Warning: Draco's potty mouth dead ahead. Please slow down and turn around if this type of thing offends.

Chapter 1

A Naïve Young Thing

She saw him across the deserted, dimly lit Muggle pub. He was holed up in a corner booth, slouched over a tumbler of some concoction of alcohol. His trademark platinum blond locks were uncharacteristically long, almost covering his eyes, not that she could see his eyes. They were firmly planted in the direction of his particular toxin. One elegant hand was on his forehead.

The Slytherin had not graced her life in over three years, not since the time he unceremoniously kicked her out, but she had heard about him. His nefarious exploits, from Dumbledore's murder to his constantly shifting allegiances, were well known. It all ended with Voldemort's death three years ago. How he had managed to keep his arse permanently out of Azkaban was a secret known only to Harry and the Wizengamot. When he was acquitted of his war crime charges a year and a half ago, he vanished.

There were a dozen or more rumors regarding his whereabouts and constant talk of his role in the current Death Eater insurrection, but it was all speculation. Even the most persistent of the Rita Skeeters of the world had not managed to track the Slytherin down. But here he was, slumming in a Muggle pub in downtown London, alone.

Draco had had enough. He shoved the wretched tumbler across the table, stood, and began making his way to the door. Shit. Halfway there he stopped suddenly, turned around, and went back to retrieve his bloody Muggle jacket. The last thing he needed was to replace another goddamn jacket because he was too drunk to hold onto it. What a royal pain in his arse.

He grabbed his uncooperative jacket, threw it on, and made a try for the door again. This time around he saw her, his former vision of red silk and freckles, sitting alone at a table. His silver greys locked in the sight of her and refused to let go.

Ginny turned away in a panic when she saw the Slytherin leaving his booth. What was he doing? Merlin, he wasn't approaching her table, was he? She placed one hand along the side of her face in an attempt to hide from him.

"Ginny?"

The witch reluctantly tore her hand from her face, turned slowly around, and looked up. Unsure of what to expect from the infamous former Death Eater, Ginny slid her chair back until it hit the wall and refused to move any further. Then she stared at him.

Had he not had the sense knocked out of him by a pint or two too many, the Slytherin never would have approached her, but all that alcohol had taken down his normal defenses, leaving him drunk and unexpectedly vulnerable. When he saw the fear and repulsion etched in her face, he was taken aback.

"Ginny," he said softly, pulling up a chair next to hers. "No." He reached out and ran the back of his hand down the side of her face in an incredibly gentle fashion. "Don't. I would never hurt you."

Ginny placed one hand on his arm, staying his hand from touching her any further. He immediately withdrew his touch and instead took to staring at her. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze before speaking.

"Draco, I think you should be going now."

To her surprise, he nodded and reluctantly stood.

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me, Ginny." She adamantly shook her head. "Look, I'm too damn drunk to do anything, which I wouldn't even if I wasn't." Before she could stop him, he had her hand firmly in his and was pulling her out of her chair.

"Draco, no. Where do you think you're taking me?" The witch was already on her feet and stumbling to the door by the time she managed to get this out of her startled mouth.

"To my place or your place or anyplace."

Yes, she could have yanked her hand out of his hand, and she knew she should have yanked it and yanked it hard, but she didn't. Instead, she tagged along behind the Slytherin while he strode down the sidewalk, around the corner, and into the darkened alleyway. Of course it was stupid and ridiculous and downright dangerous, but that didn't stop her. She stood there while he drew her into his arms and swiftly Disapparated them a moment later.

Ginny checked all four limbs, as well as the rest of her anatomy, to make sure no vital body parts had been splinched. As drunk as he was, Merlin only knew what could have happened. After reassuring herself that she was indeed intact, Ginny took a look around.

Well, living in pseudo-exile certainly hadn't hurt the snake's lifestyle, she thought, glancing around the exquisitely furnished flat.

"My place," he said with a sweep of his arm.

Ginny walked around the enormous main room. Three picture windows flanked one wall, looking out onto the London skyline. Other than the stacks of books that hugged the walls, there were no personal items of any kind. Even the walls were blank - no pictures, paintings, or mirrors. She didn't know what she expected, but this wasn't it.

"Have a seat, Ginny." She turned around, took off her coat, and sat down. Draco collapsed on the sofa next to her.

"So this is where you've been living."

"Yes, this is the current torture chamber."

"Why do you call it that?" He turned and looked over at her.

"How've you been, Ginny?"

"Why do you call it a torture chamber?"

"I don't want to talk about me. I want to talk about you." The witch shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He was staring at her again.

"I don't want to talk about me."

"Alright, we won't talk." The Slytherin reached over, pulled her slowly to him, and placed his warm, alcohol tinged lips on hers. Of course she didn't respond to his insistent and gentle movements, not even when he walked a tender trail of biting kisses down the side of her face and onto her neck.

"Draco," she said, attempting to push him away.

"Shhh…," he whispered, taking her into his arms and cradling her hesitant form to his. "We're not talking." Then he laid down on the sofa, taking her with him.

"Draco – "

He put a silencing finger to her lips. "Shhh..." Then he kissed her forehead and closed his eyes. No, she didn't struggle. What was the point? Although he was drunk and had no idea of what he was doing, he wasn't particularly malignant or dangerous in his current state. She let him hold her until he fell asleep minutes later.

Then Ginny carefully untangled her limbs from his and stood. In his sleep-induced state, he didn't look all that different from the boy she once knew, peaceful and dreamy with those platinum locks in his eyes. She reached over and gently pushed them out of his face. As she did this, she ran her hand down his cheek. Why was it that this part of his body was so unexpectedly soft when everything else was chiseled hard and solid?

She bent down and kissed his marvelously soft cheek before withdrawing her wand. Then with one last look at her magnificent former wizard sleeping off a drunken stupor, the witch from Gryffindor attempted to Disapparate, three times, and failed spectacularly.

No, her wand wasn't malfunctioning. His wards were preventing her from leaving. Merlin, who had wards which prevented someone from Disapparating? In, yes, but out? Ginny stared at the Slytherin while trying to decide on the best course of action.

She began to make her way around his flat, opening doors and looking around. Five doors later, she found it. She placed a levitating charm on his body and moved him to his bed. Should she leave him in his current state or take pity on the drunken fool and undress him? In the end, she removed his shoes, his jacket, and his jumper. That was as far as she was willing to go, former wizard or not.

During the entire process, Draco did not approach consciousness, not even close. Instead, he lay in a sleep fit for the dead. Ginny briefly toyed with the idea of shaking him until he was awake enough to take down his wards but decided he was too drunk to be trusted. She would rather not end the night splinched or otherwise impaled by his partially removed wards. What a mess.

As she turned to leave, something on his bedside table caught her attention. It was a picture frame.

"Lumos."

She walked over and picked it up. A witch with wind blown rosy cheeks was laughing and smiling and waving. She was a naïve young thing and so obviously in love. It was Ginny in a picture taken years ago at Hogwarts with Draco's Slytherin green scarf wrapped around her neck. She sat down on the bed and held the picture in the single, dazzling light of her wand.

Much later, she stood and walked around Draco's bedroom in search of the other personal things he surrounded himself with. There was nothing else. The only thing that connected this wizard to anyone else in the world was the picture by his bedside.

Author's Note: This is my first fic posting at Please drop a review if you can. Thanks. fallenwitch