Wilfully Chapter 2, a harry potter fanfic

Hi everyone! Thank you so much to all those who read my story, and an extra thanks to those who reviewed. I have decided to continue on with this story, and here is the next instalment. I hope you all enjoy it!

Oh, and to Anon's question: This story is compatible with both books and the movies. In some places I will maybe borrow specific ideas/scenarios from one universe, but I will let you all know whenever I do. For example, just to make life easier for myself, I have decided that the costumes and clothing the characters will wear in this story is like in the movies, rather than the books. I hope that's okay, and if not, you can totally imagine them wearing whatever you want. The story is more than the clothes, after all!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

WILFULLY: CHAPTER 2

Ginny Weasley realised that she had no one to talk to.

It was a sad realisation, made sadder by the fact that she was always surrounded by friends and family. But Draco Malfoy was a topic she wouldn't dare broach with them.

Her parents didn't like the Malfoys very much, with good reason. Ron would throw a massive fit. Hermione had been bullied by the prat for years, literally tortured in his manor by his maniac Death Eater aunt. And she couldn't tell her ex-boyfriend Harry that she had shagged his old nemesis.

She supposed she could talk to Luna, but her quirky magizoologist friend was off somewhere in the wilderness of South America looking for blorals – which were apparently short-tempered badger like creatures that had the ability to heal minor cuts by scratching at them. Ginny wasn't sure how that worked and, if she was being honest with herself, wasn't keen on ever finding out.

The point was that some well-meant friendly advice pertaining to Draco Malfoy would have been welcome. Still, as it was, she wasn't lost without it. She was perfectly capable of handling the blonde all by herself. And it's not as if she was getting in too deep…

… Right?

The sky was clouded, the wind merciless and the rain coming down in light showers. That did not stop the Harpies practice session, much to the dismay of most of the team members.

They shouldn't be complaining, Ginny mused as she practiced various formations with her fellow chasers. They had returned from their mini-vacation from Paris only a week ago. Granted, the vacation had come after a match, which had been preceded by dozens of practices –

She paused her train of thought as she caught the Quaffle, and zoomed across the pitch towards the rings, her robes flapping wildly and her Firebolt, which she had acquired after the broom company had sponsored their team last year, vibrating pleasantly beneath her. Halfway through, she pulled her broomstick to an abrupt halt and tossed the red ball to the next chaser; they were only practicing manoeuvres, not scoring.

While she was not particularly pleased about having to practice in such weather, she understood the necessity of it. In exactly three weeks, the Holyhead Harpies were slated to play their first match of the League against Puddlemere United. Winning it would be great for the team's morale and, more importantly, for the points table.

An hour of practicing the Porskoff Ploy later, even Ginny's professionalism was gone. She was drenched to the bone, maybe even to the marrow, and wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up on the sofa and have her mum make her some hot chocolate. Which is why when the coach blew the whistle signalling the end of training, she was quick to land on the ground. With a flick of her wand, she sent her broom flying to the broom shed and marched towards the pavilion, a building adjoining the pitch that served as the headquarters of Holyhead Harpies.

As she neared the entrance, she saw two figures standing beneath the protruding roof, safe from the pouring rain and deep in conversation. One of them was Gwenog Jones and the other was none other than Draco Malfoy.

The blonde man's presence caught her off guard. She could think of no reason why he would be present at the practice of the Holyhead Harpies. Had he come to meet her after what had happened between the two of them back in Paris? If he had then he'd be getting a swift kick in the balls for his stalkerish behaviour.

"Weasley," Gwenog said when she noticed her. "You remember Draco Malfoy?"

"Vividly," Ginny held out a dripping, smudged hand towards the blonde, then pulled it back sheepishly. "Best not shake that."

"Ginevra," He nodded in greeting, his eyes boring into hers. "You look positively wet this afternoon."

"Gee, I hadn't noticed," She muttered.

"As I was saying," Gwenog said, resuming whatever conversation she had been having with the man before she had arrived. "I am sorry I couldn't join you at the meeting."

"Understandable," Malfoy turned his attention to her. "Your practice sessions must take precedence over everything else, especially this close to the League Cup."

"Indeed. I hope our executives didn't bore you much."

"I endured," He smirked. "But I wanted to personally thank you for taking part in this project. My assistant will send you a copy of our report, so you know what an impact you've had."

Ginny listened to their conversation, bewildered. She could think of no venture that the Harpies had been a part of, least of all one that had anything to do with the Malfoys. "What are we talking about?" she asked, finding it easier to simply demand answers than to think of the countless probabilities.

"Oh, don't you know?" Gwenog asked, "Serenity Initiative is Mr. Malfoy's organization."

She blinked in surprise. When the Holyhead Harpies executives had proposed playing a friendly match for charity to the team, Ginny had been one of the first ones to agree. She had looked up Serenity Initiative and was quite impressed with the work they had done in providing support, counselling and rehabilitation to the witches and wizards affected by the Dark Arts. The revelation that it belonged to the Malfoys, the very family who had been among the most enthusiastic practitioners of dark magic, was startling.

So much so, that it took Ginny a moment to realise that Gwenog had taken her leave, and that she was now standing alone with Malfoy. "You arranged our match against the Géants," She stated. It wasn't a question; she just wanted to break the silence to snap herself out of shock.

"Yes." Malfoy said, sounding mildly amused.

"I have questions."

"Of course."

She looked down, wondering where to begin, when she noticed the puddle that had formed around her feet. Merlin! She had completely forgotten that she was soaked. No doubt she would catch a cold if she stayed like this, and getting sick right before Quidditch season was the last thing she wanted. "I need a shower."

He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Is that an invitation?" he asked. "I have a meeting in an hour, but I am sure we ca–"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You step anywhere near the locker rooms and you will have bats flying out of your nostrils for a week, Malfoy," She threatened, thinking back to the time when she had used her infamous bat bogey hex on him in her fourth year. It was a good memory. "Do you understand?"

Malfoy clamped his mouth shut, but his lips twitched as if he was holding back a grin. Prat.

"Wait here," She started to move past him.

"You make the mistake of thinking I am at your beck and call, Ginevra," Now he sounded irritated; clearly he wasn't used to receiving commands from others. "I am indeed expected elsewhere in an hour and I have better things to do than–"

"Ten minutes!" She promised, putting an end to the tirade that he was launching into, and hurried over to the changing rooms.

In the end, it took her almost fifteen minutes to shower, dry her hair with a spell, get dressed, grab her canvas bag from her locker and run back to the entrance of the pavilion, only to find that he was no longer there. Of course, he would leave, that busy-bee of an arse. What was the point of having such a fine table etiquette at ridiculous balls when he didn't have the basic manners in day to day life? Just as she was thinking of sending him a howler containing every variation of the word 'wanker', she spotted him on the edge of the pitch, staring off into the clouded sky. Nevermind, then.

Ginny walked over to him, noting with some relief that it was no longer raining, and allowed her gaze to fall on his face. He was quite handsome, what with that perfectly crafted jawline and those sharp eyes; she wondered why she had never noticed it before.

"Taking your unschooled background into account, I should hardly find your tardiness surprising," Malfoy said, not even gracing her with a glance. "I do, however, find it irritating."

Oh, right. That's why. Every time he opened his mouth, he spewed patronising shite that was insulting to her or the people she cared about. That left little room for admiration. "I find your arseholey behaviour just as irritating," She said sweetly. "So, I guess we're even."

He turned to her then. "'Arseholey' isn't a word."

"It is now."

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then he held out his arm. "Shall we?"

And so, less than ten minutes later, she found herself sitting in a small bistro in the wizarding district of Holyhead, eating sticky toffee pudding. She made a mental note to bring Ron here someday, he'd love it.

Malfoy sipped his tea and stared out the window at the newsstand across the narrow street, where an enlarged front page of Daily Prophet read: 'Deal with the Dementors: Ministry signs new contract with Azkaban guards'. A small, barely noticeable frown touched his face, then he blinked once and turned his attention to her. "So," he said, "You had questions."

"You own Serenity Initiative?" Ginny asked. There was no point in dallying around the topic, and she was curious to know more.

"Serenity is a charity organisation not a business, so it can't quite be owned. It is run."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his attempt to act all mature and technical. Prat. "And you run it?"

"I have served as its chief executive for almost a year now," Malfoy told her, "The position was held by my mother prior to that. She is the one who set up the organisation five years ago."

That was news to her. Harry had always said that Narcissa Malfoy had defied Voldemort in the end, though that defiance had not come from a place of heroism, but rather from her desire to find her son. "I wasn't aware that you and your family were so keen to help troubled witches and wizards," Ginny stated bluntly. "Have you finally grown a heart?"

"Perhaps." He did not seem offended at her words. "Or maybe I am keen to help troubled witches and wizards because it makes me look good."

She stilled at that. "Is that so?"

His gaze was contemplative, as if he was wondering how to respond to that, then he clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. "It is no secret that the Malfoy name is no longer what it once was." He said. "If overseeing a charity is going to help amend the notorious image of my family, then that is what I will do."

"You always were a self-serving bastard, weren't you?"

"Never pretended to be anything else," He replied instantly, his lips quirking into a small smirk.

That was true, she supposed. It was disturbing, and almost admirable in some twisted way, that Malfoy was upfront about his intentions. But it left her wondering whether it was right to respect the charity, or even support it, knowing that though many witches and wizards will find much-needed help in coping with their demons, the welfare work would ultimately serve the Malfoy propaganda.

"Have I tainted your opinion of Serenity?" Malfoy asked. It alarmed her that he was able to tell what she was thinking. Was she that transparent? "Apologies." He was not sorry at all, and they both knew it.

"So, this is your job then – to help and hug the weak of our society?" She asked. The moral dilemma of supporting Serenity was not one she would be able to solve over a single pudding, so it was best to move the conversation on. A bit.

"Jobs are for peasants, Ginevra," he sneered.

"How are you able to walk through doorways with that big head of yours?"

"Quite comfortably, actually."

Malfoy was enjoying this conversation, that much was obvious, and she was once again torn between wanting to hex him and laugh with him. "Obnoxious git," She muttered, loud enough for him to hear.

"Your words wound me."

"Oh, I'm sure they do, Draco." Her use of his given name startled her, and she was surprised, almost pleasantly so, at how easily it had rolled off her tongue. Ginny forced her alarm away; he had permitted her to address him so, hadn't he, and he had been using her first name all day without even asking for her say-so. Though she did reckon that shagging against a bookshelf justified a few things like that.

She looked up at him, only to realise that he had been studying her, his gaze lingering on her lips. A wave of heat washed over her as she recalled what his kisses had felt like.

It was Malfoy who broke their eye contact and glanced down at his watch. "I'm afraid I must leave," He said. "I have a meeting. I hope I've answered your questions."

"Not all of them. You dallied around my question about your work."

"Only because you didn't ask me properly," Malfoy pointed out. He paused for a moment, as if he was debating something in his mind, then said, "Either way, that will not do. Perhaps we can continue this conversation over dinner on Friday night?"

Ginny looked at him. "Are you asking me out on a date, Draco Malfoy?"

His stormy gaze bore into hers. "I thought it was obvious that I am, Ginevra Weasley," he said. "Are you certain you weren't born with a rock inside of your head instead of a brain?"

"And they said romance is dead," she muttered sarcastically.

He glanced at his watch once again, then stood up. "Dinner. Friday. Are you interested or not?"

Ginny hesitated. Shagging Malfoy covertly in a foreign country was one thing but to go out on a date with him was something else entirely. It was serious. It was risky… but then again, she hadn't been a Gryffindor for nothing. "I am," she told him.

Malfoy nodded, then slipped his coat on in one swift, graceful move. Git. "I shall make the reservations and send word to you," he said. "Goodbye, Ginevra."

As Ginny watched him head towards the apparition point through the shop window, she couldn't help but wonder what the consequences of her decision would be, or if there would be any at all. It was entirely possible that the date would go horribly wrong, and she would never see him again. Or the date would go well and then… Either way, she couldn't change her decision now – truth was, she didn't want to – and pondering over it would do no good.

So, she did the only thing she could: she focused on enjoying her pudding.

Her first date with Draco – blimey, had he become 'Draco' in her thoughts already? – went well.

He had taken her to La Nuit, a posh restaurant located on a seventh-floor terrace in Diagon Alley, that was notorious for always being fully booked. Ron had tried to bring Hermione here for weeks before he gave up and proposed to her at a romantic little picnic in the park. Ginny was surprised Draco managed to get a table, that too at only a few days' notice.

The terrace was much smaller than she had expected, seating no more than thirty people; no wonder the reservation queues were a nightmare. A dozen or so lanterns floated in the air, illuminating the place with warm light, and white petals soared above their heads, dancing to the tunes of the four-string orchestra that was seated in one corner, playing slow, melodious songs. All in all, it was quite an intimate setting and she liked it.

She let Draco order the wine and turned her attention to the menu before her, eyes nearly bulging at the prices, wondering why in the name of Merlin's soggy pants did these fancy restaurants name their dishes using such complicated words. Why did it have to be 'langoustine', why not just say 'lobster'? She opted for a simple chicken cordon bleu with mushroom sauce. Draco ordered taglierini with some rare black truffles from the Mediterranean – because of course he would. Tosser.

Once the orders were done, Draco eyed her. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice soft.

The straightforward compliment caught her off-guard. Knowing him, she was expecting something along the lines of 'you don't look completely destitute today'. But she'd be lying if she said that his words didn't please her. It had been a while since she had gone out on a date and she wanted to look pretty, not for him – not entirely – but for herself. She had worn her midnight blue dress that fell to her knees, and had spent quite a while knotting her auburn hair into a messy updo.

"You don't look so bad yourself," Ginny said. It was true. He looked as impeccable as ever in a navy grey suit that made his blonde hair stand out. Come to think of it, apart from the Slytherin Quidditch robes and Hogwarts uniform, she didn't think she had ever seen Draco dressed in anything that could be qualified as casual. She wouldn't be surprised if she found out that the man went to bed dressed in his formal robes with a boutineer pinned to his lapel.

They talked about random, unimportant things until the food arrived. After that the conversation became somewhat stilted; he wouldn't talk with his mouth full, and she was simply too busy enjoying the food to talk.

Halfway through the meal, she spoke up. "You said you took over Serenity a year ago. What were you doing before that?"

"Running the Malfoy Corporation," Draco replied. "We have investments in various industries, both in the wizarding and the muggle–"

"Muggle?" Ginny asked in disbelief. There had always been rumours that a chunk of Malfoys' fortune came from the non-magical world, but she had never believed those. The idea that a family of blood purists would do business with muggles, the very people they thought of as vermin, was preposterous.

"Yes," Draco said shortly. He seemed slightly defensive, as if he was waiting for her to bring up his family's past affiliations with the Dark Arts.

She didn't. Instead, she changed the topic of their conversation. "You know, I've noticed that you haven't insulted me once this evening," she pointed out. "Are you trying to woo me with your gentlemanly charade, Draco Malfoy?"

"Of course," His defensive demeanour dropped instantly, only to be replaced with a playful tone. "I plan on having my way with you later tonight."

Merlin. Her cheeks warmed at his words and she took a sip of her wine, flustered. "And what makes you think I'll let you?"

Draco reached across the table to brush his fingertips on the back of her hand. The touch was light, barely there, and she felt a shiver travel down her spine. Something on her face must have shown, for he smirked. "Intuition."

"I hate to burst your bubble, Malfoy," She pulled her hand away, "but you're not as good as you think you are."

"No," He nodded in agreement. "I'm better."

Sweet Merlin! She was on a date with a narcissist. Now, she couldn't let him have his way with her, as he so delicately put it, out of spite – not that she was thinking of letting it happen previously, mind. It was her moral obligation to knock him down a peg or two. Or twenty. "I always knew you were a smug bastard," she told him, "Now you're delusional as well."

"'Delusional'" Draco repeated. "I'm impressed, Ginevra. I didn't think your tiny brain was capable of producing words longer than two syllables."

Ginny shot him a scathing look. "You're a shit wooer, Malfoy."

His amusement bubbled out of him in the form of a short laugh. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sound, but she noticed that it seemed slightly off. Either Draco wasn't used to laughing often, or she wasn't used to hearing him do so. The latter. Definitely the latter. Still, to see him grin so carelessly for the first time filled her with an odd sense of accomplishment, as if she had peeled off a layer of the cool, composed mask that he always had on.

In the end, he did not have his way with her and she didn't let him. That didn't mean that liberties were not taken. After dinner, he walked her to the narrow alley that was one of the designated apparition points in Diagon Alley, and he grabbed her by the waist before she could leave and placed a fiery kiss on her lips. They stood there for what felt like ages, her hands holding onto his face while his were planted firmly on her back, but it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. Her lips were still tingling from his touch when she had arrived back at the Burrow.

Ginny had moved back to her childhood home after her break-up with Harry – he, ever the noble hero, had offered to let her keep the flat, but she didn't want to live in a place that held so many memories of their relationship. The move back to Burrow was intended to be a temporary setup, but her parents convinced her to stay. She reckoned that they found the lack of crowd depressing, seeing as how all her brothers now had places of their own. And truth be told, she loved living there with her mum and dad.

"You're seeing someone, aren't you?" Molly Weasley had asked the moment she had stepped into the living room.

Ginny suppressed a groan and looked at her mother, who was knitting by the fire. "Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

Her mother smiled at her, no doubt glad that she was finally paying some attention to her love life as well, something that was apparently a great cause of concern. "Well, who is he, dear?"

"Mum, please." Ginny said, her tone making it clear that she didn't want to talk about it. She couldn't just inform her mother that she had just had dinner and a good snog with Draco Malfoy. "If and when there is something to tell you, I will. Until then, just don't ask questions."

Later that night, as she lay in her bed, she couldn't help but wonder if she had done the right thing. Nothing could possibly come of a relationship – wrong word. It wasn't a relationship, not yet – with Draco. Her family would never approve of him, her friends hated him, and he wasn't too fond of any of them either. If she was being honest with herself, she was surprised that he was behaving somewhat decently towards her... and she had no idea why. And then there was the past, with the bullying and the Dark Arts and him being a Death Eater, not to mention that it had been his evil father who had slipped her Tom Riddle's diary that had nearly killed her.

With so much history between them, was it wise to see him? No. Should she end it before she got too entangled in whatever game this was? Yes. Would she? That was a whole other question.

Truth was, she was enjoying herself. There was an inexplicable attraction, a sense of curiosity, that pulled her towards him. And it wasn't that she was playing this game blind. She was all too aware of Draco's flaws and of how incompatible they were. She wasn't stupidly infatuated with him like she had once been with Harry, and it sure as hell wasn't anything as serious as love; she doubted she even felt anything too serious towards him. And yet, he intrigued her, made her reckless, breathless…

Would it be so bad if she followed the pull with her eyes open? Maybe not, she told herself.

And so, when he sent her an owl asking if she would like to go out with him again, she replied with a yes.

They went to a sushi bar in Horizont Alley, a cosy place run by a bunch of now free house-elves. Having been to countless sushi places in muggle London with Harry – it had been one of his favourite foods, she'd discovered – Ginny was confident in her knowledge of the menu and ordered herself some prawn nigiri.

It wasn't until after the food had magically appeared at their table that she realised that Draco was looking at her, a grimace fixed on his face. "What?" she asked.

"I won't be kissing you tonight," he told her.

"Why?" Ginny frowned, not expecting those words to be their conversation opener that evening.

"Because you ordered prawns and I am allergic. Violently so." He explained. "I'm afraid I can't take the risk."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd–" I'd have ordered something else, she was about to say, but that would mean admitting that she wanted him to kiss her. That was not going to happen. So, hoping to cover her near slip-up, she went on, "I didn't know allergies could be that bad."

It was a horrible cover up and judging by the amused expression on his face, he had guessed the words she had not uttered. Mercifully, he didn't tease her about it. "The last time I accidentally tasted prawns, they had to take me to St. Mungo's. I'd very much prefer to avoid an overnight stay at the hospital."

If it was that bad then it would be best if they didn't kiss, which was disappointing, really. As she watched him get started on his sashimi, long fingers working the chopsticks with ease, she thought she would have liked a nice snog at the end of the evening. Still, she wasn't some horny teenager and it wasn't the end of the world.

Sometime through the meal, she realised that she was starting to learn things about him, like the fact that he was trying to decipher an original 13th century scroll of folk tales written in Celtic runes during his free time. His best friend was Blaise Zabini, his old Slytherin housemate, who now worked as a Healer at St. Mungo's and had an annoying habit of barging into his study and drinking his expensive firewhiskey. He mentioned his mother only in passing, but she gathered that Narcissa Malfoy was currently not in the country. The insights into his life, albeit little, were welcome. They humanized him, forcing her to see him as something more than just a posh prat – which, let's face it, he still was a lot of the time.

He had pecked her cheek that night, then lowered his lips to her neck and nipped at the skin, making her gasp in surprise. "That's for taking kissing off the table," he told her, his voice low.

"I should inform you that I rubbed some prawns all over my neck earlier," she murmured playfully.

Draco raised his head so he could look into her eyes. "Who'd have thought that you were capable of cruelty, Ginevra?"

"Ginny." She corrected. "Everybody calls me Ginny."

"So?" He seemed mildly confused.

"Honestly, Draco," She couldn't help but say, "You have no right to insult me ever again. You've got less going on upstairs than a single storey house!"

He shot her a scathing look. "You must be really proud of yourself for landing that one insult."

"A little bit," She admitted smugly. "And you should call me Ginny from now on."

"Absolutely not," Draco scoffed. "You have a perfectly adequate name and yet you allow everyone to address you with that horrid bastardization of it for reasons that are beyond me. Well, I shall have no part in it."

In all her life she had never met a single normal person who would use the word 'bastardization' so casually. But then again, as she was beginning to realise, Draco Malfoy was anything but normal. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad but, with the way things were going, she would find out soon enough.

"Now, then," Draco stepped away from her, "Goodnight, Ginevra," he uttered her name with emphasis, and then disapparated, leaving her speechless.

The ponced-up prat.

It was an hour or two after midnight.

Ginny slipped out of the bed and pulled on her knickers, careful not to wake the naked blonde man next to her. Guided by the moonlight that was streaming in through a small gap in the window drapes, she trotted over to the sofa, the dark wooden floor cool beneath her feet, and picked up his white shirt from where it was slung over the armrest. As she put on the item of clothing, her eyes wandered around the bedroom.

Draco Malfoy's bedroom.

The room was huge, with intricate, black boiserie on the walls and an antique gold chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. A triptych of black 'n white photographs depicting a vineyard hung above the headboard of the large bed, that was covered with lots of plush pillows and bedding of warm beige colour. And a naked Draco, of course, but she was ignoring that particular decorative item for now. The time to observe him would come later…

She made her way over to a set of double doors, which she presumed led to the bathroom, and slid them open. Dim lights flickered on in the brackets of their own accord and she stilled, her eyes wide. His closet was twice the size of her bedroom. Countless robes and suits hung neatly, arranged according to colour, while the lower shelves held his shoes, all polished spotless.

There was another set of doors to her right and she started towards them. If it turned out to be a room for his watches or ties, she was going to leave, she decided. Thankfully, it turned out to be the bathroom, which was just as huge and lavish because of course it would be. As she sat down on the toilet, watching the engraved snake on the opposite wall transform into a dragon and then back again, it finally hit her: She was peeing in Draco Malfoy's bathroom.

Merlin! How had that happened?

It certainly wasn't something she had expected when she had met him for their third date.

They had gone to an Italian café of her choosing in muggle London. If Draco had a problem with the place, or the people there, he kept it to himself and acted like his usual snobbishly charming self. They exchanged witty banter over the meal, which he did enjoy more than he let on; he'd called his risotto "just acceptable" but was quick to move his plate out of her reach when she said she wanted a bite.

And then Ginny unknowingly committed a sin: she paid the bill while he had slipped off to the loo. Her treat, she'd told him.

She didn't realise that it was an issue at first, but as they wandered aimlessly through the quirky streets of Camden Town, she noticed that he was giving her the cold shoulder. A little bit of prodding and a couple of rather rude insults later, she was able to join the dots. "You're joking, right?" She asked incredulously. "So what if I paid the bill?"

"It wasn't yours to pay," Draco sniffed in disdain.

"Of course," Ginny rolled her eyes. "I forgot that there's a law that states that dinner bills have to be paid by the one who is blessed with 'the cock'."

He didn't reply. She was getting the silent treatment. Lovely.

Reaching out, Ginny grabbed his arm and forced him to face her. "Calm your tits, Malfoy," she said. "It was only thirty quid." She wondered for a brief moment if he understood muggle currency – Hermione had given her detailed lessons a long time ago, delving into the history of the pound until Harry had come to her rescue – but then she realised that he did business in the muggle world, so he probably knew. Either way, the currency didn't matter. His irrational attitude did.

Draco shrugged his arm away from her grip. "Probably cost your family a month's worth of rations," he muttered.

"Listen to me, you condescending arsehole," she hissed, her temper flaring. "I am perfectly capable of affordi–"

"It's not about that!" Draco snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. "It's the ideals with which I was raised. When a man takes a lady out, he foots the bill." He looked away with a scoff. "Of course, calling you a lady is quite a bit of a stretch."

Ginny stared at him, dumbfounded, as she realised that he was genuinely trying to be chivalrous rather than patronising, and had went about expressing his irritation at his failure in a typical Malfoy manner. It was almost oddly sweet, though she would never admit it out loud.

He must have perceived her silence wrong, for he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I-If you wish to pay…" He began as he turned to her, his fingers twitching at his sides, "Just let me know in advance. Alright?"

'So he could prepare himself' – The implied meaning behind his words hung in the air between them. Ginny hastily nodded. Sweet Merlin! The man belonged in a museum, or in the 17th century, though they'd have hanged him within a week for throwing shade at people of import.

Argument resolved, they resumed their exploration of London's street-art filled district on much friendlier terms. Of course, she knew she had to tease Draco about this. She was the sister of Fred and George Weasley, and they would be mad at her – one on earth and the other from heavens above – if she let an opportunity like this slip away.

So, as they were about to walk into a shop selling something called 'retro collectibles', Ginny placed her hand on the door and then jumped back onto the sidewalk with a horrified gasp. "Oh, I am so sorry. I swear, I didn't mean to try and open the door by myself!" She said. "You should open the door. I don't ever want to go against your gentlemanly training, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco's eyes widened dramatically, causing her to giggle. "Shut up," he muttered, the tips of his ears turning pink from embarrassment.

"As my man commands," She said with mock subservience.

He growled – Merlin! He actually growled – and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her against his hard body. He pressed his lips to hers in a demanding kiss that nearly made her weak in the knees. Any amusement she felt was gone within seconds, replaced by a wave of heat that travelled through her veins and seeped into her bones.

Draco broke the kiss after a short while, and Ginny only had a chance to blink up owlishly at him when everything went dark and the air squeezed her from all sides – and then, she was no longer standing on a sidewalk in London, but rather on a gravel pathway that led to a huge manor.

The Malfoy Manor.

She had heard stories of this place, of how it had served as the headquarters of the Death Eaters, how Voldemort himself resided here for almost a year. And of course, Harry, Ron and Hermione had told her all about the time when snatchers had captured them and brought them here.

The building before her was grand and daunting, and yet the tall hedges surrounding it were laden with little blue blossoms and the air was alive with the chirping of countless birds that lived in the surrounding woods. She felt Draco take hold of her hand, fingers intertwining, and then the two of them started towards the manor. He flicked his wand and the tall iron gates slid open. As they walked through them, Ginny felt a whip of cool air, a momentary feeling that she had been doused in icy water, that caused her to gasp.

"Wards," Draco explained.

As he led her in to the foyer, she could practically hear Ron describe it to her – "There was a huge staircase that led up to this massive hall, and they were all waiting there: those blonde gits and Bellatrix. They wanted Malfoy to identify Harry, so they could call You-Know-Who, y'know? And then Bellatrix hurt Hermione. We could hear her screams down in the cellar. I thought I'd lose her, Ginny. I was going mad with worry for her." – and for the first time, she felt truly horrified of the place, of the horrors that the Malfoys had committed in the name of their Dark Lord.

Her thoughts must have reflected on her face because Draco stepped in front of her, blocking the view of the staircase, his face impassive. "Do you want to leave?" he asked in a low voice.

This was it, her mind supplied. A moment, a chance, a choice to turn away, to return to her life and to leave whatever this was behind. And yet, as she stared into his eyes, she thought of the Draco she had encountered in Paris and the one she had spent some time with since then.

There was no doubt in her mind that he belonged to a family that had served Voldemort in hope of gaining power and glory. Draco himself had shared those beliefs, probably still did. He had made many wrong decisions, said and done things to hurt others, had most probably dabbled in the Dark Arts himself. But If he had been completely evil, his deeds unforgiveable, then Harry would never have spoken for him during the trials and the new Wizengamot would have thrown him in Azkaban, like they did countless other Death Eaters.

Draco Malfoy was not irredeemable. And Ginny Weasley was no coward.

So, she raised an eyebrow and put on a smirk. "Why, are you nervous?" She asked teasingly.

"You wish," He replied, his shoulders sagging imperceptibly in what she thought was relief, and started leading her up.

She would have studied the interiors, she even wanted to, but he had pulled her into a searing kiss halfway up the stairs and her surroundings hardly mattered anymore.

By the time they had stumbled into his bedroom, which happened to be up another storey, her hair had come undone from the braid and she was clinging to him, to his mouth, like a drowning man would to his float. And then, as they fervently ripped off the clothes from each other's bodies, lips exploring heated skins, everything in the world - the past, the present, the future - anything that was not them ceased to exist...

So, that is why Ginny Weasley was peeing in Draco Malfoy's bathroom.

Finishing her business in there, she made her way to the bed, eyeing the blonde man. The moonlight streaming in was dim, but it was enough. Draco lay on his stomach with the sheets pooled around his waist. He seemed peaceful in his sleep, younger too – which was an odd thing, seeing that he was only twenty-four years old.

He had quite a collection of scars, she noted as she silently slipped onto the bed. She had frozen up when she had first taken his shirt off, questions forming on her lips, but Draco had made an impatient sound in the back of his throat that made it clear that neither her observing gaze nor any interrogation would be appreciated. And then he had done something with his fingers that had taken her mind off the marks on his body altogether.

Now, though, she could observe.

He had an ugly knotted scar on his leg that ran from his mid-thigh to just below his knee. There was a thin line, almost six inches long, on his left shoulder blade, as if someone had slashed him with a sword. But what stood out was a circular mark on his lower back. The size of her fist, it looked as if the skin there had been flayed, imbued with some inexplicable silver-grey ink, regrown and then burnt again. While his other scars were not much visible even on his pale skin, this one came across as an ugly and cruel mutilation.

She wanted to touch it but was almost afraid that she would hurt him; it seemed like a magical injury. So, instead, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the thin scar on his shoulder.

Draco stirred and turned his head towards her, his eyes flitting open lazily. "That's my shirt," he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

"I think it suits me better," she said lightly.

"You wish." He rolled onto his side so he lay facing her. Upon realising that her fingers were still resting on the scar on his back, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Feeling curious, are we?"

"How?" She asked softly.

His eyes met hers and for a moment it felt like he would rebuff her query, but then he said: "You're too overdressed. I'm not answering any questions until that is remedied."

Ginny shot him a look. Then, she unbuttoned the shirt without breaking eye contact and tossed it somewhere over her shoulder. She congratulated herself on doing the task so boldly, but she also knew that her cheeks resembled a tomato, so there was no real reason to celebrate. Settling down next to him, her face inches from his, she waited for him to speak.

She didn't have to wait long. "Potter," Draco admitted tiredly, letting the name hang in the air between them. "Sixth year. We had a fight in the bathroom."

That surprised her. She recalled sitting in the common room with Ron and Hermione when Harry had stumbled in, shaken beyond belief at what he had accidentally done. She remembered encouraging him to get rid of the Half Blood Prince's book.

A soft touch below over her ribs caused her to snap out of her thoughts. Draco was touching her scar now, a two-inch long gash. "Sixth year. My sixth year," she told him before he could even ask. "I was putting up some messages for Dumbledore's Army when I thought I heard the Carrows. I ran and crashed into this suit of armour. We were running low on dittany in the Room of Requirement, otherwise I'd have healed it."

He hummed, his fingers running over the fine line. "You were brave, beyond the point of stupidity."

"We had to be," She told him. "It was the right thing to do."

"Perhaps."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at his dubious tone. "Do you not think so?"

"I'm not discussing politics with you, Ginevra," he said firmly.

She decided to let it pass, for now. Slowly, almost lazily, she started to run her hands over his back, feeling his muscles. He was quite fit, but less so than Harry, whose body had become quite defined during his Auror training. Feeling silly for comparing the two men, she scooted slightly closer to Draco and pecked his lips, just as her fingertips inadvertently brushed against the edge of the burn scar on his back.

Quick as lightning, Draco grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. He didn't seem angry or hurt, but she could not read his expression. "Did no one ever tell you, Ginevra," he asked coolly, "That curiosity killed the cat?"

"Did no one tell you, Draco, that satisfaction brought it back?" She retorted.

His lips twitched and then he moved so that he was hovering above her. Dipping his head down, he placed a kiss on her lips while his hand made its way over to her breast. "Satisfaction, huh?" his warm breath washed over her skin, causing her breath to hitch. "That can be arranged."

Heat pooled in her abdomen, and she placed her hand over the curve of his hip, nails digging into his flesh to urge him on. There was a sharp ripping sound in the air, and she realised with a jolt that he had torn off her knickers. Git! It was one of her favourite pairs. How dare he –

She lost her train of thought when he wrenched apart her, his eyes smouldering in the semi-darkness. "I hope you had a good nap earlier," He said, his voice husky. "Because I assure you, you will not be getting any more sleep this night, Ginevra."

And sure enough, by the time they finally drifted off in each other's arms, drained and sated, the sun was beginning to rise.

Ginny Weasley realised that she had no one to talk to. Not about Draco Malfoy.

She couldn't believe how quickly time had passed, and how quickly things had progressed. Almost two weeks had gone by since the day he had shown up at the Harpies' practice, and now here she was, in his bedroom.

Getting someone else's opinion on her situation would have been helpful, but considering that everyone she knew would have a very obvious bias in the matter, it was perhaps best that she was making decisions on her own.

She was content living in this secluded little bubble for now. What would happen once that bubble popped is another story entirely… one she hoped she wouldn't have to live anytime soon.

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Cheers x