Authors Note: Wow...that was a tad shocking. Hehe, such positive responses. Lol... Yes, I know. It's been months. More then months! Years! Decades! Aw, screw it. Kill me later. I updated, didn't I? Hehe. Right. Stop listening to me. Go read!
Disclaimer: Nope, still living in Podunk-Ville. sigh
Hey! What are you doing up here! Down THERE! points
Draco rolled his eyes as he stood from the dinner table. Could Parkinson get any more obvious? Honestly, she was pawing him at the dinner table! He'd had Quidditch practice that afternoon, and he was starving, but alas, it seemed he would have to go to bed unfed, for fear of bowing before the Porcelain God.
Needless to say, when he felt a pinch on his bum as he stepped over the bench, he was slightly less then pleased. Slowly turning around, his expression deadly. Parkinson's hand slowly fell away from his person, and she cowered.
Draco glared at her, "How many times do I have to tell you to keep your sodding hands to yourself, Parkinson?"
"Lots." Blaise Zabini muttered into his dinner. Draco's mouth quirked, while Parkinson swiveled her head on her thick neck to glare at the Head Boy.
Draco, sensing his only chance of escape had come, walked briskly out of the hall, ignoring the indignant cry of 'Drakey!' from the Slytherin table and the sniggers from the rest of the hall.
Heaving a dramatic sigh, he made his way down to the dungeons, passing the last window depicting the outside as he went. He ignored his reflection, only catching the paleness of his skin and hair as he walked down the steps.
Entering the Slytherin Common Room, he moved immediately into his dormitory. Tempted to slam the door to release some of his frustration, he decided against it, regarding it as a waste of perfectly good drama. Shutting the door with a soft click, he stripped off his robes and began unbuttoning his shirt, his tie already lying untied over his shoulders.
Pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto his bed, he moved over to the small wardrobe next to his bed. Opening it, he pulled out a black muggle hoodie, that his father would kill him for if he ever found out he owned it. Pulling the sweatshirt over his bare chest, he kicked off his shoes and grabbed an old pair of tennis shoes.
Draco crouched, and pulled open a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe, pulling out a pair of light grey sweatpants. Stripping off his pants, he pulled on the sweatpants, and shoved his feet into the tennis shoes. Frankly, if his father were ever to see him in clothes like these, he'd be more then dead. He'd be slaughtered.
Of course, what his father thought of him was of little consequence to Draco, seeing as both of his parents were locked nicely away in Azkaban, both of them with numbered days attached to their souls. Rolling his eyes, Draco pulled his wand out of his robes and tucked it into his sweater pocket, before making his way stealthily out of the dungeons.
Draco jogged boredly around the Quidditch Pitch. It was early in the year, but he was the team Captain. Had to be ready for a year of finally beating Potter. He reached the far goal posts, next to the Gryffindor locker rooms. He sneered at the red and gold crest as he passed it. He didn't expect the door to fly open and a redheaded blur to fly out on a broomstick and knock him flat on his perfectly shaped bum in the dirt.
The redheaded thing on the broom cursed inventively and slid into an out-of- control barrel roll, falling with a 'thwump' into the grass. Ginny Weasley sat up with a growl, brushing her hair out of her face and searching for her wand. She found it tucked into the back of her skirt and pulled it out, charming her hair back into place.
Draco sat up, blinking as he caught sight of the littlest weasel. It wasn't as if it was the first time he'd seen her for a remarkably good-looking young woman, oh no. But for some odd reason, the way she looked streaked with grass and dirt cursing in a way that would make a sailor blush – that was the kind of girl he needed.
Ginny struggled to her feet, and grabbed her broom off the pitch. She turned and caught sight of Draco. "Ferret!"
Draco scowled, getting to his feet and putting on a fake falsetto voice. "Weasel!"
She glared. "Bastard."
"Now, now, Weasel, whatever happened to 'Ferret'?" He asked, arching a eyebrow as he brushed himself off.
She brushed her bangs out of her face with a sigh. "What the hell are you doing out her, you Ferret-y bastard?"
"Well, that is an improvement from bastard. I think I like the ring to it." Draco smirked, locating his wand on the ground.
"Answer the bloody question, Malfoy." Ginny ground out, tossing her broom over her shoulder, "I'm in no mood to play."
Draco put on a fake pout, "But you know I love to play, little weasel."
Ginny dropped her broom and stepped up to him, planting a finger in his chest and glaring up at him. "I'm. In. No. Mood. To. Play. Ferret. Boy." She said, clipping her words and matching them with pokes.
He sighed, looking down at her five six frame. "Well you are no fun. I'll answer your question when you do, Little Weasel."
Ginny growled, and poked him again, "I'm out here, Ferret-Ass, because I came out to fly. I should think that obvious, you great slimy hunk of Hippogriff bait."
"Well, in that case, Little Weasel, I am out here to run, I should think it blaringly obvious, at least until I was plowed over by one very inconsiderate broomsman." Draco smirked, and caught her finger in one of his elegant, pale hands.
Ginny jerked her finger in an attempt to free her hand, and only succeeded in popping her knuckle. "Let go of me, Ferret."
"Apologize for knocking me down, Weasel, and I'd be more then happy to."
"No."
"Tough luck then, Little Weasel. Looks like you're stuck for quite awhile."
Ginny growled, and jerked her finger again. He tightened his grip, bringing his other hand up and gripping her wrist. "Let go of me, Malfoy." Her voice was soft, almost pleading, if not for the steely surface that lurked underneath.
"Apologize, Weasel, and I will." He smirked, using his grip on her wrist to tug her closer to him.
She turned her head as she was tugged against his chest. Warning bells were exploding in her head as she listened to her blood pound in her ears. They stood like that for at least two minutes before Ginny sighed in exasperation. "If I apologize, you'll let go?"
"Yes."
"You promise?"
Draco froze. "Little Weasel, I don't promise anything, to anybody. You'll be no exception."
"Sorry, Ferret." She said automatically, and suddenly found herself released. She rubbed her wrist and glared at him. "Well...label me pink and color me shocked." She muttered.
He raised an eyebrow, tucking his wand back into his sweater pocket. "What?"
"I just met a Slytherin who kept his word." Ginny said, before grabbing her broom and kicking off into the night.
Disclaimer: Nope, still living in Podunk-Ville. sigh
Hey! What are you doing up here! Down THERE! points
Draco rolled his eyes as he stood from the dinner table. Could Parkinson get any more obvious? Honestly, she was pawing him at the dinner table! He'd had Quidditch practice that afternoon, and he was starving, but alas, it seemed he would have to go to bed unfed, for fear of bowing before the Porcelain God.
Needless to say, when he felt a pinch on his bum as he stepped over the bench, he was slightly less then pleased. Slowly turning around, his expression deadly. Parkinson's hand slowly fell away from his person, and she cowered.
Draco glared at her, "How many times do I have to tell you to keep your sodding hands to yourself, Parkinson?"
"Lots." Blaise Zabini muttered into his dinner. Draco's mouth quirked, while Parkinson swiveled her head on her thick neck to glare at the Head Boy.
Draco, sensing his only chance of escape had come, walked briskly out of the hall, ignoring the indignant cry of 'Drakey!' from the Slytherin table and the sniggers from the rest of the hall.
Heaving a dramatic sigh, he made his way down to the dungeons, passing the last window depicting the outside as he went. He ignored his reflection, only catching the paleness of his skin and hair as he walked down the steps.
Entering the Slytherin Common Room, he moved immediately into his dormitory. Tempted to slam the door to release some of his frustration, he decided against it, regarding it as a waste of perfectly good drama. Shutting the door with a soft click, he stripped off his robes and began unbuttoning his shirt, his tie already lying untied over his shoulders.
Pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto his bed, he moved over to the small wardrobe next to his bed. Opening it, he pulled out a black muggle hoodie, that his father would kill him for if he ever found out he owned it. Pulling the sweatshirt over his bare chest, he kicked off his shoes and grabbed an old pair of tennis shoes.
Draco crouched, and pulled open a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe, pulling out a pair of light grey sweatpants. Stripping off his pants, he pulled on the sweatpants, and shoved his feet into the tennis shoes. Frankly, if his father were ever to see him in clothes like these, he'd be more then dead. He'd be slaughtered.
Of course, what his father thought of him was of little consequence to Draco, seeing as both of his parents were locked nicely away in Azkaban, both of them with numbered days attached to their souls. Rolling his eyes, Draco pulled his wand out of his robes and tucked it into his sweater pocket, before making his way stealthily out of the dungeons.
Draco jogged boredly around the Quidditch Pitch. It was early in the year, but he was the team Captain. Had to be ready for a year of finally beating Potter. He reached the far goal posts, next to the Gryffindor locker rooms. He sneered at the red and gold crest as he passed it. He didn't expect the door to fly open and a redheaded blur to fly out on a broomstick and knock him flat on his perfectly shaped bum in the dirt.
The redheaded thing on the broom cursed inventively and slid into an out-of- control barrel roll, falling with a 'thwump' into the grass. Ginny Weasley sat up with a growl, brushing her hair out of her face and searching for her wand. She found it tucked into the back of her skirt and pulled it out, charming her hair back into place.
Draco sat up, blinking as he caught sight of the littlest weasel. It wasn't as if it was the first time he'd seen her for a remarkably good-looking young woman, oh no. But for some odd reason, the way she looked streaked with grass and dirt cursing in a way that would make a sailor blush – that was the kind of girl he needed.
Ginny struggled to her feet, and grabbed her broom off the pitch. She turned and caught sight of Draco. "Ferret!"
Draco scowled, getting to his feet and putting on a fake falsetto voice. "Weasel!"
She glared. "Bastard."
"Now, now, Weasel, whatever happened to 'Ferret'?" He asked, arching a eyebrow as he brushed himself off.
She brushed her bangs out of her face with a sigh. "What the hell are you doing out her, you Ferret-y bastard?"
"Well, that is an improvement from bastard. I think I like the ring to it." Draco smirked, locating his wand on the ground.
"Answer the bloody question, Malfoy." Ginny ground out, tossing her broom over her shoulder, "I'm in no mood to play."
Draco put on a fake pout, "But you know I love to play, little weasel."
Ginny dropped her broom and stepped up to him, planting a finger in his chest and glaring up at him. "I'm. In. No. Mood. To. Play. Ferret. Boy." She said, clipping her words and matching them with pokes.
He sighed, looking down at her five six frame. "Well you are no fun. I'll answer your question when you do, Little Weasel."
Ginny growled, and poked him again, "I'm out here, Ferret-Ass, because I came out to fly. I should think that obvious, you great slimy hunk of Hippogriff bait."
"Well, in that case, Little Weasel, I am out here to run, I should think it blaringly obvious, at least until I was plowed over by one very inconsiderate broomsman." Draco smirked, and caught her finger in one of his elegant, pale hands.
Ginny jerked her finger in an attempt to free her hand, and only succeeded in popping her knuckle. "Let go of me, Ferret."
"Apologize for knocking me down, Weasel, and I'd be more then happy to."
"No."
"Tough luck then, Little Weasel. Looks like you're stuck for quite awhile."
Ginny growled, and jerked her finger again. He tightened his grip, bringing his other hand up and gripping her wrist. "Let go of me, Malfoy." Her voice was soft, almost pleading, if not for the steely surface that lurked underneath.
"Apologize, Weasel, and I will." He smirked, using his grip on her wrist to tug her closer to him.
She turned her head as she was tugged against his chest. Warning bells were exploding in her head as she listened to her blood pound in her ears. They stood like that for at least two minutes before Ginny sighed in exasperation. "If I apologize, you'll let go?"
"Yes."
"You promise?"
Draco froze. "Little Weasel, I don't promise anything, to anybody. You'll be no exception."
"Sorry, Ferret." She said automatically, and suddenly found herself released. She rubbed her wrist and glared at him. "Well...label me pink and color me shocked." She muttered.
He raised an eyebrow, tucking his wand back into his sweater pocket. "What?"
"I just met a Slytherin who kept his word." Ginny said, before grabbing her broom and kicking off into the night.