3/16/21

Author's Note: *eyes emoji* Let me know what you think!

Holidating

by idreamofdraco

St. Patrick's Day 2006

The Leaky Cauldron was full of so many redheads, for a moment, Ginny thought she'd walked into the middle of a Weasley family reunion. As she pushed through the crowd from the door, she realized that most of the people who filled the pub were not natural redheads. She could tell because the wigs were bad. Like… really, really bad.

She supposed the point wasn't to look like a natural redhead though. But if that wasn't the point, she wasn't sure what the point was. Mockery? Cultural appropriation? It was cool to be a ginger when it was St. Patrick's Day, she guessed.

She scanned the crowd for a sign of Malfoy, who would surely stand out in the sea of orange-haired partiers. Unless… he, too, was wearing one of these awful wigs? A shudder wracked her body at the image that crossed her mind. If he was disguised as an Irish stereotype, they would never find each other in this mess.

Luckily Ginny didn't have to search for long. A waving arm caught her attention, and as she turned to look, she spotted George and Verity by the bar. Malfoy was standing with them, looking perplexed at his situation and in desperate need of saving.

George had been the one to signal her, and as Ginny joined them, she realized why. Verity was deep in conversation with Malfoy explaining the chemistry behind WWW's Wildfire Whizbangs and how they meshed science and magic to create their famed explosives. Malfoy glanced at her and smiled at her approach, but he returned his attention back to Verity immediately, so Ginny did not interfere.

"Making friends?" Ginny asked George.

He grinned and handed a pint of beer to her. "You have no idea."

Ginny groaned as she realized what he was wearing. "Really, George? The hat I sort of understand, but you're already a redhead. You don't need a wig."

"Couldn't help it. The wig came attached. See?"

He lifted the floppy green top hat, and the shiny hair that hung down to George's shoulders lifted along with it to reveal his gleaming bare scalp.

"You're bald!"

He stroked his head and said in exaggerated shock, "What! Since when!" Then he replaced the hat and tossed his head to get some of the strands of hair out of his face. "Don't know how you and Bill deal with this mess."

"It's much easier to manage when it's real hair."

"I don't see how. It gets everywhere." He withdrew a strand of wig hair from his water before taking a gulp from the glass.

"Yes, that part is bothersome," Ginny agreed. "And you're not going to distract me from the fact that you have no hair. What the hell happened?"

Verity had either finished her explanation or she'd overheard and couldn't resist interrupting her own one-sided conversation to talk about the poor state of George's scalp. Either way, she cut herself off and then turned with a snicker. "One of our trials for a new WWW potion exploded. It singed off most of his hair, and then by the end of the day, the rest fell out."

Verity and George clearly had the same sense of humor and were made for each other, because Ginny wasn't laughing.

"Are you okay? Is the workshop okay? This seems serious!"

George waved her off. "Nah. I'm fine. Everything is fine! I bought my ingredients from a different shop this time, and apparently that was a mistake. I'll splurge on ingredients from now on."

Splurging was what George did when he supplied alcohol that he didn't even drink for family gatherings. Splurging was buying Victoire extravagant gifts. Splurging was not paying more money for good ingredients to use for his livelihood. That was just... good business. So what Ginny took from George's explanation was that he had cut corners. The only reason he would cut corners wasn't to increase profits, but to make a profit.

"George," Ginny entreated, her tone sobering from concern.

"Don't worry about it, Ginny Bean." George still had a smile on his face, but there was a definite dismissal in his words that made Ginny flush with embarrassment.

Her gaze shifted to Malfoy, who was eying her. As if he was waiting for her signal to step in? Or simply observing and absorbing her family's potential drama?

George reached for Verity's arm and pulled her away from Malfoy in the middle of a sentence that had the word "oxidization" in it. "Dearest, why don't we save some of that for later? There's plenty of time to acquaint Draco with the family business."

Verity's hands shot up to cover her mouth. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Draco. I got carried away. Science is fascinating, isn't it?"

"Come on, let's go pester the band with song requests. You kids have fun!" George said as he led Verity into the depths of the surging crowd.

"How much of that did you catch?" Ginny asked Malfoy as they closed the gap that her brother and almost-sister-in-law had left behind.

"Maybe every other word? I know what combustion means, but not the way she used it. And don't ask me what an electron is. I don't know and I probably don't care."

Ginny's lips twitched. "Not that. How much did you hear of what George said?"

"The light reflecting off his extremely shiny head distracted me from his fiancee, so… all of it. Is he in trouble?"

Ginny sighed. "I don't know. It sounds like it, but I don't understand how. The shop is always busy. I can't imagine they're not getting enough business."

She worried her lip with her teeth while her mind raced a mile a minute. If the shop was receiving enough business, then maybe the extravagance George showered on his family explained his dire situation, if indeed it was dire. She wondered how much Verity knew about it, though Ginny suspected not much. She didn't think Verity would have laughed about George's exploding potion if she knew the explosion had been caused by the use of inferior ingredients he'd bought to save money.

Malfoy seemed to be equally lost in thought until he fell against her, jostled by an amorous couple behind him. His arm automatically went around Ginny, pulling her in tight to prevent both of them from toppling over.

He turned with a scowl, and then his expression froze into one of comical disbelief. Ginny leaned sideways to peer around him, only to find Pansy Parkinson locked in a passionate embrace with Justin Finch-Fletchley. It took Ginny a moment to identify them as they were both wearing cheap orange wigs and felt top hats, not dissimilar from George's attire.

"Pansy," Malfoy snapped, and Parkinson's head popped up, her lipstick smeared around her kiss-swollen lips. She smiled at the sight of Malfoy despite the vicious frown on his face.

"Draco! My darling, what on earth are you doing here?"

As she said this, Justin continued to pepper kisses along her jaw and neck, which only made Ginny think of the last time Harry had peppered her body with adoring kisses. The sad thing was, she couldn't remember the last time as it had been a very long time indeed. The next saddest thing was… Ginny was actually feeling envious of Pansy Parkinson and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Envious and possibly nauseated.

"I presume the same thing everyone else is doing."

Parkinson swatted Justin's hands away. "Why don't you go get us some drinks? Whatever the special is today."

Justin pulled his hat off and bowed with a flourish, his flailing limbs smacking two women waiting for the bartender next to him. "Whatever my lady desires. Anything for you, Malfoy, Ginny?"

"Oh," Ginny said. "No. No thank you. I'm… I'm good." She lifted her still half-full pint glass and Malfoy shook his head.

He disappeared into the frothing crowd, perhaps looking for a spot at the bar where the pack of partiers was thinner or in search of a bartender friendlier to male clientele.

Parkinson grabbed Ginny's wrists, and her drink sloshed out of the glass onto both of their hands. In a moment of thoughtfulness, Malfoy took the glass from her, switching it with a napkin Ginny couldn't use because of Parkinson's excited grip.

"Look at us!" Parkinson said. "Double holidating! Did you ever think you'd see the day?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy roll his before taking a long drink of her beer. "Considering I didn't know what holidating was until a couple months ago, no, I can't say I ever imagined double holidating anyone."

"You've got to tell me everything. Draco has been stingy with the details." She released one of Ginny's hands to shoo at Malfoy. "Go on, then. We can't talk about you while you're hovering over us."

He glanced at Ginny and waited. It took a moment for her to realize he was waiting for some signal from her, and whatever she chose, he'd act on her wishes, whether for him to stay or go. But she didn't know. She knew Pansy Parkinson from school, of course, and she remembered how catty and mean she'd been back then. She didn't know what Parkinson was like now or what she truly wanted from Ginny. So in answer to Malfoy's unspoken question, Ginny merely shrugged in confusion.

His lips spread into a smile. "I guess I'll go find more of this." He lifted the now empty pint glass.

As he turned away, Parkinson dragged Ginny further down the bar, closer to the window that looked out on Diagon Alley. The light was bleeding away as the sun began to set, casting shadows from the shops onto Friday night meanderers traversing the street.

Parkinson let go of Ginny and smirked. "Still keeping up this holidating business with Draco, I see."

She was obviously familiar with their arrangement, but how many details Malfoy had shared with her was a mystery to Ginny, so she kept her answers general. "He's amenable, so why not? Finding new holidates every month seems like such a chore."

"That it is. A bit too much like true dating, and who has the time or stomach for that?"

Ginny certainly didn't. With her career taking off, her sister-in-law pregnant, her brother getting married this year, and attempting to avoid Harry through everything, her life was busy. She didn't want Harry back if he didn't want her, but the idea of putting that relationship to rest so soon also filled her with a buzzing anxiety. No. Casual and platonic outings with someone she could never fall in love with and who could never fall in love with her was all Ginny could bear right now.

"So," Parkinson said with a wicked gleam in her eye. She leaned closer to Ginny as if to preserve their non-existent privacy. "How has it been? How has he been?"

A protective spark flared inside Ginny at Parkinson's questions. They didn't know each other, they weren't friends, and Ginny wasn't a gossip. If Parkinson thought she'd retrieve some salacious tidbits from her, Ginny would have to disabuse her of that notion right away.

"I don't know what Malfoy has told you, but we're not sleeping together, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, no, darling, he told me all that already. Holidates for a year, no provoking each other's friends and families, no sex, yadda yadda. I'm in the loop as far as the terms of your situation are concerned. What I want to know is what you think about him? How is Draco as a holidate?"

The extent of Parkinson's knowledge surprised Ginny. Malfoy must have told her the details, which meant they were even better friends than Ginny knew. Close friends. Confidantes maybe. It was a revelation considering Malfoy had treated Parkinson like a groupie back at Hogwarts, and his closest friends back then had been nearly as intelligent as trolls. She couldn't imagine Malfoy spilling his heart out to Parkinson, so maybe he'd told her everything while laughing at Ginny's expense.

She stiffened, and her voice became as rigid as her body. "I don't think that's any of your business."

For a moment, Parkinson looked startled by Ginny's defensiveness, and then it passed. "Relax. I don't mean anything by it. It's just that this is the longest relationship Draco has ever had, and I'm curious."

"We're not in a relationship! Two holidates does not make a relationship."

One of Parkinson's eyebrows lifted. "Two holidates, huh? New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, and St. Patrick's Day. That makes three."

A flush bloomed over Ginny's cheeks, caught off guard again by how much Parkinson knew about her dates. "Valentine's Day wasn't a holidate" was the only thing she could think to say.

"It may not have started out as one, but you spent the holiday together, didn't you? He saved you from humiliation in front of Potter and his—wait! Where are you going?"

Ginny dove back into the horde of partiers, new humiliation giving her the speed to flee and the strength to storm through the crowd. She didn't stop until she was outside clutching her cloak around her for both warmth and comfort.

She wasn't sure why Parkinson knowing so much about her holidates with Malfoy bothered her. Maybe because Malfoy had never mentioned that he and Parkinson were such good friends. When would he have, though? Why would he share that with her when they were nothing to each other except a means to escape loneliness and pity during the holidays? Still, Parkinson's knowledge made Ginny feel vulnerable and out of the loop, the same way she'd felt when Harry had broken up with her. Like she'd been living in a bubble, blind to what was really happening and the world had also conspired to hide the truth from her.

Parkinson knew about Ginny's encounter with Harry on Valentine's Day. The Daily Prophet had published that drivel about Harry and Cho's relationship on the front page just days before, so it wasn't a stretch to assume Parkinson knew about that as well. It was likely that she and Malfoy had laughed about how pathetic Ginny had been, unable to disentangle herself from a conversation with her ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. Or maybe they'd laughed at Ginny's holidating proposal, at how desperate she had been to convince Malfoy of her idea. Holidating wasn't serious, but Ginny still wanted to be taken seriously.

That almost-kiss on New Year's Eve seemed so long ago now. Ginny couldn't believe she'd ever regretted that Malfoy had missed the countdown. And Valentine's Day? Hah! How delusional had she been to believe for one second that when Malfoy had told Harry he wanted to fuck her, he'd meant it? He'd called the idea absurd! Ridiculous! He said he would never willingly shag a Weasley.

A tiny part of her, the tiniest, most vulnerable part of her, had felt the same regret she'd felt at the end of the New Year's Eve countdown. Not just regret, but disappointment, too. She'd been disappointed to hear that he didn't want to have sex with her after all, that the idea of it was a joke to him. That tiny, lonely part of her had felt a connection between them that sparked an interest she wasn't ready to pursue. Not this soon after Harry.

What a fool she'd been to think Malfoy had been genuinely considerate of her feelings rather than doing what all the gossip rags had done since Harry and Cho went public. Feeding off her for entertainment purposes. Laughing at her with his friends.

Ginny took a deep breath and watched it escape as a frozen puff of air in front of her face. She straightened her shoulders and released her white-knuckled clutch on the edges of her cloak.

What did it matter what Malfoy said about her? They'd been holidates for more than two months now, and Malfoy hadn't gone to one of those gossip rags with any information he'd discovered on New Year's Eve or Valentine's Day. If he was laughing at her privately with friends, that was still better than turning her into a fool for the public's titillation. It was no secret they were using each other for their own purposes during the holidays, so acting wounded because Malfoy wasn't her friend didn't make any sense and wasn't fair to the terms they'd agreed to.

This didn't matter.

She took a bracing breath of cold air and then went back inside. The body heat generated by the crush of people assaulted her immediately, bringing feeling back to her fingertips and toes. In an effort to avoid Parkinson, Ginny didn't return to the bar. Instead, she went where George said he was headed last and pushed toward the stage where a live band played covers of popular songs on fiddles and banjos.

George was there just in front of the stage, laughing as he swung Verity around in time with the music. Either the floor had been cleared for dancing intentionally or the crowd had dispersed in this area of the pub to avoid the dancing couple. Either way, they had plenty of room for movement and that meant Ginny saw Parkinson, Justin, and Malfoy as soon as she popped out of the crowd at the edge of the dance space.

Parkinson nudged Malfoy and pointed in her direction, and his whole face lit up. Ginny glanced around her, wondering if someone else he knew had just arrived, but his reaction must have been caused by her arrival because he was in front of her now, grasping her hands.

He leaned down, and he was so tall—or she was so short—he was nearly doubled over to reach her ear. "Dance with me?" he asked, his breath hot against the side of her face.

A shiver raced down her spine, and her fingertips clenched around his hands. When he pulled back to look at her, she noticed something off about him. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks high with color.

Clearly in the few minutes they'd been separated, he had consumed something strong enough to inebriate him. Still, that didn't stop her body from wanting to step into his embrace, to grip his hands firmly in hers. She tried to remind herself of what she'd just discovered, that Malfoy was laughing at her behind her back, using her desperation for a holidate as private entertainment for him and his friends.

But he was staring down at her with the focus of a drunk person working very hard to concentrate on something important, and his palms were warm against her fingers, and his body radiated heat that drew her toward him automatically.

She nodded, and Malfoy's lips widened into a smile she'd never seen before, one that was unguarded, uncontrollable.

He pulled her onto the dance floor, his hold on her changing, one hand tightening around hers, the other going to the small of her back and pulling her close to him. She didn't know what kind of dance he was leading her in, but it was high energy, their movements more like a skip than a step, and he twirled her around with more grace than she expected of him, considering his level of intoxication. Ginny's breath caught as they whirled around the small space, around George and Verity. Someone on the edge of the crowd was whooping in delight; others were clapping. Ginny wasn't sure who because she couldn't look away from Malfoy, and she couldn't stop the laughter that fell out of her because of how much fun she was having. Dancing! Who knew he could dance! Who knew she could? The last time she'd had this much fun dancing was with Neville at the Yule Ball her third year. She'd never enjoyed herself this much while dancing at her brothers' weddings with—

No, she wouldn't think of him now. Not when she was enjoying herself so much with the unlikeliest of partners. Not when he was smiling at her as if this was the most fun he'd ever had on a dance floor, too.

They spun faster and faster as the music sped up and then came to a satisfying but abrupt halt. Both Ginny and Malfoy's chests heaved as they sucked in air. Sweat dripped down Ginny's back. She hadn't even taken her cloak off, so it was no wonder she was so hot now. Malfoy wasn't wearing a cloak, but perspiration dotted his forehead from their exertions, and it was simply too easy—frustratingly easy—to imagine other activities that might leave him equally as breathless, happy, and sweaty.

An ache echoed low in Ginny's gut, making her thighs clench together, but before she could process her thoughts and her body's reaction to them, Parkinson was shoving a green drink into her hands.

"What is it?" Ginny asked just before quenching her thirst anyway. A dusting of golden glitter swirled in the liquid, mesmerizing Ginny into taking another drink to finish the small glass. It tasted how she imagined Spring and sunshine would taste. Sweetness on her tongue and comfortable warmth at the back of her throat.

"It's today's special," Parkinson said. She practically shouted in Ginny's ear because the band had started up a new song, and this time they'd brought out a bagpipe to accompany the fiddle and the vocals. "I think it's spiked with a Cheering Charm!"

That explained Malfoy's impromptu desire to dance as well as Ginny's sudden and growing elation.

The conversation with Parkinson, the conclusion Ginny had come to when she'd stepped outside the pub, her resentment about being Malfoy's source of private entertainment, none of that mattered. Not only that… she completely forgot about them in light of Malfoy taking her hand again (or maybe he'd never let go in the first place?) and whirling her back onto the dance floor. This time they were not only accompanied by George and Verity (very much not affected by Cheering Charm-spiked alcoholic beverages but matching everyone's energy just the same), but also by Parkinson and Justin, who skillfully turned an Irish jig into an opportunity to grind against each other in public.

Ginny's heart swelled with the music, with laughter, with the feel of Malfoy's hands on her. At one point, she stumbled and landed in Malfoy's arms, and then all she could think about was how good it felt to be held, how good it might feel if he held her harder. He touched her at all times, even when drawing her away from the dance floor and to a table in the corner for some rest, but even then, everything was so funny and neither of them could stop laughing.

George, Verity, Parkinson, and Justin joined them when the song ended, all of them cheering the band as if the trio of musicians had put on the best performance they'd ever heard. They fanned themselves with their various hats and wigs, the heat overwhelming after so much vigorous dancing.

"Weasley!" Malfoy called, a definite slur in his voice. Maybe he wasn't intoxicated with alcohol yet, but the Cheering Charm brewed into the drink certainly mimicked the effects of drunkenness.

"Yeah?" both George and Ginny said at the same time.

"Why do you have one ear, Weasley? Did you have one ear on New Year's?"

Parkinson waved her hands, silencing George from answering.

"No. We are not doing this. I have had too many St. Patrick's Day specials, and there are too many Weasleys at this table to call them all Weasley."

"There are literally only two," Ginny replied, but she was laughing at the wide-eyed confusion on Parkinson's face.

"Two and a half!" Verity interjected.

Parkinson held up two fingers, brandishing them in Ginny's face. "I SAID TWO MANY. Two is too many! Two-point-five is INNUMERABLE. I forbid the word Weasley from being uttered in my presence ever again!"

Malfoy snorted. "So what am I supposed to call them? Ginger Number One and Ginger Number Two?"

George pointed at him as if he was onto something. "I am, of course, Ginger Number One. Sorry, Gin. Seniority."

Ginny opened her mouth to amiably agree with her brother, but Justin interrupted her. "Why can't we all call each other by first names? You know, in the Muggle world—"

"SHUT UP," Pansy shouted, and then she kissed him on the mouth. "ALSO I DON'T KNOW ANYONE'S NAMES."

"Okay," George, possibly the only sober and-slash-or sane person at the table, said reasonably. "Let's go around and introduce ourselves for everyone's elucidation."

"No one says elucidation," Malfoy muttered under his breath.

"Why don't I go first? I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley."

"PANSY PARKINSON."

"George Weasley."

"Oh, I'm Verity—"

"Draco Malfoy, of course."

"Ginny Weasley!"

"There! Isn't that better?" Parkinson—er, Pansy—said, her voice a little hoarse from all the shouting.

"It's almost like we're friends now!" Verity exclaimed.

Ginny glanced at Malfoy—Draco—from the corner of her eye, wondering what he thought about the idea of being friends with Justin Finch-Fletchley, two Weasleys, and a Weasley's fiancee. His focus seemed to be captured by the table top as he ran a fingernail along the wood grain and scratches from years—decades—of use. He was frowning, and that made Ginny's heart lurch. She wasn't sure why the idea of being friends seemed so appealing. Maybe because if they were friends, he'd stop laughing at her behind her back. Ginny could take a joke, and she knew their holidating situation was ridiculous. She would have loved to laugh with him about it, that's all.

Ginny's attention returned to the group when a waitress arrived at the table to pass out more St. Patrick's Day specials. Everyone accepted a glass except George, who gently pushed his toward Verity until Pansy snatched it and mixed it with hers.

Ginny didn't fail to notice that as soon as Draco took a sip, his mood immediately improved, a smile lighting his face all the way up to his stone-gray eyes. She wondered what he'd been thinking about that had managed to counteract the Cheering Charm in his first drink.

And then that thought flew right out of her brain as her St. Patrick's Day special began to work its magic to turn the evening into a truly special one indeed.

A Cheering Charm hangover mixed with a normal alcohol-induced hangover was no joke.

Ginny woke up groaning, unable to open her eyes because she could sense sunlight banging against her lids, demanding to be let in, and she wanted to hold off the invasion for as long as possible. Her temples throbbed with a headache, and her mouth was dry as cotton. She remained in a horizontal position because she knew as soon as she sat up, her stomach would rebel against her, and she did not desire to see how green and glittery her vomit would be.

So she groaned again and tried to think past the headache. Without opening her eyes, she could tell she was laying on her back, and she must be on the floor because the surface beneath her was hard and a little bit scratchy against her bare shoulder blades, as if she was on a rug and not on sheets. The right side of her body felt toasty and warm from a crackling fire. The left side of her body was frozen from a draft with an unknown source.

Her whole body tensed as she backtracked her thoughts and catalogued her situation again. Something wasn't right. Something didn't make sense.

Why were her shoulder blades bare? Why was she on the floor?

Her eyelids fluttered open, careful of the amount of light she allowed to pierce her brain and make her headache worse.

"Morning, duck," Malfoy—Draco—said from the loveseat next to her head.

The sound of his sleep-roughened voice propelled Ginny into a sitting position, her head and her stomach be damned. As soon as she was at an angle, she realized what was wrong with the picture she hadn't seen until just now.

She was in her bra and knickers. Only her bra and knickers.

A gasp fell out of her mouth and she reached for a throw pillow on the loveseat to cover herself with while Draco watched her, his head propped on the arm of the loveseat, while his bare feet dangled off the other arm. For a moment, all Ginny could do was stare at those bare feet. It didn't seem right for her to know what Draco's toes looked like. Such a sight was more intimate than his bare chest, which she was also accosted with once she finally fought through the grogginess enough to get a full picture of her surroundings.

"Did we—?" she gulped, unable to finish her sentence.

One of Draco's eyebrows arched. "Did we what?"

Ginny closed her eyes, partly in shame, partly to help her remember what had happened last night.

There had been more rounds of the St. Patrick's Day special. More dancing. Ginny didn't actually remember the dancing part, just the thrill of dizziness and elation as she was swung around the dance floor. She might recall dancing with George and also Justin and maybe even Pansy as well? It was such a blur, she wasn't sure if what she was remembering was memory or a dream.

Somehow she and Draco had ended up back at his flat, but she had no memory of arriving or even leaving the pub.

She stood up on shaky legs, the throw pillow only large enough to cover her top half or her bottom half. She held it sort of halfway between the two, not quite covering either part of her sufficiently.

Draco was staring, and maybe it would have been more polite for him to look away, give her some dignity as she searched for her clothes, or even just her cloak. Instead, he pillowed his head with one arm and settled in for the show.

And for some reason, Ginny didn't hate that he wouldn't look away. Through the anxiety of not knowing what had happened last night, the parts she did remember left her feeling flushed, and his eyes on her only made her recall those moments more vividly.

The places his hands touched her as they danced. His breath as he laughed next to her ear. The delight in his eyes and the wide smile on his face creating an expression she'd never seen Draco Malfoy make before. The taste of his lips on the rim of a glass as they, at one point, shared a St. Patrick's Day special. Each moment had made her heart race, made her blood boil, set her curiosity ablaze.

"Well?" Draco prompted, apparently refusing to answer her question without her explicitly asking it.

Her body heated. If that's how he'd made her feel during the parts of their evening that she could remember, then she didn't doubt that they'd come to his home and—

"Fuck. Did we fuck last night?" she choked out.

"I don't recall. But you're wearing my underwear, so it seems likely."

She glanced down, all that heat turning into frost. Somehow she'd missed that she wasn't wearing her own knickers but men's boxer briefs instead.

Draco sat up, his feet retreating from the edge of the loveseat to the floor, but he remained in a lounging pose, as if he had no intention of getting up or getting dressed.

Ginny realized her cloak was draped over his lap. If she was wearing his underwear, then that meant that underneath her cloak either he was stretching hers thin or—

"No," she said automatically. Then, "No," she added more brightly, with a little more conviction and an accompanying shake of her head. "We didn't. I'm pretty sure I'd know if we did, so I say we didn't."

"How would you know? Do you have a security system on your…." His eyebrows twitched suggestively, and his mouth twitched with mirth. Great. He was making fun of her now. Ginny could just imagine how he'd tell this story to Pansy later.

"No, Malfoy, I do not have a security system on my vagina, thank you very much. But it's been a, er, really long dry spell, and I'm sure I'd still feel it if we'd engaged in intercourse last night."

He put a hand over his mouth, pretending to stifle a yawn, but Ginny thought she heard a quiet, muffled "No one says intercourse anymore" instead. Then he lowered his hand and said, "If you insist. And it's Draco now, remember?"

She ignored the part about his name. "I do insist! Can't you tell when you've…?"

He lifted the edge of her cloak and looked underneath it, confirming, to Ginny's mortification, the true nature of his underwear situation. Or lack thereof.

"Not really. Looks about the same down there as any other morning."

Ginny made an inarticulate sound and turned away, her gaze lowering as she searched for her clothes so she wouldn't have to look at Draco's face and hopefully he wouldn't be able to see hers. She could feel his eyes following her though, and her skin prickled at his attention, even when she darted behind the armchair to take his underwear off and slip hers on. Jeans and a jumper followed. She was unwilling to spend any more time searching in humiliation, so her shirt would just have to be lost to her forever.

She felt better when she stepped out from behind the chair, more in control, more dignified.

"So we agree, right? We didn't have sex."

"Sure, Ginny."

She startled at the sound of her name. Of course, they'd agreed to use first names from now on. Her name sounded foreign on his aristocratic tongue, but it also fell off his tongue and settled deep inside her, in a place she could too easily imagine that tongue exploring. A place that maybe wished they had slept together after all.

"No, it didn't happen," she said to herself. Then she groaned. "Ugh. What is my family going to say when they find out we spent the night together? What will Harry think?"

Draco slowly got to his feet, her cloak clutched in front of him, but not well enough to conceal his legs. Without even thinking about it, Ginny's gaze dropped downwards, her mind blanking at the sight of the blond hair on his thighs, her cloak draped between them the only semblance of modesty.

As her eyes raked up his body, taking in every inch of bare skin, the definition of his muscles, the scar bisecting his chest diagonally, she realized he had no modesty whatsoever. No embarrassment met her gaze as she reached his face. No humility. Only a tension in his mouth—a scowl for invoking Harry's name?—and a darkness in his eyes, which were usually stone-grey and now were stormy and intent on her.

"I think you protest a little too much for someone who is certain we didn't have sex."

"Do I?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch as he drew closer to her. So close she could reach out and touch all that alabaster skin. So close she could feel the warmth radiating off him. But how could he possibly be warm? That draft—

His head lowered enough for his lips to reach her ears. Ginny couldn't stop herself from swaying toward him. Doing so brought her lower belly in contact with the hand clutching her cloak in front of his hips, and she gasped even though the thick material of her jeans and jumper prevented her skin from touching his.

She didn't need to feel his hands on her to imagine how good that might feel. Imagining it made her want it, though.

"You do," he said into her ear, the puffs of his breath creating goosebumps all over her body, making her nipples tighten almost painfully. "You only have to say the word, Ginny. I could have you on the floor or against the door so fast. Anywhere you want it. Any time. Rule number three be damned."

The problem had never been Ginny's imagination.

As a child growing up on stories of infant Harry Potter, seeing Harry that first time at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters had sparked her imagination into overdrive. Her crush had grown from her imaginings, fantasies of meeting him again at Hogwarts the next year, of him falling in love with her, of dating for seven years and marrying right out of school just like her parents had, and then being as blissfully happy as her parents were, with a family just as large, if not larger. She'd never let go of her fantasies even when reality had turned out differently, and that's exactly why Ginny had been so shocked and disappointed when Harry had broken up with her.

Her imagination had fueled her fears after the Chamber of Secrets. Inspired her nightmares. Her imagination had also banished those same fears when she'd imagined herself stronger than Tom Riddle, until his memory no longer haunted her.

And Draco Malfoy's voice, his words, kindled something inside her that she inherently knew would incinerate her if she did not curb her imagination. Because she could imagine everything he said. She could picture him taking her down to the floor, right in front of that roaring fireplace, and putting his hands and his mouth over every inch of skin that hadn't been touched by another person in months. Alternately, she could envision him pushing her up against the door and hiking one of her legs up so he could touch her right where her body begged to be touched. She could imagine how good it would feel if he filled her up and burned her down.

Draco lifted his head just enough to look her in the eye. "Speak now—" Or forever hold your peace. The rest didn't need to be said, though. If she turned him down, he'd never mention breaking rule number three again. There wouldn't be another offer.

The problem was, Ginny could imagine breaking her own rule, begging him for it, and getting exactly what she asked for. She could also imagine afterwards when he met up with Pansy and told her everything. How Ginny had begged. How quickly she'd climaxed. How needy and desperate and pathetic she'd been.

And that fantasy was the one that rained ice cold water down on her, cooling the desire that had begun to ignite her blood.

His offer couldn't be a serious one. He'd said it himself on Valentine's Day—the idea of sleeping with her was absurd, ridiculous. He'd never willingly shag her. So his offer must have been a ploy to fluster her, to send her running out the door so he could spend the rest of his Saturday in peace.

She took a step back, out of the circle of his warmth, and with that step, she also took her cloak, snatching it right out of his hand. He stood before her naked as the day he was born. Ginny didn't look down, and Draco didn't cover himself.

"I got it," she said, seething with anger at herself for letting her imagination get away from her. "I'll get out of your hair. There was no need to be spiteful; I promise I wasn't planning to stay."

His expression shifted to what looked like confusion—feigned, surely!—but she didn't dwell on it. Instead, she stomped to the door.

It was only as she slammed it shut behind her and descended the stairs that she realized she wasn't wearing her boots. Well, she couldn't go back for them now. She stormed out the front door in her socks, cloak draped over her arm, and as she turned on her heel to Disapparate for home, she pretended she didn't see Draco watching her from the first floor window.

She pretended she didn't like it.