Ginny Weasley was not in love with Draco Malfoy.
Yeah, right, that even sounded flimsy in her own bloody head. She observed Draco moving around her flat cooking for them ("Because you know I can't cook!" Ginny had insisted). He was tall. She often wondered if she were to kiss him how would she even get her lips to his. He'd have to stoop down or pick her up. Or maybe a combination of the two.
He was graceful with his blond hair and his cool grey eyes. He had sure, deft movements. Yet he wasn't thin. He was toned. Muscular where it mattered. And boy was he sexy. Every time they went into Muggle London, women damn near broke their necks trying to look at him. And he didn't even seem to care.
But not in the Wizarding World. Here was judged for a boyish mistake. Even though he had done so much good since then, people still didn't want to be caught talking to Draco Malfoy.
But Ginny didn't care. She was happy to have him as her partner, but she was also aware of the painful ache in her chest as he moved around her flat. He wasn't hers. He was no one's. And even if he were to be someone's, he most assuredly wouldn't be Ginny's.
Ginny knew she wasn't his type. She was all elbows and knees. There was nothing distinguishing about her other than her hair color. If not for that, one could pass her up in a crowd. But her hair made her pretty, as she had often been told. But she doubted she would ever be pretty enough for the likes of Draco Malfoy.
"You're quiet," Draco called over the hiss of searing vegetables.
Ginny groaned.
"Groaning doesn't count as talking," Draco informed her.
Ginny groaned longer and louder.
"Weasley," Draco said, "I will take that sexually. Stop moaning and start talking. You have a very handsome man cooking you dinner. You should be trying to get me into your bed."
Ginny laughed.
"Malfoy, I don't have to try. You're sleeping there, remember?" she joked.
Draco smirked. "So you do want me in your bed."
Ginny was lying on her back on the sectional, able to see just Draco's upper half.
"Yes, Malfoy, please take me now," she begged sarcastically, her face slightly pink.
But Draco wasn't looking at her at that moment as he was cooking the food, so her tell wasn't giving her away.
"I will have you know that women beg for me in their beds. You should feel honored, Weasley. I could do things to you that would make you never walk straight again," he informed her before he took a sip of wine that he'd brought over.
Ginny just rolled her eyes. Draco's ego was the size of California. And sure, he probably had a good reason for it. But it was still annoying at times.
Ginny got up, her sweat pants loose on her body, and walked into the kitchen to see what Draco was cooking. He wore his hair short now, the ash-blond sticking up in the back but still making him look like a marble god. How cruel the gods were to take Harry and give her Draco, but not really give him to her. To dangle him in front of her like a puppet she could never grab a hold of.
Draco glanced at her, his white dress shirt open, sleeves rolled up, the trail of blond hair on his stomach leading down into his pants. His muscles were tight, but they weren't defined enough to be called a six-pack. Still, he looked like a fallen angel. Ginny often thought that if Heaven and Hell existed, Draco would have to be Lucifer, the most beautiful of God's angels.
"Weasley, you look depressed. I know, I know. A crazy lunatic is after you. But I am here to protect you. So have some wine. I won't let you say no," he insisted.
Ginny sighed and went to the cabinet to grab a wine glass, standing on her tiptoes to get it. She poured herself some, set the glass down, and then hopped her butt onto the counter to watch Draco cook.
"Ahh, an audience! My cooking is even better when someone is watching. So, how are you feeling?" he asked as he seared meat in a pan.
Ginny shrugged and took a sip, flavour exploding on her tongue. Elf made wine was always an explosion of berries on one's tongue. It was so hard to get, as most house-elves didn't like to make it, and only the most ancient ones knew how. The wine had to set for years before it could be drunk, but Draco always seemed to have some ever since the first time Ginny had tried and fallen in love with it.
"How's the wine?" Draco asked.
"Delicious as always. What are you cooking?" she asked.
Draco shrugged. "Fillet mignon with pan-seared vegetables. I know it is more of a… romantic dinner, but you deserve a nice meal after the rough day you've had. I expect you to get drunk, too. That wine is twice the strength of the swill I've been bringing."
Ginny choked.
"Are you trying to take advantage of me, Malfoy?" Ginny asked in a scandalized tone.
Draco's eyes were intense as he looked at her.
"Never, Weasley. I'd want you perfectly sober for that."
Ginny turned pink and took a gulp of wine.
Draco either didn't notice her blush, or he didn't care to comment on it. He continued cooking, a smirk present on his face like it always was when he got the upper hand with her.
"Malfoy?" Ginny asked curiously.
"Hmm?" Draco responded.
Ginny sat there a moment, debating. When she had been partnered with Draco he had been engaged. About a month after they began working together he became single and never once said why. Ginny had been open about Harry, but Draco was like a closed book; he was impossible to read.
"What happened with you and Astoria?" she finally asked.
The smirk slid off Draco's face. She wondered if he was even going to answer the question as he seemed to be debating it, but when he turned the meat over in the pan he began to speak.
"Nothing really happened. Astoria is everything my parents wanted for me. I just realized that she wasn't what I wanted at all," he explained.
Ginny took another gulp of wine, wondering exactly what Draco's type was. So she asked.
He sighed as though he weren't sure how to answer. But in the end, he caved.
"I want a woman who challenges me to be better. I don't want to have it easy. I want to be forced to change for the better. I want someone who is family-oriented but gets that my family isn't really in the picture because of the choices I made. I need someone feisty and slightly rebellious.
"What about you? Whose your type now?" he asked.
Ginny shrugged. "I'm not even sure I have a type anymore. Maybe it's best if I work and don't date. Ever. I make men gay apparently," Ginny said dryly.
Draco chuckled as he plated the food.
"You can't be that bad. You're a redhead. Potter was just… well I'm not sure if he was confused or lying but he was something. Either way, that's no reason to never again date," Draco said as he handed her a plate and a fork.
Ginny set her wine glass down beside her and dug in. Like all of Draco's dishes, this one was delicious, and the wine complimented it nicely. For a moment there was silence as Ginny and Draco ate, Ginny savoring the taste of the pan-seared food.
"It's not that I don't want to date," Ginny finally said. "It's that I'm not sure who would want to date me."
Draco studied her face a moment, slowly chewing his food.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Ginny shrugged, instantly going scarlet.
Draco shook his head and stepped in towards Ginny, invading her personal space. "No, I really want to know. What do you mean? Why wouldn't someone want to date you?" he asked, his eyes drilling into hers.
Ginny could feel the heat rolling off her cheeks, and she was beyond embarrassed at this point. To give herself a moment, she drained her glass of wine, and shakily set it down, trying to take a deep breath to calm her nerves.
Draco grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.
"Why wouldn't someone want to date you?" he demanded.
Ginny's mouth went dry. "Because I'm not pretty enough," she said hoarsely.
"Lies," Draco said.
Ginny shook her head, not agreeing with him.
'Weasley, you're beautiful, and even if you weren't, you are so much more than just looks. Maybe you need a man who doesn't want just a pretty fucking face to look at. Maybe you need a man who actually wants to spend his time with you."
Draco stepped away, and Ginny felt the loss of his body heat immediately, disappointment flooding her veins. He returned with the wine bottle and refilled her glass, handing it to her with smoldering eyes.
"Drink up," he ordered.
Ginny woke up to the smell of coffee and eggs. Ginny knew without even asking that Draco was making breakfast for the two of them. Ginny was comfortable in the bed, but it was a workday, and she knew she needed to get up and get going. Draco and she had leads to tackle, and places to go. Things to do. But the bed was still warm from where he'd lain, and the sheets smelled like him; all soapy goodness. And for a moment Ginny felt herself drifting back to sleep.
"Weasley!" Draco's voice carried through the small, one-bedroom flat.
Ginny sighed and clambered out of bed, eyes squinting, and feet finding her slippers. Ginny hated mornings. Or more accurately, she hated being awake until she had, had her first cup of coffee.
As she sat down in the kitchenette, and Draco slid the coffee mug in front of her, Ginny was grateful for a partner who could read her without her having to tell him what she wanted. Except when it came to her wanting him, apparently.
Last night he had been a gentleman. No cuddling, no attempted touching, no nothing. Though she thought she'd woken up during the night briefly to the feel of his body against hers, but perhaps that had been a dream because when she woke again he was on his side of the bed sleeping peacefully.
Ginny drank more sugar in her coffee than anyone Draco knew, as he often told her. Of course, that could be because Draco drank his coffee with creamer, no sugar. They sat there in companionable silence, Ginny nursing her coffee and stabbing at her cheesy eggs with diced chilies.
Ginny idly wondered where Draco had learned to cook. He had grown up privileged, and he hadn't needed to cook. Yet here he was in her kitchen throwing down like he had been cooking all his life. It was strange, and Ginny wasn't sure she really knew her partner at all.
"How come you know how to cook?" she demanded after swallowing her food.
Rather than looking affronted, Draco seemed amused. He had a small smile on his face as he studied her for a moment before he answered.
"It's actually traditional for Purebloods to know how to cook. We may not do it, but we should know how to do it. I've been cooking since I was five years old. Often times my food comes out better than the House Elf's food. It's an old tradition going back to the days of royalty," he told her.
Ginny nodded, her curiosity satiated. Or it was until her brother's head appeared in the fireplace of her flat.
"Hurry up and eat; we've got a missing wizard," Ron said before disappearing with a pop.