A/N: So, have you all forgotten about me? I'm awfully sorry this took so damn long, but life butted its head into my life and forced me away from the computer for quite a few weeks. I got a bit of writing in here and there, but as you obviously already know, I didn't get this posted until a month later than I intended . . . um, my point? Ahh, don't think I had one.
Anyway.
I hope you enjoy it, and the D/Gness it possesses.
Excuse any Americanisms, because I was lazy and didn't send it to be checked over by my Brit beta.
Great big thanks to . . . drum roll please . . . my new and second English beta, VioletJersey!
Chapter Nine
Games
Rafe Tannar couldn't have been much older than thirty-five, but youth added nothing to his appeal. He was short, barely five feet, and very round. His hairline looked as though it had been receding for the past fifteen years; his skin was darkly tanned, his clothes were expensively tailored, and he wore masculine diamond rings on three of his fingers. His teeth were very straight and very white, starkly contrasting with his dark face, and his eyes were small, squinty, and black. He was loud, boisterous, and flirty.
Draco didn't like him.
Rafe Tannar was not present when they Flooed in, but clearly he was aware of their intended arrival; he'd posted a maid by the fireplace to wait for them. As soon as they'd dusted themselves off and picked up their things – Blaise carried both his trunk and Pansy's two trunks; she complained they were too heavy for her and strained her muscles – the maid led them from the room and through the house.
Draco was impressed with the villa. He was used to splendor and wealth and extravagance and though the place wasn't ostentatiously decorated, he deemed Tannar's place acceptable and, more importantly, livable.
The walls were a simple white, and a bit lumpy, and adorned every now and then with paintings or mosaics. The floor was made of a dark hardwood with runners placed in the hallways and rugs in the rooms. The dining room wasn't all too impressive; the round table sat only five or six. The sitting room consisted of large, overstuffed white couches that were arranged in an L, facing the corner of the room where a large armoire stood, containing – Draco realized with a deep scowl – a television set.
He didn't see much more, because the maid turned and led them up the stairs. The walls here did not contain simple hanging frames – they were ornamented with actual direct paintings. They depicted scenes of an ancient time; men and women in robes different from wizarding ones, their feet sandaled, standing in various poses and heads turned to show off their profile. They carried a variety of different things; one man held a blood-tipped spear; another held a trident, and another a goblet in one hand and a theater mask in the other. One of the women had a dove on her shoulder; another had a fan of peacock feathers behind her; another a sheaf of grain.
Greek gods and goddesses.
Draco had only a moment to glance at the paintings. The maid was leading them up quickly, as though in a hurry to be rid of her charge.
"Here are your rooms," she told them, stopping in the middle of the upstairs hallway. Her English was thickly accented and barely understandable. "Come down for something to eat once you are ready."
"Wait," Blaise said irritably as she began to hurry away. "Which room is for who?"
The maid barely glanced over her shoulder. "Any one you would like."
Draco shifted his weight from one foot to the other; his trunk was beginning to feel heavy. There were three closed doors, enough for them all, so it didn't seem to matter who took what. They were probably all similar anyway. Managing to free one hand, he pushed open a door and stepped inside without a word to Pansy or Blaise.
Candles in sconces blazed to life immediately, revealing a room larger than Draco had been expecting. It was dark; the main colors were the midnight blue thick carpet and glossy brown furniture. Most of the wall space was occupied by built-in bookshelves that contained volumes written in Greek. The only window was shaped like the top half of the moon that, once Draco stood on the bed and peered out, gave the view of a pool below, lit up even though no one was swimming.
The ceiling, however, captivated his attention almost instantly. It was charmed to reflect the night sky; black clouds against an inky sky that matched the paint color. The clouds swirled noiselessly, opening on occasion and to reveal a few twinkling stars.
Draco set his trunk down, looking up and watching the scene. It was Blaise who distracted him; he came in quietly and whistled in slight awe.
"Damn. Your room is huge," he complained.
Draco didn't bother to look at him. He opened the trunk with his wand and sent his clothing flying into the wardrobe. "That's because I deserve the best," he answered absently.
"It's boring, though," Blaise added gleefully. "Come and see mine."
Draco set his clothes to finish unpacking and followed Blaise across the hall. Though Blaise's room was about half the size of his, it certainly was more . . . interesting. The bed's comforter was a white tiger hide; the carpet was glossy black fur. The walls were painted a dark red and decorated with various exotic animal heads. A lion caught forever in a bellow, an elephant (clearly shrunken to fit the allotted space) with tusks jutting towards the ceiling, a zebra staring at the same spot with glittering black eyes . . . and if there wasn't a dead animal head, then there hung some kind of weapon. Bow, arrows, daggers, swords, spears, as well as what looked like a pair of manacles attached to long chains. To add even more bad taste, all the furniture was made of tan leather; leather desk, leather chair, leather wardrobe, leather shelves.
And the appalling thing was . . . Draco didn't imagine this Tannar man bought imitations.
Blaise's ceiling, just like his, was bewitched. But it was an angry sky, full of ominous gray clouds that threatened to spill heavy rain, thick snow, or piercing sleet (or perhaps the whole lot of it) any second.
"Rather amazing, isn't it?" Blaise asked, almost fondly.
Draco didn't want to voice his opinion; the dead animals were unnerving, the leather, for all anyone knew, could be from humans, and he felt a chill just from glancing up at the clouds. Instead, he smirked and said, "What's Pansy's like?"
Pansy's, surprisingly, was very feminine. Draco had been anticipating another dark, heavily decorated room. What greeted him was a décor of light and dark pinks, greens, and purples.
"It's lovely," Pansy said of it all, bending over to sniff a bouquet of red roses on the desk. She was never the one to call anything lovely.
Draco wanted to get right down to work. "Where are the blueprints located?" he pressed.
"Tomorrow," Pansy decided, plucking a rose and running it along her cheek. She lay back on her satin sea of a bed. "Tonight, we dine with Rafe Tannar and earn his trust. That way he'll never suspect it was us."
"We're not going to steal anything," Blaise reminded her, poking at the still painting of a landscape on the wall as if to make it move. "With any luck, he'll never know anything happened at all."
"Still," she insisted. "If he ever does figure out anything, he won't be likely to be informing anyone about us."
Draco kept his lips sealed, holding in the urge to tell Pansy she was being utterly ridiculous. If Tannar did suspect someone had tampered with the blueprints, he most definitely would suspect the three of them first. The coincidence of them being there would be too great. Even if they made a spectacular impression on him tonight and gained his approval and respect, they would never earn his trust, especially within the given time.
"I'm starving," Blaise announced, abruptly. "Didn't the servant say we could go down for something to eat?"
The three returned to the first level, searching for the kitchen. They wandered through half a dozen rooms that seemed a waste of space – who needed four rooms for sitting? – before they found it, and then they were pushed out by the cooks. Since none of them spoke English, and Draco, Pansy, and Blaise certainly didn't speak Greek, they weren't sure where to go next.
It was Blaise who suggested they sit in the adjoining dining room and just wait to be served. He proved to be correct; only five minutes later, the same maid who'd shown them in brought several bowls and plates of food. She paused long enough to tell them what everything was before spinning on her heel and leaving.
There was a thick, white dip called tzakziki accompanied with bread, a bowl of something called horiatiki which just looked like a lettuce-free salad, a flaky, cheesy pie called tyropita, some sort of meaty stew called giouvetsi in a clay pot, and pasta that was drowning in a form of tomato soup called domatosoupa. For dessert there were pastries which Draco had actually heard of – baklava – and some kind of fried batter smothered in honey called theepless.
Draco, who didn't take to foreign food kindly, found most of it to be decently flavored. The meal was in silence; Blaise was busy shoveling food into his mouth, Pansy seemed to be lost in a deep thought, and Draco just wasn't in the mood for conversation.
He was just debating whether or not to have a one more baklava when Rafe Tannar made his grand entrance.
He heard Tannar before he actually saw him. A deep voice shouting loudly in Greek approached the dining room, and a moment later the man flourished through the doorway, clad in an everyday wizard robe of dark purple and gold sandals. He spotted them and a broad grin broke over his face, making his cheeks fatter.
"Welcome!" he boomed, as if they made him the happiest man alive for staying in his home. His arms thrown out – did he expect a hug? – he strode to the table, either not noticing or ignoring the aggravated glare Blaise was giving him. "I see you have eaten; very good, very good. I hope you are comfortable here?" He clapped Draco on the shoulder and held out a hand to shake.
Draco tried not to smirk and shook it. Tannar did almost the same thing to Blaise, but Blaise released his hand so quickly it was offensive. Tannar didn't seem to notice or care. His attention turned to Pansy.
"Hello, Mister Tannar," she said sweetly, beaming up at him. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."
"Not nearly as wonderful as it is to meet you," he declared, kissing her hand with a loud smack. "But please, call me Rafe. All my friends do."
Blaise snorted a laugh.
"Won't you join us?" Pansy asked, pulling out the chair beside her. "I'm afraid we've finished, but I'm −"
"Nonsense, nonsense," Tannar interrupted. "I wouldn't want you to sit here any longer at this uncomfortable table. Come, we'll settle in the lounge."
Blaise and Draco mirrored each other's expression; frustration. The last thing they wanted to do was sit around and talk with Rafe Tannar for a few hours.
Pansy took Tannar's arm and allowed him to lead her out of the dining room, but she threw a look over her shoulder at the two of them. Come on! the angry look cried.
Once they'd gone, Blaise threw down his napkin on the table. "First a Muggle party," he sighed. "Now death by boredom."
"She is trying to torture us," Draco agreed, pushing his chair back with a scrape. "But it's getting late; we won't have to sit there very long." He was already planning on yawning and drooping his eyelids to get the hint across.
However, Pansy and Tannar were so wrapped up with one another they barely glanced at the other two. Sitting on an antique loveseat that was certainly not Greek, they were tilted to face each other and chatted about everything from weather to Sophocles. Over the heavy coffee table, Draco and Blaise sat in separate chairs and watched them with dull amazement and piercing annoyance. How Pansy could act so well was beyond them. How Tannar could be so obnoxious was a mystery.
An hour trickled by slowly, and finally Draco just gave up. To hell with being polite. Abruptly, he stood, but it wasn't until he spoke that Pansy and Tannar looked at him.
"I'm tired," he said flatly. "I think I'm going to bed."
"Oh. Goodnight, Draco," Pansy said with a smile.
"Goodnight," Tannar echoed.
"I'm going as well," Blaise added, knowing it wouldn't bother them too much.
After another round of goodnights, Draco at last was heading to his room. Surprisingly, he found he was a little tired. Sleep didn't sound like an extreme option.
The clouds of his ceiling had cleared, and now a million tiny stars and a crescent moon were visible. They lit the room significantly. Nevertheless, he was asleep within an hour.
* * *
Thursday, 13 March, 2003
If Draco had known what was waiting for him downstairs the next morning, he would've never gotten out of bed.
As it was, he didn't know, and he woke up around seven and showered. Once dressed, he knocked on Blaise's door to wake him up as well; he didn't want to descend for breakfast by himself.
"Wake up," Draco said, opening the door. "I'm hungry."
He got a groan in response and knew Blaise wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Satisfied, he went next door to Pansy's room. He had to knock several times and still, he didn't get any signs that she'd heard him.
No surprise, either. Her room was empty and her bed was made. Either she'd gotten up and went downstairs already, or she hadn't come up at all.
Draco tried not to think about it.
As he crossed back to his room and wait for Blaise to get dressed, he noticed a fourth door in the hallway. There had only been three doors the night before. It wasn't unusual for doors to suddenly appear, but for some reason, it made him frown. Without bothering to check it out, he stepped back into his own room and perused the bookshelf as he waited.
Ten minutes later, Blaise was ready and the two of them went down to the dining room. It was there Draco received one of the biggest shocks of his life.
Tannar and Pansy were seated at the table already, laughing about some joke one of them had just told. They were not the only occupants in the room.
Ginny Weasley also sat on Tannar's right.
Draco honestly only felt one thing – stunned.
Weasley?
It was impossible. It was unfathomable It was the least likely thing of all.
But there she was. Sitting there, looking undeniably pretty. She'd curled her hair into fat ringlets, the length barely longer than her chin, and they rustled when she moved her head. The dress she wore was white with thin black straps; thin black ribbons ran underneath her bust, around her waist, and crisscrossed between them, and though it covered her chest modestly, the hem didn't reach her knees. She also wore cosmetics; her lips were rosy, her eyes smoky. She was dressed to impress someone.
Him.
As the two entered, Weasley was the first to notice them. She was smiling at whatever Pansy and Tannar were laughing at, but when her eyes settled on Draco it widened into something more genuine. Her eyebrows went up as she feigned shock.
"Draco!" she exclaimed, causing Pansy and Tannar to turn. "I can't believe it! What are you doing here?"
Draco's surprise was melting into anger rapidly. He couldn't answer. Behind him, Blaise was laughing quietly. He wanted to punch him.
Tannar stood up and flourished grandly to Ginny. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini," he breathed, "good morning to you both. May I introduce you to Ginny Weasley? She is the daughter of my dear, dear cousin Mallory."
Ginny's smile faded a bit and she looked mildly agitated. "Whom we nickname Molly. . . ."
Tannar laughed loudly, clapping her on the shoulder and giving her a shake so powerful she dropped her fork on the floor with a loud clatter. "Right, right. Molly. Breakfast, you two?"
"I'm not hungry," Draco grit out. Blaise pushed past him and sat on Pansy's left, leaving two seats open; one beside him, and the other beside Ginny.
"Then come and sit with us," Pansy said lightly enough, yet the look she threw Draco was dark and meaningful.
Draco didn't want to sit. He wanted to go up into his room and brood. Anguish over everyone and everything that was bothering him; Pansy for mistaking Weasley for incompetent, Weasley for not being incompetent, Blaise for sitting there and grinning gleefully at him, Gaius Tannar for hiding his blueprints in Greece, Rafe Tannar for keeping the blueprints hidden in a difficult spot, the Ministry for being after him, his father for causing the Ministry to be after him. . . .
But Draco was not one to brood in private. He'd much rather do it around the people who caused it all and be miserable company; much rather do it where he could size up the situation and figure out a solution.
Dropping heavily beside Blaise, he shot Ginny the most vicious look he could muster. Her smile dimmed, but after a moment she seemed to realize he didn't bother her, and it brightened once again.
"I can't believe you're here," she said again, sounding like just the sight of him made her oh so very happy. "First we see each other in Madrid, and now Athens? What are the odds? It's incredible."
"Small world, eh?" Blaise said through a mouthful of food.
Her eyes narrowed very, very slightly when she looked at Blaise. So minute was the gesture that Draco was sure only he, who was judging her reactions very closely, could have possibly noticed. "Yes," she said, her voice pleasant and warm. "Such a small world, I feel I've seen you before. Did you go to Hogwarts?"
"I did." He was smirking.
"Zabini . . . Zabini . . ." she mulled, trying to jog her memory. Draco had a strong feeling she knew very well who Blaise was. Her cheery exterior was a little too forced. "Oh yes! Blaise! I do remember you now."
"Do you?" Blaise shot Draco an amused look. He was enjoying every damn minute of Draco's anger and frustration, the bastard. Draco glared at him, an expression not too much different from the one he gave Ginny, but that only made Blaise grin wider and give a short laugh.
Ginny turned her attention to Tannar and began to gush about how beautiful the place was, in that falsely sweet manner that made Draco want to strangle her. Pansy, who had been aloof and ignoring Ginny's presence, glowered now that Tannar was no longer paying her any interest. Blaise seemed to be the only one truly having a good time; every time his eyes fell on Draco's face, he would break out in a grin, mouth full or not.
Draco eventually fell into deep thought.
He didn't accept for one minute that Ginny and Tannar were relatives. The fluke was too great. Somehow – somehow – Ginny had discovered Draco was going to Athens and the exact place he was staying, and she'd come as well. Since she worked for the Ministry, it was probably easy to get Tannar to play along. After all, the Tannar family did have a long history of devotement to the Ministry of Magic.
Pansy, you moron, Draco thought furiously. You picked the wrong person. Ginny Weasley may not be the most competent person alive, but she's damn closer than you realized.
Ginny was smart. She was quick. And she was determined. He couldn't just leave and hope to lose her. No, not anymore. She would find him again; she'd found him twice.
What to do about it?
Thwart her somehow? Make her mess up horribly, have her sent back to the Ministry, and have another replace her? Someone truly slow and dispassionate? Maybe. But that would take time and effort. Besides, what if there wasn't anyone dimwitted enough in the entire Ministry? Nobody could just walk off the street and hope to work in the Defense Department. The powers-that-be normally chose intelligent and qualified people, even as interns.
Nice thinking, Malfoy. Couldn't have thought of this before, could you?
"What do you think, Draco?" Ginny's voice cut in.
He blinked and focused on her; she was staring expectantly at him. "About what?" he asked shortly.
Tannar smiled; Ginny rolled her eyes. "The Quidditch pitch outside. Tannar has one," she explained, understanding he hadn't been paying attention. "Are you up for a match after breakfast?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to say no. But then the conclusion struck him.
You can't avoid her.
She looked at him patiently, giving him a small smile and waiting for his response. She was trusting – trusting that he had no idea she worked for the Ministry, trusting that he couldn't get away, trusting that he couldn't say no, not forever. Eventually he'd have to say yes. Eventually.
Ginny Weasley was there to bring him back to England. She wasn't there to hit him over the head with a club and lock him in a trunk and ship him to Azkaban. She wasn't there to drag him back in chains. No. She was there to bring him home willingly. Everything depended on him. Not her.
It would be extremely and vibrantly pleasing to disappoint her.
All right, Weasley, Draco thought, a grin slowly spreading over his face. I'll take your bait. I'll play your game.
And I'll win.
"That sounds like a good idea," he said; Blaise coughed on whatever he was eating, Pansy's eyes widened with astonishment.
Ginny pretended not to notice. She appeared completely thrilled. "All right, I'll just run up and change. Meet me on the pitch in fifteen minutes."
* * *
The villa's grounds were magnificent. The acres of lush, green land went on forever − or almost forever, until the grass gave way to a sheer drop-off of twenty or so feet. Standing on the edge, one could look out into the expanse of the Mediterranean and see nothing but blue water and hear nothing but the gentle lap of waves below.
The pool area was tiled in colorful mosaics and furnished with cushioned lawn chairs as well as tables with umbrellas. To the side was a white pergola with vines twining around the supports; in its shade sat a long counter which Tannar promised one of his men would work and serve drinks from when they needed it.
Off to the left was the gardens; trees of every shape and flowers and shrubs of every color – blue, red, pink, yellow, orange, green, purple, white – grew along the paths. Orchids, daffodils, crocuses, hyacinths, sunflowers, tulips, roses, Japanese maples, weeping willows, honeysuckles, and many more Ginny didn't recognize . . . clearly magic was keeping most of them alive and thriving. Lining the drop-off and starkly contrasting with the blue sea beyond was a large white wall from which high chaparrals and cliff roses grew. The many delicious scents carried on the ocean's breeze and reached Ginny's nose as she headed past the pool, now dressed in shorts and a light top, to join Draco on the Quidditch pitch.
She felt that now-familiar thrill of apprehension as she squinted up against the bright sun, watching as he flew aimlessly on one of Tannar's several SilverWing 2000s.
What if I mess up?
Telling herself to forget worrying, she didn't need to bother herself with what ifs, she picked up the broomstick a servant had left on the pitch and kicked up into the air. Everything heavy within her vanished and she grinned. Just wait until I tell Ron I flew on a SilverWing 2000, she thought joyfully, pulling up to Draco's height.
"How do you expect to play with only two people, Weasley?" he called casually over his shoulder, directing his broom away from her. "If I recall correctly we're both Seekers."
"You recall incorrectly," she replied, easily catching up until they were flying side by side. "Only for one year I played Seeker. When Harry came back the next, I became a Chaser."
"That'll make for an exciting match – a Chaser and a Seeker," he commented dryly, pulling up abruptly.
She hurried after him, irritation gathering. "I trust that you're not so terrible at Quidditch that you can only play one position, Malfoy," she said crisply. "I'm decent at Keeper – you could attempt to score on me −"
Draco stopped suddenly and brought his broom around to face her. She nearly collided into him – only by luck, not skill, did she manage to jerk to a halt, and nearly tumbled off in the process. Almost absently Draco grabbed her arm to keep her from careening forward, and she fell back with a most uncomfortable thump.
"Good at every position, are you, Weasley?" he sneered at her.
She would have been stupid to miss his innuendo; she felt her face flush and hated herself for overacting. Nudging her arm, she shrugged off his hand and attempted a glare. "Look, Draco, if you didn't want to play you didn't have to come out here. There's a million other things we could do."
He appeared thoughtful. "I could think of one."
Ginny huffed – childish, she admitted, but it was an honest reaction. Why did he keep referring to sexual things from her innocent intentions? Though it made her cheeks warm, it also grated her nerves.
And then he was laughing at her − laughing! Enjoying her impatience and discomfort with a genuine, deep laugh that was so unlike him! She gripped her broom handle tightly and gritted her teeth.
"All right, Weasley," he said, finally settling down to a grin. "I'll be Keeper and you try and score on me. Satisfied?"
No, of course she wasn't. She angled her broom down and sped for the ground, trying to calm herself. Don't let him get to you, he's just trying to get a rise out of you . . .
A trunk containing Quidditch balls sat near the end of the pitch; clearly Tannar had sent his servants to do everything. Ginny hopped off her broom, grabbed two Quaffles, and then headed back up towards the three hoops where Draco was waiting.
"Let's see if you're any good, Malfoy," she said and imitated one of his sneers.
They played for a good hour. Ginny charmed the Quaffles to fly straight back at her as soon as they went through the hoops – or otherwise. She didn't have to worry about much other than scoring, but that proved to be enough; Draco was a pretty good Keeper. More than pretty good, actually. She'd never thought her abilities as a Chaser to be exceptional, but she was above average and normally found it easy to score when only having to contend with the Keeper. With Draco, she did have to maneuver quite a bit to get any Quaffles past him.
After a while they switched; Ginny as Keeper, Draco as the Chaser. Halfway through this arrangement Draco suddenly remembered the song he'd created years ago, and began to sing loudly and obnoxiously a female version of "Weasley is Our King" or, in the current case, Queen.
Ginny tried to catch the Quaffles directly with her hands so she could heave them at his head.
He did seem to redeem himself, however, when he grew so hot that he had to take his shirt off. Ginny wanted desperately not to goggle like a teenager at his smooth – though a bit pale – chest and, annoyed with him for distracting her and scoring twice, threw the Quaffles she caught back three times as hard.
Finally, Draco grew tired of singing, mostly because his mouth became too dry. Ginny was fairly panting and suggested they head back inside for a drink.
They didn't have to go so far, it turned out; one of Tannar's servants was standing behind the bar by the pool, waiting to serve them. Ginny began to suspect Tannar's help was magical and appeared only when needed. She would have to ask him how he managed a trick like that.
Draco asked only for water, while Ginny wanted a Sherry – she'd grown fond of them, and after all, only one wasn't going to hurt.
"Is that all you ever drink?" Ginny asked, gesturing at his glass. "Water?"
"It's all I need," he replied easily. "And when one perspires, one needs to regain the water lost."
Ginny studied him and wanted to laugh, mostly from his ridiculous statement, but also from the fact that he made sweat look attractive. It was dripping down the sides of his face and had dampened his hairline, yet he still looked untouchable. Only Draco Malfoy could achieve that, she thought wryly. Only Malfoy.
"So why didn't you tell me you were friends with Pansy and Blaise?" she pressed offhandedly. "When I asked you who your friends were the other day, 'Pansy and Blaise' would've been the correct response, I should think."
His eyes narrowed. "I don't like you prying into my life, Weasley," he said amiably, gazing towards the ocean. "As it is, I don't think you have much of a right to know who my friends are."
She sighed exasperatedly. All the secrecy . . . what was he trying to hide? Was he somehow concerned that if Ginny knew he still kept in contact with Blaise and Pansy, she would figure out he was supposed to be dead? That really didn't make much logical sense.
What are you up to, Malfoy?
They drank in silence for a while. Ginny tried to sort through his reasoning behind guarding his life, but gave up quickly. It would be pointless to dwell on it now; she had to focus on Draco.
"Up for some more Quidditch?" she asked, grinning challengingly.
He gave a tight smile. "No, actually. Too hot. I'm just going to take a sho −"
"Too hot?" Ginny interrupted. She felt a jolt of nervousness; this was the exact opportunity she'd been waiting for. Taking a deep breath, she plunged on, "That's easily fixed. Let's go swimming."
He glanced at the pool and his smile turned into a smirk. "I don't have a bathing suit," he replied in a tone that closed the subject.
But I do, she thought, and shot him an easy grin, despite her jumpy insides. She lifted off her shirt and threw it to the side, carefully avoiding his eyes. Next off were her shorts. In seconds she stood before him, wearing nothing but a revealing cream colored halter bikini that she'd borrowed from Penelope. The other girl had practically thrown it at her as soon as Ginny told her and Maili she was going to Athens.
"Take this. I'm sure it'll help you snare this guy's attention."
Ginny had taken it, and shoved it into her trunk with no intentions of wearing it. But as she'd been changing clothes earlier, it had just been staring at her from her piles of clothing, begging to be worn. She'd thought it wouldn't hurt to try it on, and after a few quick adjustments in the chest (smaller) and hips (wider), it had fit perfectly.
I look pretty damn good, Ginny had thought after admiring every angle in a mirror, and before she could change her mind, had thrown something over it and hurried to meet Draco on the pitch.
Though the match had been hot, she hadn't shed her shirt as he had. She wanted to be able to see his reaction clearly once she did. It would be nice to know if he found her attractive or as pale and gawky as she felt.
She was glad she'd waited.
His eyes widened slightly, and he ran them down the length of her body, languorously, before reaching her face again. He didn't try to be subtle; when he met her gaze once more, he had a tiny, knowing smile on his lips.
She wished her face would stop flaming and found her voice, a little shaky at first. "You don't need a bathing suit," she told him. "Just go in your trousers. You are a wizard, after all. You can dry them." Feeling more at ease now that he was back to smirking, she crossed her arms and added pointedly, albeit daringly, "Besides. I'm not talking about the pool."
His eyebrows knitted together in brief confusion. She inclined her head towards the ocean and he followed her indication.
"Live a little, Malfoy."
She watched his profile. His face was now blank, but his gray eyes were clouded with indecision. She wasn't worried, however; she knew he'd say yes. He always did.
"How do we get down there?" he asked at last, fixing her with a serious look.
She wasn't sure if she was hurt or relieved that he no longer seemed to notice she was nearly naked. "Broomstick, of course," she said like it was obvious. "We can use the same one – no sense in keeping track of two when one will hold us both."
Almost reluctantly, he grinned back. "I get to steer," he said, and it wasn't a request. It was an order.
They got on the same broom and Draco headed towards the cliffs. Ginny felt elated for three reasons – she was flying, she was touching Draco's bare stomach, but mostly . . . her plan was working.
So far, she'd talked Draco into everything she'd wanted. He would always refuse at first, but it was dependable that he would change his mind. Whether she coaxed him into it or he decided to accept from his own private, unfathomable reasons didn't matter. The fact was he agreed and they were spending time together. Eventually he'd have to feel something for her. Something positive. And it was up to her to make sure his feelings were strong enough to bring him back to England.
Granted, it wasn't as easy as all that. She'd already run into a couple of problems – namely, Blaise and Pansy. But she'd figure out their purpose with Draco and learn how to deal with them soon enough. After all, she'd followed Draco to Athens, hadn't she? Though the story she'd forced Tannar to tell them – by order of the Ministry – was slightly unbelievable and highly coincidental, neither of the three had reason to believe otherwise.
Yes, it was safe to say she could handle Blaise and Pansy. Their time would come.
But right now was Draco's time.
The cliff lining the sea was a ninety degree drop straight down into the water. Ginny looked up and down the coast and saw no beaches within sight. No problem. When Draco brought the broom to a halt a few feet above the surface, Ginny pulled out her wand and tapped it against the wood. "Strigare Momentum," she said loudly, and instantly the broom became as solid and unmovable as a rock.
"We're swimming here," Draco said dully and doubtfully as she re-pocketed her wand.
"Well, Draco, you were the one steering," she said kindly, "and if you see a better place, do let me know." With that, she slid off the broom and crashed into the water with an ungraceful splash.
It was shockingly cold. Surfacing, she gasped and scanned the air for Draco. "It's freezing," she cried once she'd spotted him. She treaded water as little waves slapped against her, pushing her directly underneath him and closer to the rock wall.
"I imagine it is," he said serenely, looking down to follow her movement. "It is March."
"Well?" she pressed, already short of breath – damn, it was tiring. "Are you coming in?"
Draco's chest rose and fell as he sighed – why couldn't she stop looking at his chest? – but he shrugged as if to say "what the hell" and hoisted himself up to stand on the broom. Ginny marveled that he could balance; he kept his arms out for only a moment before he dove in.
He came up, a good distance away from her, blowing water from his mouth and tossing his head. "It is a bit chilly, eh?" he said, sounding the closest to playful she'd heard yet.
"It is March," she retorted.
She dove under and tried to swim some warmth into her bones. When she resurfaced for air, she looked around for Draco and saw he was on his back, his eyes closed, drifting a few feet away from her. He appeared to be enjoying the warm sun.
She smiled. Tsk, tsk, Malfoy . . . putting down your guard, she thought snidely.
Inhaling deeply, she went under and swam towards him so as not to alert him to her approach. Her muscles were tight with cold, but the more she moved the looser they became. When she surfaced directly beside him, he merely opened one eye lazily, saw it was her, and closed it again.
"How long can you hold your breath, Malfoy?" she asked teasingly, and without much more warning she placed both hands on his face and shoved him under.
He immediately started and struggled; slightly afraid she might have infuriated him, she let him up without much of a fight. He resurfaced coughing and slapping at the water to keep afloat – for a second it looked like she had angered him. But then he was smirking at her, challenging her, taunting her to try it again.
"I can hold my breath much longer than any pathetic Weasley," he snarled, and lunged for her.
She shrieked and swam away from him. As he was too close, he easily grabbed her ankles, tugging her down. She realized she was laughing before she went under – once there she couldn't do much but exhale.
This has to be something Malfoy enjoys, she thought contentedly. Drowning a Weasley? He must be having something of a good time . . .
He certainly was grinning every time she happened to get a clear view of him.
They didn't fool around in the water for very long – Ginny lost energy rapidly. After ten minutes or so, she clawed her way to fresh air and managed to shout out, "Enough, enough!" before Malfoy dunked her back under.
"Tired of losing, Weasley?" Draco asked arrogantly, and she couldn't do much more than smile at him; he had been beating her, after all.
She swam back to the broom and discovered it was higher up than she remembered. She reached up as far as she could and her fingertips barely brushed the handle. Groaning, she settled back into the water. "I can't reach," she whined to Draco.
Draco sighed as if fed up with her. He somehow had more strength than she did and bounded out of the water, grabbing the broom handle firmly. In a matter of seconds he had swung himself over and was dripping water on her upturned face. She turned away and spat some out; when she'd returned her gaze upwards Draco was holding out his hand for her.
She gripped him firmly, and he gripped back just as hard, if not more so. Their skin was slick from water, but Draco was able to lift her up enough to grab her other hand and yank her from the water. The next instant, Ginny was swinging her leg over the broom and then she was seated on it.
Except she happened to be in Draco's lap, straddling his thighs, sopping wet in a flimsy bikini, and facing him directly.
Ginny felt a rush of warmth in her insides that heated her goose-fleshed skin. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt his sensual gaze roaming over her, felt trapped by her own erotic reaction. What was it about him that made her despise him when he spoke, but melt into a puddle of longing when he only looked?
This close to him, she could study his magnificent face in detail. His complexion truly was perfect – no signs of any blemishes . . . then again, peering even closer, she saw a faint scar just under his right eyebrow. Intrigued, she brushed her finger over it. "What happened?" she whispered, meeting his eyes.
"Glass," he murmured, his breath on her cheek. "A jar exploded."
Ginny took a chance – after kissing him, she supposed she could do anything – and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Only got you in one spot?" she said softly.
His hands were resting on her waist and he tugged on the elastic part of her bikini bottom. With a tiny quirk of his lips, he replied, "I was lucky."
She really wished he shouldn't keep looking at her like that; she was beginning to lose her senses. In fact, she couldn't quite remember what was so bad about kissing him . . . he clearly wanted her to, if he didn't he wouldn't have that heavy-lidded, glazed expression that tempted her, called to her. . . .
This time, it was him who initiated it. He leaned forward and pressed a firm, short kiss on her mouth. Teasing her. Reminding her of what it was like.
Chills were going up her spine even as her face flamed. All from one little kiss.
She was well aware it would help solidify Draco's feelings for her if she leaned forward and trapped his mouth in a longer kiss. She was well aware that she couldn't possibly hope to entangle Draco and take him back to England unless she became his lover. She was well aware it was a reality she'd been afraid to admit to herself, well aware it was true, well aware she couldn't simply befriend him and hope he would follow her home. . . .
But all this knowledge didn't change the fact that she wanted to kiss him.
Job? What job? Ministry? What Ministry? All that existed was Draco.
Ginny threaded her hand through the wet hair on the back of his neck and pulled his face to hers. Then they were kissing, and they were touching, and he was responding – hungrily, fiercely, holding her against him so closely she could feel the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart. His tongue skimmed her bottom lip and she made a soft noise in the back of her throat.
She had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation. How could a kiss make her feel so drunken, so intoxicated? It couldn't be real. Draco was an illusion; his touch was fantasy.
Never wake up, she prayed ardently.
No sooner had these words crossed her mind than did Draco pull away, startling her eyes open. His gaze was intense; deep. He seemed so unruffled while she felt wild; her cheeks felt hot, her heart was pounding madly, and her pulse was racing. How could he be so calm?
"Is this what you want, Ginny?" he said quietly.
Is this what she wanted? Up until that moment she would've said no instantaneously, but now she only wanted to moan yes. Some common sense remained, however, and she simply asked breathlessly, "What do you mean?"
His eyes were clear, cool . . . almost blue. They pierced into her, saying something without words . . . but what? What was he subconsciously trying to say to her?
"Is this what you came here for?" he demanded in a low voice.
So exquisitely slowly was her brain starting to function again. She took a minute to register what he was saying. Partially, she thought dazedly. In a way, yes. I've come to seduce you, but only so I can take you to prison.
He needn't know about the last part.
"Yes," she whispered, starting to regain some strength. "You fascinate me, Draco." She wiped a hand over his forehead to slick back some dripping strands of hair. "Ever since I saw you at that Muggle party . . . you're all I've been able to think about."
Something flashed in his eyes. Perhaps it was amusement, perhaps it was conceit, perhaps it was shock. Either way, it was gone in an instant. "Be careful, Ginny," he breathed, his mouth near her ear. "You're playing a game too far out of your league."
Ginny shivered. "I'll be the judge of that, Malfoy," she promised softly.
* * *
A/N: I am horribly ashamed to say that I didn't do individual thank yous this time. Do expect them next chapter. Thank you all who reviewed last chapter, even if I don't say your name specifically. You know who you are anyway, and so do I.
Next chapter, expect: a tad bit more D/G bonding, a closer look at Draco and Pansy's relationship, and the start of some action (and by action, I mean action action, not D/G . . . yet).
Chapter 10 is written and hopefully, will be here within a month.
Until then!