Invalid Intentions
Ginny Weasley opened her eyes to the beaming sunlight as she gave a soft sigh that escaped from her lips, fresh and crisp. A new day, she thought to herself proudly. I made it through another day of the summer. Finally. But as she turned over, something strange met her eyes. Several feathers were strewn around the bedspread, the pillow patterns seemed oddly distraught, and her adrenaline was rushing along with her thumping heart and her increasing pace of breath.
Her eyes widened, but she needn't the sound of the door swinging open, revealing a shirtless Draco coming in rinsing his hair of water that dribbled over his eyebrows and trickled into his bare chest to know what had happened just yesterday night.
***
"Well, I've located her," Mr. Weasley announced nervously the next afternoon. All Weasleys stopped eating, their forks sliding aimlessly, fluttering downwards towards their plates, clinking every so often against the acute designs on the corners.
"Where?" Ron said at once, hope glimmering in his eyes, his fists clenched, prespiration running down the sides of his face from his sweat-stained hair that hung around a messy mass of red.
"Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asked him, staring at him pointedly with a weary look that clearly stated, 'why didn't you tell me before?, I am your wife, after all. Doesn't this entitle to some acknowledging privledges?'
"Evidently," Mr. Weasley started to say after several clear of throats. "She was located around -- the Malfoy Manor."
Ron gasped, his mouth hanging open. "Malfoy Manor?" he echoed. "I SHOULD'VE KNOWN!" he exclaimed frantically, thumping his fist against the table, absolutely infuriated, his cheeks flushed with red.
"Listen, Ron, don't do anything drastic until I--" Mr. Weasley told him warningly, but Ron had already rose from the table, pushing his hair back so far that it almost fell over in mid-swing, and ran upstairs, with no other word besides the curses and threats murmured under his breath.
*** "Malfoy," Ginny announced blankly. "What - what..." she rubbed her eyes vigirously, placing them into vision. "Oh..." she whispered in realization.
"Time to leave, brat," Draco prompted in an expressionless voice. "I think the Floo Network is working now."
"It is?" she said tenatively, brushing a strand of her hair that was tickling her nose profusely. "Are you sure? Did you check?"
"Just go, will you?" he asked tiredly. "And take your duffel bag. And fix my bed," he ordered after an afterthought, eyeing the feathers strewn, tainting the bedspread.
Ginny proceeded to answer the last statement with a visible finger of her hand (which clearly emphasized that she would do no such thing) and he quickly left with a growl of frustration, slamming the door behind him.
Packing was a slow process. It seemed every leftover clothing didn't want to be found, and Ginny didn't want to find them. Even just spending the night here, it felt irritating to move from one place to another. The portion of her romantic, summer getaway was ruined. It was supposed to be Dean she was supposed to be flirting with, Dean who she was supposed to have an unexpected burst of urge to have a pillow fight with, Dean who she should undress in front of in a teasing manner.
Although she had never done those things with Dean.
And the peculiar thing was, she had managed, somehow, miraciously, done them with her worst enemy.
Ginny knew it was one of those 'great' moments where she plopped into her bed and would've said aloud, "Life is weird," or something uncanilly good- spirited similar to this. However, as she tried to plop down on the bed, she found the bed springs to push her backwards into the floor.
"You damn, fucked-up bed!" she exclaimed in fury as she sat up, her upper- arms aching at the fall.
The door swung open. Draco was now fully clothed, a sardonic smirk plastered to his face. "Fell, Weasley?" he asked mockingly.
"Shut up," she grumbled, struggling to get up. In the last moment, in slow- motion fashion, Draco accidently slipped over Ginny's remains on the floor (which consisted of toothbrush and a hairbrush) and fell as well, crying aloud as his head hit against her knee. He was acutely embarrassed when she started laughing hysterically.
"Help me up," he demanded, still facedown in her lap. And although her her lap was a warm, inviting place, her throat was restrained with so much laughter that her head was tipped back as she grasped his upper-arms, their chests brushing together, a sneer crawling at his lips, their eyes locking, fixating on each other.
They were quite in a perdiciment, when, that Ron Weasley apparated into the room.
***
I realize many people place extra security against Apparation on the Malfoy Manor, but I am going to decline it this time, because this is too much fun.
Ginny Weasley opened her eyes to the beaming sunlight as she gave a soft sigh that escaped from her lips, fresh and crisp. A new day, she thought to herself proudly. I made it through another day of the summer. Finally. But as she turned over, something strange met her eyes. Several feathers were strewn around the bedspread, the pillow patterns seemed oddly distraught, and her adrenaline was rushing along with her thumping heart and her increasing pace of breath.
Her eyes widened, but she needn't the sound of the door swinging open, revealing a shirtless Draco coming in rinsing his hair of water that dribbled over his eyebrows and trickled into his bare chest to know what had happened just yesterday night.
***
"Well, I've located her," Mr. Weasley announced nervously the next afternoon. All Weasleys stopped eating, their forks sliding aimlessly, fluttering downwards towards their plates, clinking every so often against the acute designs on the corners.
"Where?" Ron said at once, hope glimmering in his eyes, his fists clenched, prespiration running down the sides of his face from his sweat-stained hair that hung around a messy mass of red.
"Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asked him, staring at him pointedly with a weary look that clearly stated, 'why didn't you tell me before?, I am your wife, after all. Doesn't this entitle to some acknowledging privledges?'
"Evidently," Mr. Weasley started to say after several clear of throats. "She was located around -- the Malfoy Manor."
Ron gasped, his mouth hanging open. "Malfoy Manor?" he echoed. "I SHOULD'VE KNOWN!" he exclaimed frantically, thumping his fist against the table, absolutely infuriated, his cheeks flushed with red.
"Listen, Ron, don't do anything drastic until I--" Mr. Weasley told him warningly, but Ron had already rose from the table, pushing his hair back so far that it almost fell over in mid-swing, and ran upstairs, with no other word besides the curses and threats murmured under his breath.
*** "Malfoy," Ginny announced blankly. "What - what..." she rubbed her eyes vigirously, placing them into vision. "Oh..." she whispered in realization.
"Time to leave, brat," Draco prompted in an expressionless voice. "I think the Floo Network is working now."
"It is?" she said tenatively, brushing a strand of her hair that was tickling her nose profusely. "Are you sure? Did you check?"
"Just go, will you?" he asked tiredly. "And take your duffel bag. And fix my bed," he ordered after an afterthought, eyeing the feathers strewn, tainting the bedspread.
Ginny proceeded to answer the last statement with a visible finger of her hand (which clearly emphasized that she would do no such thing) and he quickly left with a growl of frustration, slamming the door behind him.
Packing was a slow process. It seemed every leftover clothing didn't want to be found, and Ginny didn't want to find them. Even just spending the night here, it felt irritating to move from one place to another. The portion of her romantic, summer getaway was ruined. It was supposed to be Dean she was supposed to be flirting with, Dean who she was supposed to have an unexpected burst of urge to have a pillow fight with, Dean who she should undress in front of in a teasing manner.
Although she had never done those things with Dean.
And the peculiar thing was, she had managed, somehow, miraciously, done them with her worst enemy.
Ginny knew it was one of those 'great' moments where she plopped into her bed and would've said aloud, "Life is weird," or something uncanilly good- spirited similar to this. However, as she tried to plop down on the bed, she found the bed springs to push her backwards into the floor.
"You damn, fucked-up bed!" she exclaimed in fury as she sat up, her upper- arms aching at the fall.
The door swung open. Draco was now fully clothed, a sardonic smirk plastered to his face. "Fell, Weasley?" he asked mockingly.
"Shut up," she grumbled, struggling to get up. In the last moment, in slow- motion fashion, Draco accidently slipped over Ginny's remains on the floor (which consisted of toothbrush and a hairbrush) and fell as well, crying aloud as his head hit against her knee. He was acutely embarrassed when she started laughing hysterically.
"Help me up," he demanded, still facedown in her lap. And although her her lap was a warm, inviting place, her throat was restrained with so much laughter that her head was tipped back as she grasped his upper-arms, their chests brushing together, a sneer crawling at his lips, their eyes locking, fixating on each other.
They were quite in a perdiciment, when, that Ron Weasley apparated into the room.
***
I realize many people place extra security against Apparation on the Malfoy Manor, but I am going to decline it this time, because this is too much fun.