Disclaimer: I own nothing. So don't sue me.
"What're you doing here?" They inquired of one another at precisely the same moment.
She sat up on her bed, tossing her hair – which he noticed to be quite, well, lush looking – over her shoulder. The excess blood drained slowly from her face, leaving just the barest hint of pink in her high cheekbones.
Chocolate eyes surveyed him up and down with distaste that had grown to hatred in the five years she had known him.
He stepped just inside the room, folding his arms across his broad chest. The customary smirk curled his lips, as the pale seventeen-year-old surveyed the youngest Weasley. He had to admit – Weasley or not – she was gorgeous. She had certainly matured in the month and a half since he had last seen her at Hogwarts.
"What's this? A Weasley... not staying in a sewage dump with the rest of the refuse of the world?" He drawled, taking another step inside.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," she retorted, standing and drawing her wand, though she wouldn't be able to use it if it came to a duel – she was still underage.
"Tisk, tisk, Weasley. No respect for your elders," Draco replied, drawing his own wand and twirling it tauntingly between his manicured fingers.
"I thought I told you to fuck off, Malfoy." She walked towards him, eyes glinting with fury as he took yet another step into her room.
His gaze traveled appraisingly over her figure, as she stood in front of him. Gray eyes drank in the too-short white pleated skirt, the black tee shirt that clung to the curve of her breasts in a rather flaunting manner, and her legs. Long, tanned, perfectly slender, and accentuated by a pair of four-inch black stilettos.
It was her turn to smirk now, as she rested a slender hand on her hip, the other still grasping her wand loosely – it was now more of a comfort thing than anything.
"Like what you see, Malfoy?" She inquired, arching one delicate brow.
He sneered.
"How, may I ask, did you afford that ensemble, not to mention this hotel room? Been standing on muggle street corners? Or did all the Gryffindors get together and buy a holiday for the House Whore?"
She laughed.
He couldn't help but notice that the sound of her laughter was intoxicating.
"What I do and whom I do are none of your business," she replied, eyes now glimmering with amusement.
It was his turn to arch a brow. It was the first time one of his barbs hadn't sent a Weasley into a fury. Intriguing.
He took another step into the room, and closed the door behind him with a wave of his wand. At this action, he noted with satisfaction, her confidence seemed to wane a little.
"You didn't answer my question, Weasley." He approached her now, as a hunter stalks his prey. But he had to give the girl credit; she held her ground, and wouldn't retreat.
"You didn't answer my question either, Malfoy," Ginny retorted, tapping her foot in irritation. Clearly, she thought, the laws of personal privacy – and personal space – do not apply to Draco Malfoy. Either that, or he wants some, and doesn't care who he gets it from – or how he gets it, for that matter.
He reached out the hand not holding his wand, and ran his index finger softly over her jaw line, before cupping her chin in his hand.
She started to tremble, the motion barely noticeable, as the gravity of the situation began to sink in. She was alone. In Paris. No one knew she was here, except for her family and friends. No one knew who she was. She had a wand she couldn't use, still being underage as she was. And now Draco Malfoy was in her hotel room, armed with a wand, and blocking her only escape.
A small smirk curled his lips, as he felt her start to tremble. She was scared, now, and had good reason to be.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," she repeated her earlier words, an insolent pout forming on her lips to match the returning glint of anger in her eyes.
"I do believe I need to teach you some respect, Weasley," he replied smoothly, tightening his hold on her chin and raising her head just high enough so she was looking directly into his eyes. "After all," he added softly, "you will be under my direction this term at Hogwarts. And as Head Boy, I can't have you mouthing off like that... Prefects are supposed to set a good example for the younger students..."
His head dipped down swiftly, and he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss hard enough to bruise her lips. She managed to free herself, after a brief struggle, and as soon as she was free, she slapped him hard across the face. The silver ring she was wearing left small beads of crimson liquid seeping from a cut high on his cheek. He didn't seem to notice, or chose not to, and Ginny frowned.
"Fuck off. And get out of my room, or I'll call security."
He laughed softly, a mocking sound that sent chills up her spine.
"You're all alone, Virginia. All alone and there's no one to hear you scream..."
A/N: Ah, how I love to leave you hanging...
"What're you doing here?" They inquired of one another at precisely the same moment.
She sat up on her bed, tossing her hair – which he noticed to be quite, well, lush looking – over her shoulder. The excess blood drained slowly from her face, leaving just the barest hint of pink in her high cheekbones.
Chocolate eyes surveyed him up and down with distaste that had grown to hatred in the five years she had known him.
He stepped just inside the room, folding his arms across his broad chest. The customary smirk curled his lips, as the pale seventeen-year-old surveyed the youngest Weasley. He had to admit – Weasley or not – she was gorgeous. She had certainly matured in the month and a half since he had last seen her at Hogwarts.
"What's this? A Weasley... not staying in a sewage dump with the rest of the refuse of the world?" He drawled, taking another step inside.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," she retorted, standing and drawing her wand, though she wouldn't be able to use it if it came to a duel – she was still underage.
"Tisk, tisk, Weasley. No respect for your elders," Draco replied, drawing his own wand and twirling it tauntingly between his manicured fingers.
"I thought I told you to fuck off, Malfoy." She walked towards him, eyes glinting with fury as he took yet another step into her room.
His gaze traveled appraisingly over her figure, as she stood in front of him. Gray eyes drank in the too-short white pleated skirt, the black tee shirt that clung to the curve of her breasts in a rather flaunting manner, and her legs. Long, tanned, perfectly slender, and accentuated by a pair of four-inch black stilettos.
It was her turn to smirk now, as she rested a slender hand on her hip, the other still grasping her wand loosely – it was now more of a comfort thing than anything.
"Like what you see, Malfoy?" She inquired, arching one delicate brow.
He sneered.
"How, may I ask, did you afford that ensemble, not to mention this hotel room? Been standing on muggle street corners? Or did all the Gryffindors get together and buy a holiday for the House Whore?"
She laughed.
He couldn't help but notice that the sound of her laughter was intoxicating.
"What I do and whom I do are none of your business," she replied, eyes now glimmering with amusement.
It was his turn to arch a brow. It was the first time one of his barbs hadn't sent a Weasley into a fury. Intriguing.
He took another step into the room, and closed the door behind him with a wave of his wand. At this action, he noted with satisfaction, her confidence seemed to wane a little.
"You didn't answer my question, Weasley." He approached her now, as a hunter stalks his prey. But he had to give the girl credit; she held her ground, and wouldn't retreat.
"You didn't answer my question either, Malfoy," Ginny retorted, tapping her foot in irritation. Clearly, she thought, the laws of personal privacy – and personal space – do not apply to Draco Malfoy. Either that, or he wants some, and doesn't care who he gets it from – or how he gets it, for that matter.
He reached out the hand not holding his wand, and ran his index finger softly over her jaw line, before cupping her chin in his hand.
She started to tremble, the motion barely noticeable, as the gravity of the situation began to sink in. She was alone. In Paris. No one knew she was here, except for her family and friends. No one knew who she was. She had a wand she couldn't use, still being underage as she was. And now Draco Malfoy was in her hotel room, armed with a wand, and blocking her only escape.
A small smirk curled his lips, as he felt her start to tremble. She was scared, now, and had good reason to be.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," she repeated her earlier words, an insolent pout forming on her lips to match the returning glint of anger in her eyes.
"I do believe I need to teach you some respect, Weasley," he replied smoothly, tightening his hold on her chin and raising her head just high enough so she was looking directly into his eyes. "After all," he added softly, "you will be under my direction this term at Hogwarts. And as Head Boy, I can't have you mouthing off like that... Prefects are supposed to set a good example for the younger students..."
His head dipped down swiftly, and he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss hard enough to bruise her lips. She managed to free herself, after a brief struggle, and as soon as she was free, she slapped him hard across the face. The silver ring she was wearing left small beads of crimson liquid seeping from a cut high on his cheek. He didn't seem to notice, or chose not to, and Ginny frowned.
"Fuck off. And get out of my room, or I'll call security."
He laughed softly, a mocking sound that sent chills up her spine.
"You're all alone, Virginia. All alone and there's no one to hear you scream..."
A/N: Ah, how I love to leave you hanging...