Pieces of You
A/N
Pearls – Hey, you know me! Just to say, this one's entirely mine, written by moi, with no help what-so-ever. If you can tell, I'm really pleased with myself over this. Also I wanted to tell you that this fic is literally being written as you are reading it, I have no idea where it's going, so suggestions and telling me whatever impressions you got is very welcome (hint, hint). I'm thinkin probably one shot, dependin on reviews.
The first line just came to me one day, so I typed it, and the story's written itself from there on. (Literally, I'm just sat here with some crappy plastic vampire teeth on over my real vampire teeth, don't ask why, and the keys are just pressing themselves! The best spell I ever invented, that is!) And, I've discovered this fantastic thing about writing in italics – it makes it look like there's more! Seriously, it's brill! So most of this chapter, if not this fic, is in flashback, coz, hey – italics!
Also, just a note on the actual story, you have to understand that this comes straight from the book, with no alterations, there's no, 'realising that he's not as bad as she thought', I tried to keep it in canon as much as poss, or at least keep a sense of the canon. Ginny's still a silent plain kid with no real relevance, and Draco's as confused as it is possible for him to be, bearing in mind how 2D JK writes him. He's not nice, but I've done what I could with his character whilst remaining true to the actual story. It gets hard to distinguish what's from the books and what's just generally accepted in D/G fic. Again, this is devoted to my wonderful beta, FeistySprite, who deserves all the love I can give her.
Hooo well, enough of my (hopefully) amusing but pointless rambling, and on with the story, ta ta hons, see you on the review page! Tooootles! Xxx :D - Pearls.
Pieces of You
Draco Malfoy had unusually large hands. This had first shocked her only when she was to amazed to see one of them reaching over her shoulder to offer to grasp one of hers. It was one evening in the middle of her second year at Hogwarts, whilst they were in the Great Hall together, along with only a few other students. It was a Saturday night, late, and most were in the common rooms curled up in front of fires, or talking with their friends. He had offered her his hand to help her get up; his palm faced upwards, fingers curled slightly. In the deep recesses of her dazed mind, she had known it was his hand immediately, by the pale, alabaster skin, contrasted with nails a little torn around the edges, his palms and the heel of his hand rough and calloused from too much Quidditch practise. She was still astonished. She had been talking to Hannah Abbot, sitting opposite her, with her back to the rest of the room. She was idly discussing Percy's new relationship, as it was school news by now, when she looked up to find that Hannah's gaze had shifted from her face to a point over her shoulder. She hadn't had chance to turn her head to see what had caused the blank look of bewilderment to spread over the Hufflepuff's usually attentive face.
Ever since that night, she had never thought to question how she had recognised Draco's hand so instantly. Small matter really. What came after was much more interesting. Since then, she had had many opportunities to study Draco's hands. She usually took them.
As she looked at his hand intently for a second, Draco felt the small sting of nerves dart up his throat - the first since he had gotten it into his head to stride across the great hall to do this. He had no real self-doubt, he wasn't really nervous, but it only occurred to him then, for the first time, that there was actually a chance she might rebuke his offer. And then, the moment was gone, and her gaze followed up his extended arm, to his face. He hoped that when she saw the look on it, she would come without a fight. But this was Ginny he was talking about. He wouldn't be here if it weren't for the fights she could put up. 'Please Ginny, just this once, for me?' He imagined getting down on his knees and begging her. Oh, how wonderfully good that would feel. He would've done anything for that girl, but he couldn't afford himself the luxury. Funny that – there weren't many things he couldn't afford. God, he would gladly do anything she asked, and yet the look of disbelief was plainly written across her perfect features to see him standing there, his arm connecting to the hand he politely offered her. 'Huh – bet she expected my hands to be aristocratically smooth.' But subconsciously, he knew that wasn't where the incredulity came from. He didn't know what would come next.
And now they were two and a half years on, and he was still as hopelessly devoted as he had been the day he approached her in the Great Hall. Hopelessly in love. Or lust. It had gotten to the point where the two became so intimately twined he couldn't tell one from the other. So mixed that he never knew where one stopped and the other began, like lovers in the heat of passion, or waves crashing back and forth into each other, defying each other, keeping it interesting. Always interesting.
He could never get bored of Ginny.
She had taken a few moments to collect her thoughts, all the time inspecting Draco's steady hand, as if checking for grime under the ragged fingernails. After she had made certain with herself that, yes, it was Draco Malfoy standing there holding out his hand to her, as a butler would to a Duchess in a stately Rolls Royce, all her bewildered mind had to fathom was why? In the two and a half years that Ginny had known Draco, the most contact he had had with her was to sneer at her, and insult her family, but this was different. There was no one of any importance around to appreciate his wit at her expense. And she didn't even need to know that, to know that this was completely different. The look on his face said it all. She risked a quick glance at Hannah, snapping her head round from craning up to see his face, to hastily scan Hannah's expression. It was blank and questioning, looking to Ginny to tell her why Draco Malfoy was being civil to her. She would be as well to ask Nearly Headless Nick. Doubtless Ron would learn of this occasion. Not that Malfoy had actually said anything to her as of yet, but Ron wasn't likely to let such trivial things as the truth get in the way of a good lecture. That would be far more luck than she deserved. Still, he stood there, holding his hand out, as if waiting to swoop her off her feet and lead her into an elaborate waltz through the Great Hall, rich, green brocade ball gown billowing. Lost in her fantasy of the fancy balls of the Elizabethans, she numbly took his cool, solid hand, and lifted herself from the long wooden bench.
You could have said it was fate, but she would probably say it had more to do with whatever they had put in the pumpkin juice. Not that she would ever curse the house elves for that practical joke.
Draco's jaw almost dropped as she silently took his hand, not a word having passed between them. He hadn't expected it to be so easy. She suddenly looked as if she was under an Imperious curse. She got up, and he was so stunned, he didn't realise she needed him to back up, to give her room to stand, and his nearness caused her to stand so close she was almost pressing up against his torso, their toes touching. God she was too close. He could swear he could hear his heart beating double time, almost as excited as he was. Maybe she could hear it too. Never having been so- up close and personal, to coin a phrase- with her, he had never realised that he was almost a head taller than her. He noticed when she was so close her nose was almost bumping his chest, and she had to tilt her head back to look in his eyes. It briefly crossed his mind that this might be the closest he ever got to her, and he almost brought his other arm up to tug her closer, but surely she was feeling the same way, if only because she was picking up on his emotions? Judging from the way she was dragging in breaths, her chest heaving, she felt it too. If they both felt the way he did now, how could they ever prevent it from happening again? It was all he could do to prevent himself from throwing her on the hard wood table behind her, and shagging her six ways to Sunday, let alone let go of her. He knew that she deserved a lot better, especially for her first time, as it would without doubt be. She deserved slow, hot, passionate lovemaking, someone she could love back. He knew this instantly disqualified him, but he wanted it for her all the same.
She often thought how much of a shame it was that the first time they had acknowledged each other as more than just the metaphorical thorn in their sides, or the itch they couldn't scratch, they had not spoken, voiced their thoughts or shared their feelings. Not a word had been spoken by either of them since he had given her his hand, up until the point where he led her briskly out of the hall, her following like a lost puppy, until they made it to the more private corridor.
She remembered seeing him darting a glance over her left shoulder and wondering 'What the hell is he looking at?', before realising he must be looking for the long forgotten Hannah, who he hadn't noticed hastily gathering her books and leaving the hall, along with several other students
whose common sense overruled their curiosity. Or maybe it was their survival instinct. They didn't want to be there when the bomb dropped. She had imagined Hannah's face, eyebrows raised high at their intimate almost-embrace. That brought her back to Earth. She watched him scan the hall, and identifying a last few gaping people who hadn't dared rush past them to
the door, he turned on his heel, twisting her hand about in his, so he could lead her from the room. He towed her from the hall, and found a small archway in the stone corridor, with a curtain of red velvet for a door. Obviously he knew that the corridor off this archway was small, and not often used, as he turned down it, and she followed willingly.
She often wondered if, had he been leading her to her death, she would still have gone quietly. She tended to think that the answer would probably have been yes.
He remembered mindlessly leading her to a disused corridor in a mad rush, not knowing what he would do when they got there, but needing some privacy with her anyway. He had manoeuvred her into the deserted corridor, so he was in front of her, with her back to the wall. He knew that the expression on her face when he had rounded on her, one of mixed fascination, bewilderment, fear, anger, but mainly enthralment, would be branded on his brain to the day he died. He surveyed her features for a few minutes, her small button nose, her cheeks liberally scattered with red freckles, and not yet totally devoid of baby fat, her wide, golden eyes, and small, pink mouth, slightly open. The kind of face that would be hated by the owner, but was very engaging in it's own way. He couldn't take his eyes off it. Evidently, his prolonged staring was unnerving her, so he attempted recovering his voice, and choked in a husky whisper, "You're gorgeous and it's driving me insane", before smashing his mouth into hers, and kissing her breathless.
If Draco hadn't 'jumped her in the corridor' as Ginny thought of that night's encounter, she doubted she would have ever had the guts that he had had to confess his obsession with her. On one hand, what had happened between them now seemed as if it was inevitable, an act of fate, that it would have happened whatever they had done, but on the other, she quite thought it was possible that they could have gone through school having never said more than two civil words to each other throughout the four years they spent there together. Or maybe not.
Ginny would have been dumbfounded, had she not been silenced by Draco's hot, desperate mouth on hers. He tasted like ice cold mint, dark, bitter chocolate, a residual taste of some strong alcohol, not Firewhisky, and autumn air in the trees. Fresh and breathy, and at the same time heavy and musky. Of course, her brain filled this in for her afterwards, having been far too preoccupied by Draco's demanding kisses to be capable of such speculative thoughts at the time. In some ways, his personality came across through his kiss, the challenging, control seeking side of him that was used to being obeyed instantly, but in others it didn't. Either that, or his kisses to her revealed a side of him that always stayed hidden, by intention she suspected. The needy, desperate side, a giant ball of pent up nervous energy, careening around, unstoppable. He groaned heavily into her mouth, and leaned into her, suddenly bringing his arms up either side of her head, to support his weight against the wall. Effectively trapping her. Like she was going anywhere.
Funny the way it only dawned on her later that she should have been terrified, rejected him, and ran away as quick as she possibly could. Despite the fact that she didn't think she could have found her way anywhere having had her brain liquefied so efficiently, it had felt so natural, so right at the time, that she should be standing in a corridor in God only knows where, being kissed out of comprehensive thought by an evidently clinically insane Draco Malfoy. What could have been more ordinary?
Even by Draco's standards, she was being pretty receptive. So he must've been doing something right. Otherwise she'd have been up and running, right? That's when he realised that the position he was in was pretty much cornering her. She must have felt trapped, like a small, startled animal in headlights. Road kill. He would have changed his stance, made it less threatening, more supportive, but he didn't think he could stand up without leaning on something. Even despitethe fact than he had to lean down to reach her face, he was scared that he would topple forward just from the dizzy rush her kissing was giving him alone. He leaned all his weight onto his left hand only for a second, and brought his right to her face to stroke down her soft cheek, and than dropped it to her waist, resting it on her hip. He snuck his hand under the side of her heavy robe, and pushed it back; tangling his fingers with the bottom hem of the small, slightly loose old t-shirt she wore. The tips of his fingers lightly brushed along her skin, making her spine jerk as she shuddered, and then he dragged his hand round under the back of the top, to lie flat against her smooth back. He pushed her forward a little, into him, from the small of her back, and then danced his light fingers up her side, beneath her arm, around to the middle of her shoulder blades. She shivered at his quick touch, all the time drawing him closer, as he made her shoulders shake. Like a sugar rush, or sickly hot and cold flushes, making her tremble and burn up all at once. Addictive. The kind of drug administered in a much more appealing way than snorting it up the nose, choking on thick smoke of the stuff, or injecting it directly into her bloodstream. She didn't need to, 'cause she was sure that, whatever happened once this kiss was over, it'd be in her bloodstream permanently anyway. He'd be in her bloodstream.
Oh, happy day. In this life, people do things that they will live and relive until the day they die, wishing they had done something, or not done something, or had done something, but differently. Consequence is man's biggest enemy, and Draco knew this. There are some things though, that set the mind at ease, that you can be grateful for forever. He knew in his heart that day, that he would never live to see the day when he would regret having risked being rejected, to kiss Ginny Weasley, even if it never happened again. Not that he planned on letting her get away with it never happening again.
She didn't think she'd ever need to breath again. The kissing was much more important, she needed more to be kissed by Draco than to breathe. She felt as if Draco's kissing was the lesser of two evils, her choice being to die of suffocation from his mouth cutting off her air, or to die from the heartbreak of not having his delicious lips on hers. She chose death by his kisses.
Eventually, he had pulled away, wanting to allow himself to see her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed, as they surely would be, and to grant himself the satisfaction of seeing the effect he was sure he'd had on her. When he surveyed her face however, her eyes were open wide and glittering, pupils dark, and her lips was puckering and, as the daze from the kiss wore off, her jaw was falling open slightly in wonder. From that day on, he tried his utmost at every possible opportunity the shock her, always loving that brief expression, and the memories it gave him.
She was shocked. She saw no point in trying to hide it, and any attempts would have been futile anyway. She was surprised she was able to stand up straight, let alone hide the hundred-and-one feelings flittering across her face. She wondered now what would happen, how they would cope with the desperately awkward situation they had thrown themselves in. Stay, and face the embarrassing non-excuses and half-explanations, run, and avoid his eyes in the corridors for another three and a half years to come, or throw herself back into his arms, and beg him to kiss her again. Choices, choices. She evaluated her position quickly. She knew she needed time for explaining it to herself, before she could even begin to account for both their actions to him. She didn't think she would ever be able to avoid him in the same way again, or leave him alone for that long. And she didn't want to come across as an over-eager slut to him, and spoil any of his evidently mixed up illusions about her. If he thought she was someone he might want to snog senseless in a deserted corridor after dark, it was fine by her. So what to do? She let him decide.
He knew, and had known that night, that his life would never be the same again. Too bloody bad it had taken so long for it to dawn on him just how radically it would change.
Shit, something needed to be said. Soon. But what the hell could you say when you had just forcibly snogged someone who was blatantly not the 'woman of your dreams', but who you were completely obsessed with anyway? Which made the obsession all the more creepy and embarrassing. Oh God, he might aswell have dragged her off into a deserted corridor and raped her for all the response he could ever hope for from her. Now she'd reject him, push him away, and that was more than he could bear. He couldn't stand to hear her disgusted voice uttering the words his traitorous mind was hissing at him already.
"Look, this should never have happened. We can forget about it."
That was all it took. Those few little words, and that was all it took for her world to deafen her as it crumbled around her ears, rubble bruising her ankles. Oh God, how could anyone do that? He'd rejected her so brutally, when he'd been the one to even start it.
"I'm sorry. We can just forget this ever happened."
And then suddenly she could hear the thud of his steps as he strode back along the corridor, as quick as he could without throwing dignity to the wind and running. Heavy wool cloak hanging around him, weighty and dejected. That was when she realised, he thought she had wanted to forget it ever happened. He thought she hadn't enjoyed it. And now she was supposed to sit in an empty corridor, and love the sound of him walking away.
Like hell.
-Et voila! C'est fini! Woot! Je suis une genius! C'est fantastique, c'est fantastique! There will be mass worship in the streets and people will form religious cults in honour of me! WOOOOOOOOOOW! I'm soooooooooooooo chuffed, coz I actually FINISHED a fic! OK, so it was a one shot… don't poop on my party! Woot! La la llaaa ala ala ala ala la ala al la la ala alalalalalalalaaaaa! Lmao, BIIIIIIIIIIIIG beam all across my face! Am urged to burst into renditions of 'Here Comes The Sun' and 'Altar Boys' quotes and 'Salad Fingers'! Sing for me people, sing! Elvis lives! And I'm married to him:DDDDD lmao, double chins:D :D :D :D SMILEY! SMILEY SMILEY CAROL SMILEY! No, I am not drunk, just intoxicated on my own glory and self-worship.
TTFN…
-Pearls. XXX