time I think about how I got the bloody thing I start crying." His voice hitched on the last word, and he covered his eyes with one of his hands, his body shaking slightly.

Without giving herself the chance to reconsider, Ginny leaned down and pressed her lips over the straight, faded line over his abdomen. Softly, gently, she pressed kiss after kiss until she'd covered every inch. It was an insane, stupid urge, she knew. It wasn't as though she had the power to heal this wound he'd carried for more than a decade, not this easily, not just because she loved him so much she was beginning to ache with it.

But maybe, just maybe, it would help. Even the tiniest bit.


Having thoroughly seen to his scar, she rested her cheek against his stomach, the tears she'd held in her eyes seeping out over his skin. They were still for a moment and then she felt his hands at her shoulders urging her up. Before she could ask him if he was all right, or apologize for her behavior, or catch her breath, he'd hauled her against him and pressed his lips to hers desperately.

First her upper, then her lower lip was pulled into his mouth and he suckled at them hungrily. His hands tunneled beneath the back of her borrowed sweater as though he'd die if he couldn't touch her. And she found herself kissing him back just as desperately, her own hands seeking his bare skin, sifting through his hair, learning how kissing him this way made him groan, and how kissing him that way made him nibble at her tongue, and stroking his ear with the tip of her thumb made him sigh just so.

After God only knew how long, their snog-session began to gentle until the kisses they shared weren't much more than lips brushing back and forth. Ginny moved to her back and, seized by some force she didn't recognize (but later, would highly suspect was her heart knocking out the logic center of her brain and taking over fully), pulled Draco down against her, resting his head to her breast. Her hand resumed its position in his hair and she began gently stroking and sifting as his breathing deepened.

"You're right, brat," he mumbled, his voice hazy.

"Was I?" she murmured, feeling awfully sleep herself.

"It does help to say it out loud, doesn't it?"

"Only when you're saying it to the right person," she answered, barely aware of what she was saying.

"And are you the right person for me?" he got out blearily, his arm heavy and comforting across her hips.

"Don't know," she mumbled as she fell asleep, "but I'm probably the only one foolish enough to stick around long enough to find out."

~