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Crumpled Daisies
Draco Malfoy carefully pulls a flower by its stem. A white daisy, delicate and wispy; but it conceals hidden strengths, able to survive in harsh conditions. A lift of full lips, he smiles. Draco smiles in remembrance, in regret – of all the things that could be and didn't. She was a daisy, indeed.
He decides to tuck the flower into his pocket. Midway, he stops, musing that the soft petals are going to get crushed. Holding it gently between thumb and forefinger, he stands up. Unfolding lean, taut muscles, he brushes off the grass clinging fiercely to his slacks.
He laughs, a soft low note reverberating richly in his throat. Wandering aimlessly; for it is a beautiful autumn day, he stops frequently to breathe in the crisp air, pungent with scents of different things; flowers, trees, leaves – rolling into one to become the most delicious smell.
If only she could see him now.
Draco frowns, the back of his neck prickles. He whirls around, sure that he is being watched …
And again, there is no one there. Again, he faces an empty stretch of land that echoes deep within him. An emptiness that his money, his influence, his friends – yes, friends, for Draco now recognizes the meaning of a word so simple – cannot heal. A void that is slowly metamorphosizing into a black hole; churning, swirling, threatening to consume all. He is lost.
Draco Malfoy is a danger to himself.
He remembers hair so red, it was almost bloody. Skin so fair, alabaster would be put to shame. Eyes so beautiful, coppery by candlelight. Lips so eloquent, touch so skilled – his fist tightens.
As he feels the perfectly manicured nails, buffed till they shine; digging sharply into naked skin, he gasps, leaving crescent-shaped indents engraved. The remains of a crumpled daisy float to the grass at his feet.
Draco stares at the flower, uncomprehending. Such beauty, destroyed. The daisy appears to mock him, to taunt him to defy again.
It wouldn't be the first time he's done it.
He remembers her.
Taking delight that she was beneath him; unaware, through strict denial, that she was as pure of blood as he was. Until he found her trapped in the clutches of a Hufflepuff sixth year – he snorts here … a Hufflepuff! – desperately attempting to free herself from hands much larger than her own, roaming her body, ignoring the obvious 'no' her body was maintaining.
He was no stranger to the sight of women in distress, and it suddenly struck a broken chord within him. Draco darted into the fray.
A shouted curse, a flash of coloured light, and the boy dangled in mid-air, finding that the tables were turned. With a promise extracted to never touch her again given sulkily; he turned to her, smiling broadly in expectations of a simpering thank-you.
He was surprised to find her gone.
Instead, she was standing with her back stiff in front of the boy, mouth set in a grim line, wand held straight as she performed her signature Bat-Bogey Hex on him. When the boy finally managed to scamper away, hands protecting his face, she turned to him.
Coldly, she spat out, "I can take care of myself, thanks. I don't need anyone acting like I can't, and I certainly don't need you."
Taken aback, he stared agape at her. She was much taller than he realized, and with the sunlight streaming through her long locks, she looked almost beautiful. Fire burning in her eyes, she turned on her heel and left.
Draco contemplated the odd situation near the lake. He was more than a little insulted, and yet, he couldn't forget her face, eyes wide open, anger radiating.
To tell the truth, he always had a bit of a soft spot for the littlest Weasley, since that first day at Flourish & Blotts. He had felt an insatiable need to protect her, and quickly discovered that she had a core of steel when he had tested the waters. Then, the whole Chamber of Secrets business …
As the giant squid's tentacles poked tentatively out of the glassy sheen, Ginny plopped herself down with a huff beside him.
"I was having a bad day. What with Snape at Potions, a Howler from my mum – apparently, the hem of my skirt is too short for any 'self-respecting young lady'. I didn't want to tell her that the money she gave me for new under robes wasn't – oh, parents and all, y'know?"
Draco lifted his tousled blond head, only to mutter, "Snape isn't half bad when you know him."
Ginny laughed, a throaty chuckle emanating from her.
"And then well, Callum … that boy? I guess you already understand, huh?"
"I most certainly do."
Ginny became intent on picking at her shoelaces.
"Thank you."
Draco grinned, a quick upturn of his mouth.
"Eh, what? Can't hear much nowadays, bit of trouble with my hearing. Blimey, I'm aging much faster than I thought! And what with all that nonsense about us wizards being able to live for centuries! Why, just the other day, I read in the Prophet that -"
"I said thank you, Malfoy, and once should suffice!" Ginny's by now infamous temper was rising.
"What happened to you and Pothead anyway? Thought you couldn't live without him and all that tripe. What, you cheating on him or something?"
Ginny stared at him, infuriated. "What's it to you, ferret? You gonna run and tell Harry just like the little titchy rodent you are?"
Sneering, Draco replied, "No, I just believed along with the rest of the school that you hung on to Potter's every word. 'Yes, Harry. No, Harry. Of course, Harry!' Harry, Harry, Harry, day and night."
"That's not true." Ginny was trembling now, fingers clenched.
Draco leaned closer to Ginny.
"Oh yes, it is. Remember this? Pickled. Toad."
His smirk evident was as he watched the obvious play of emotions on her fair face.
Blinking, he wondered, Where did all the freckles go?
SMACK!
Draco was stunned as he gingerly reached a slim hand up to his now throbbing nose.
Ginny had punched him.
Bugger it all.
Flexing her fingers, Ginny was visibly shaking with rage.
"Malfoy. I will say this once and only once. Yes, Harry and I are going out, but I am not the same, stupid little girl I used to be. I am 15, not 5 – or 11 for that matter. I don't need to explain myself to you about why I was with Callum; but I believed it to be simply an innocuous meeting, and was unaware of his intentions. Is that clear?"
Draco winced inwardly. Way to go, Malfoy my boy. Best way to win a girl's heart.
Ginny was still glaring daggers at him. "Is that clear?"
"Crystal."
Draco reminisces about that first real conversation he has with her. He recalls the few weeks after – him being petulant and sulky, her being completely oblivious.
She could laugh; oh yes, she could laugh. Tossing that pretty, little head of hers; with that long, long hair.
Oh, how Draco had longed to wrap his fingers in her crowning glory …
And pull her head right back with a snap.
Because there she was, giving one of her sweet smiles to Potty, raising a delicate hand to his cheek.
And so he did, reaching an arm out to tug her behind a tapestry, eyes gleaming in anticipation of what, he didn't really know. He only knew it burned, this inexhaustible fire.
Lowering his lips to hers, he teased, he explored, he tasted Ginny. The same passion that exploded in him was mirrored by her obvious arousal.
No gentle kisses of love; they were embroiled in the heat of the moment, a dangerous battle of wills. Lips, tongues, teeth bit and nibbled, clashed and withdrew.
Draco felt himself harden and his breath quickened. He should have foreseen that Ginny had so much to give, so much to offer.
He trailed a finger to her navel, circling it once before dipping lower to stroke her through the cumbersome robes.
She moaned, a low, enthralling sound.
And he heard the whisper on her lips: "Harry …"
Draco felt his blood run cold as his heart seemed to fall into nothingness.
She whimpered in dissatisfaction, and he almost lost it there and then, willing to take what was being presented and screw the consequences.
He didn't. And that was the beauty of it. Draco Malfoy, turning down a piece of ass; albeit he was the unintended receiver.
Draco gently held her at arm's length as he lit up his wand to watch her lips part in surprise.
"Malfoy!"
What Draco didn't know was how this encounter would torture Ginny throughout the night. The memory of his kisses branded into her, the fire that was incomparable to the mere flicker of Harry.
She should have known Harry wasn't the one who had stirred her so, right from the moment lips had met in the dark. She had been so very surprised by "Harry's" daring, and she had been nearly ready to lose everything to Draco.
With a strangled oath, Ginny slowly slid her fingers into the already slick folds of her warm core.
And it was Draco's face she saw in her mind's eye and his hands touching her, as Ginny felt herself contract and shudder with release.
Not too far away in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco was cursing himself for his stupidity.
Oh, if only he knew …
Draco decided then and there that almost anyone else was good enough, at least to satisfy the urge he felt whenever he thought of Ginny, all alone in her four-poster bed, the hemline of her nightgown hitching up to reveal the curve of calves, the promise of thigh.
The swell of her breasts as her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
The slight moans as she dreamed … of what, he didn't really know.
Oh, fuck.
Draco sighed in resignation.
"PANSY!"
A/N:
Thanks to all of you who reviewed my last story. I'm still alive and kicking as you can see)) And much better now. I think. Oh well, this is for you guys, and I'm sorry for any tendencies to update late. Hope you had fun reading this! Unbeta-ed as usual.