A/N: Hope you enjoy chapter two, pals! I certainly had fun writing it. I'll release chapter three if it seems like there's enough interest!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, its universe, and all of its various components belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc. No profit is being made from this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is ever intended.
Of Jackets & Gentlemen
Part II
The morning of the 30th of December had brought with it a solemn, icy cascade of stillness that fell over London in a heavy, dark blanket. The many hours between Christmas and New Years Eve blurred together so that Ginny had spent several days unsure of time it was, darkness and freezing cold temperatures keeping her in her own cocoon of obliviousness. After a festive and warm Christmas at the Burrow, she had gone back to her flat and passed the days catching up on her reading, writing letters to distant friends, and making cozy dinners with Luna; but on other nights, alone in her large, comfortable flat, she opened a bottle of wine and drank it slowly while watching the snow fall over sleeping muggle London.
Ginny's sleep had been restless and filled with strange dreams for the past several months; starting, she admitted to herself grudgingly, after her interlude with Malfoy at the party. It was ages ago, but every time she passed by the caramel-coloured suede jacket thrown over the back of the settee in her bedroom, she trailed her fingers across it. She imagined that she need not be as worried as she was, about the way her heart and body reacted to Malfoy's proximity that night. She had been decidedly and purposefully single for a long time— her last relationship ended over a year ago and she was more than happy for her solitude and her autonomy— but it didn't mean that she was exactly thrilled with how long it had been since she'd been with a man.
Still, something about Malfoys eyes, and the slow heat that filled her belly when he came to stand so close her— sat like a lump in her throat. Since he so harshly criticized her fumble all those years ago, she had always been polarized by the thought of the tall blonde. Despising him for his hurtful words and the arrogant way he offered his unsolicited opinion, especially hurtful now, coming from a World Cup champion. She had burned, even years later, at the memory of his judgement.
But whenever she had seen him after that— whether in a newspaper or in the comfort of her own childhood home, watching him bring France to victory over the course of two weeks— she couldn't help but appreciate his cold beauty. She rationalized her feelings intellectually, in an attempt to feel better about how much she was thinking about him.
He is an objectively attractive man. He insulted you and made you feel less worthy, so now you just want his validation. It is pure human psychology. You do not actually have feelings for this man. You do not actually want to shag him.
Satisfied with this mantra, she repeated it in her head every time she noticed the jacket, or the thought of his stormy eyes drifted into her mind.
But then why had he tenderly even offered his jacket, why did the energy around them shift so dramatically, the space between them crackling with electricity? Why had she felt bereft, disappointed, when Luna came outside looking for her?
"Arghh," Ginny said aloud to her empty flat. Running her hands through her tangled red waves of her hair, she decided she would finally leave her house for the first time in days; away from his stupid jacket, and into the brutally cold air of Diagon Alley where she had errands to run. She cast one last contemptuous glance at the offending article of clothing and went to the bathroom to shower.
When Ginny emerged from the floo hub in Diagon Alley, she glanced at her reflection in the dark windows she passed. She wore a cream coloured heavy winter cloak, lined with white fur around the hood. Her white woollen mittens, lovingly knit by Molly, had gathered some soot from the floo, which she cleaned with a quick spell. She had braided her hair into one long plait which hung out of her hood and down the front of her cloak, like a gleaming coppery rope. It felt good to get out of her old jumper and sweatpants and put some effort into her appearance.
She made a beeline for Gringotts, where she was intending to take out some galleons for her annual Hogmanay donations to the various charities she supported. As she approached the imposing white building, gleaming marble looming starkly against the slate grey sky, she saw a tall, familiar figure emerging from the large double doors. He was speaking in a low voice to a goblin that rushed to stand by his side, eagerly taking notes.
Her heart hammered a terrible tattoo against her rib cage when she realized she was looking at the pale, silvery head of the man who had haunted her thoughts for the last few months. A small "eep" escaped her lips before she ducked around a corner; the last thing she saw was his head turn as his dark cloak billowed around him.
She walked quickly down a winding, cobblestone street; this narrow path was lined with sleepy bookstores, second-hand robe shops and various supply wares. She knew that at the end of it, there was a small, dusty cafe with excellent croissants that was always practically empty this time of year. She could sit and gather her thoughts, wait out the hour with her book, until Diagon Alley held no trace of Malfoy.
She saw the warm light of the cafe through old Victorian windows; her heart was beating at an almost normal pace again. She entered, a gentle bell alerting the shopkeeper of her presence. The old man smiled warmly at her, surprise in his eyes.
"Miss Weasley! I wasn't expecting to see you here today. How nice! Latte and a croissant my dear?" he asked in his soft Welsh lilt, pulling a buttery croissant out of the display and reaching for a plate.
"That would be lovely Mr. Llewelyn, thank you," she replied, nodding kindly at the old man and pushing back her hood. She found her favourite corner of the shop and sat on the old creaky bench, nestled into a nook right beside a stained-glass window that depicted St. George slaying the dragon.
She sighed heavily as she undid the ivory toggles on the front of her cloak, suddenly over-heated. She felt her brow furrow as she wondered if Malfoy had spotted her before she darted around the corner. She hoped he had not. Merlin, why did I run away like a spooked cat?
She was spared from wondering what Malfoy had been talking to the goblin about when she spotted the only other patron in the cafe. It was a shockingly beautiful witch, with a tumbling river of chestnut brown hair, wearing a rose-pink heavy cloak that Ginny knew was one of the latest styles that all the fashionable young women were wearing this winter. The cloak was wrapped tightly around her, and did very little to disguise her slim figure and generous bust. Her long, elegant fingers ended with perfectly manicured, pointed red nails, which matched the colour painted on her full, red lips. Ginny could not imagine what a woman like that was doing in a cafe like the Owls Club. Perhaps, like Ginny, she was moderately famous and knew she could be left alone here. She looked bored, tapping her nail gently on the side of what looked like a cup of plain tea.
Ginny had just pulled out her book, 'A Witches Guide to DIY Home Renovation Spells', when the bell over the door jingled again. She did not think to look up until she heard a deep, drawling voice.
"Mr. Llewelyn," Draco said politely, nodding his head at the old man, who seemed genuinely happy to see him. Ginny gaped, raising her small book ineffectually over her face and slid lower on the bench. She heard the shopkeeper ask Malfoy if he wanted a sandwich to go, to which the blonde politely declined. Ginny, purposely training her eyes on her book, frantically reading the same sentence over again, heard his footsteps in heavy boots walk further into the cafe.
There were several excruciating moments of silence that were punctuated only by his moving through the space, and the wind howling outside the stone building.
Please don't come over please don't come over please don't come over—
Her prayers were answered when she heard Draco's voice again, much lower this time and a good distance away from her. She peered slowly over the top of her book, and her heart skipped a sharp beat. He was leaning with his hands on the back of the chair where the beautiful brunette witch was sitting, kissing her languidly with absolutely no urgency, as though he was perfectly accustomed to kissing women who looked like that.
Ginny groaned inwardly and sank as low as she could possibly go in her seat, her bum fully hanging off the bench and her back uncomfortably twisted into an undignified position. She pulled the book right up to her face, which was most definitely the colour of a tomato. She heard snippets of their murmured conversation, which, she realized with a pang, was all in French.
Then she heard him say, in a voice that made her blush, "I'll meet you at your hotel in 20 minutes— I have one more meeting to wrap up. Don't pout." The sound of more kissing, and her giggling, which somehow, sounded French. "I know, I know, I'm terrible. There's a pet; I'll be along shortly. I'm sorry darling," he drawled. He didn't sound very sorry. There was a minute, and then the soft pop that told Ginny someone had apparated.
Slowly, she looked over the edge of the book again. To her horror, she saw Draco, still leaning on the back of the empty chair, blatantly smirking at her.
This most embarrassing moment was interrupted by the return of Mr. Llewelyn, flustered and apologizing to Ginny.
"So sorry Miss Ginny, I had to go all the way down to the cellar because I had forgotten to pull out that milk that you liked when I opened this morning— I never know when you'll be in you know—"
Ginny instantly felt bad for the old man. "There's never any need to apologize for any wait my dear, you know that," she reassured him, laying her small hand on his arm warmly. He smiled at her, his watery old eyes crinkling at the corners.
The old man straightened. "Well, there's your chai latte with extra whipped cream Miss. Ginny," he said happily. He turned to Draco, who had walked up to her small table during the exchange, "Mr. Malfoy, will you be joining Ms. Weasley?"
"No, no," Ginny said breezily, quickly, waving her hands more than was necessary. "Mr. Malfoy has a meeting—"
"I will Mr. Llewelyn, thank you. My usual coffee please," he spoke over her, pulling out one of the small chairs. As the old man walked away, Draco sat down and smiled blandly at Ginny, unhooking the silver fastenings at his throat that held his cloak in place. It fell open slightly to reveal a forest green cable-knit sweater, which definitely did not look like Molly Weasley had knit it.
She glared at him and said nothing.
"Yknow," he began, pulling off his expensive-looking gloves slowly to reveal his long fingers and large, pale hands. "Incognito is not one of your strengths."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she sniffed, crossing her arms.
"Sorry," he said, eyes glittering with amusement, "I must have gotten confused when you very nearly slid under the table to avoid me."
Ginny realized she was still slumped in her most unflattering position and immediately sat up rod straight, running her hands along her head and down her plait to smooth it out. She picked up the spoon that was sitting on the saucer beside her latte and reached for the sugar pot between them. Dumping a heaping spoonful of sugar into her steaming hot drink, she began to stir, somewhat violently.
"Fine. I was avoiding you. And why not?" She asked huffily. "People come to this coffee shop to be alone, not to be subjected to disgusting displays of snogging."
Draco laughed, his smile wide enough to show off the sharp canine tooth Ginny had noticed in all those close-ups of his face during the World Cup. He leaned back arrogantly in his chair but nodded to Mr. Llewelyn, who put what appeared to be a short espresso drink in front of him.
"You know, the more you speak the more I wonder if you're really such a prude," he drawled, raising his eyebrows innocently. "You seem to become easily flustered when confronted with the topic of sex." Ginny's jaw dropped at his words.
"Excuse me," she hissed, sitting forward suddenly and narrowing her eyes, "—where exactly do you—"
But he continued over her, looking disdainfully at her drink, speaking as if she had not spoken. "But then you go and order a sugary, decadent drink like this frilly monstrosity and it just makes me wonder," he paused, leaning forwards dangerously, and suddenly she was rooted to the spot by his proximity, the smell of that spicy cologne wafting subtly across the table. "Maybe you're not a prude; maybe you look like a grown woman but you're just a little, innocent girl." These last words were spoken excruciatingly slowly.
Ginny just blinked at him in disbelief. Cool it Ginny, she said to the lion rearing up inside of her, the lion that wanted to sink its teeth into him, to show him just how innocent she was not. Cool it. She took a few moments to compose herself and sat back, breathing heavily.
"You know, Draco," she began, enjoying watching him flinch slightly at her use of his given name. "Your girlfriend is awfully pretty. She seems really bright too, really smart. A real intellectual. I'm sure between all the passionate lovemaking you're doing she's just an absolutely astounding conversationalist. Not at all the type of silly, shallow woman that appeals only to silly, shallow men." She had emphasized those last few words and smiled at him smugly. She dropped her head to suck the dollop of whipped cream floating on the top of her drink, looking at him with purposely big, innocent eyes.
There was a beat of silence where he simply looked at her, stunned, and then suddenly threw his head back and gave a short howl of laughter. She eyed the long, pale column of his strong neck with a mixture of trepidation and disdain.
"What?" she asked.
"You're jealous," he said simply, still laughing, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye, folding one leg over the other.
Ginny felt her face grow hot. "I'm not jealous. I feel sorry for her," she spat, "subjected to you and your advances."
"No, you're jealous," he said evenly, smirking at her.
"Actually, I'm leaving," she said, standing up quickly and shoving her book into her bag and fumbling with her coin purse. She pulled her cloak closed and pulled up her hood. "Thank you for ruining a perfectly good afternoon."
She went to move past him when his hand darted out and grabbed her by the wrist. His fingers may as well have burned the bare skin where they touched her arm; he pulled her back to face him, still sitting in the chair.
"Weasley," he looked up at her, his cat-like eyes moving across her face. She imagined how she must look; flushed, frustrated, eyes wild. "Why is it that we can never have a civil conversation?"
"I imagine that would have something to do with the fact that you're vile," she hissed quietly, trying to yank her arm out of his grip and failing. "And you don't know anything about me." But in the back of her head, a voice: you're so angry because he read you like an open book. You are jealous. She stilled, and took a long, deep breath.
"It makes me uncomfortable when you talk about sex," she said quietly.
He clearly didn't expect her to say that. His hand loosened on her wrist. "Why?" he asked.
She didn't answer, only tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking determinedly at the wall behind his head.
"Fine," he said quietly. "I won't do that anymore. I'm sorry."
"Did you just apologize to me?" she asked, stunned.
He looked annoyed now. "Y'know, I can do that, Weasley."
She bit her lip thoughtfully and looked down at him. She wondered if she had imagined his eyes darting to look at her mouth. "Fine. Can I go now?"
"One more thing," he murmured, squeezing her wrist slightly before letting it go. "You still have my jacket."
She miraculously managed to smile at that. "Of course I do," she said, more smoothly than she felt. "Wasn't it a gift?" Before he could reply, she apparated out of the coffee shop, leaving Draco in stunned silence.
When Ginny got home, she was smiling. She threw her cloak on the couch and walked, in a daze, to her bedroom. With trembling hands, she picked up his jacket and brought it to her face where she buried her nose in the collar. It still smelled faintly of his cologne.
She caught sight of her smiling face in the mirror and froze.
Fuck, she thought simply. Ginny. You idiot.
A/N: Thanks for reading darlings. Remember, reviews = chapter three!
