A/N: OH MY GOD. I finally wrote more (meaning chapters 26-28). Not all of it is my favorite, but I got a bit stumped. I think 28 will be good. Dramatic, but good. IMHO. I have to get back into the right headspace to regain that playful momentum that I think I'm missing, but hopefully I'll keep at it. As it is, every time I write two/three chapters I will post one here. And if I stall out, let it be known that reviews are more motivating than you might think. And also, suggestions definitely make their way into my subconscious for later use. ;D
Chapter 23: Life Goes On
She wasn't sure how to define their… thing. It wasn't a relationship. She was steering far away from that word. She wasn't really a relationship person – at least, not now. She didn't like the idea of commitment. Then again… part of her wanted it to get there. For now it was… it was….
Well, it was snogging on the sly.
Not that that was happening much, either. In the week since her detention he'd tracked her down three times, each time pulling her into a deserted corridor or classroom and immediately taking her breath away.
But, y'know… nicely. He'd walk beside her a few steps, making polite conversation, until she was staring at his lips, biting her own, and then – bam – swept away to snog senseless. One time he'd casually tortured her, his fingers lighting on the small of her back as they walked, but his eyes resolutely staring ahead, even as a smirk grew on his features. She'd had a hard time not pouncing on him that time. She'd had to jab him in the ribs to get his attention. And then he'd pulled her into a deserted classroom and they'd kissed like mad while hoping neither would be late to their next class.
It was all quite fun, really. Blaise was fun. And being with him gave her such a surge of confidence – even if they were sneaking around – it was like an extra boost to the rest of her life.
And Ginny's friends were starting to notice.
It was Thursday night, and Ginny was just leaving the bathroom, having showered and changed into her pyjamas, when Vina began staring. The redhead didn't notice at first, carrying on with her business, toweling her hair dry casually.
"…Ginny's been snogging."
Ginny looked up, eyes wide, and immediately wondered what had given her away. Did she have a hickey? She'd never noticed it before – Blaise didn't usually leave marks, anyway – but maybe she'd missed it. Too late, she realized Vina had been guessing. By then her deer-in-the-headlights reaction had given her away, and she was blushing. "No I haven't." Her lie was less than convincing, and the look on her friend's face made that perfectly clear.
Natalie turned her gaze to Ginny, looking curious and excited. "Oh? Who?"
"I said, I haven't," the redhead repeated, feeling the blush blossoming on her neck and chest. She'd never been particularly good at hiding things that made her happy.
Her roommates were ignoring her protests. "I suspect it was someone she met at that party," Vina guessed, her eyes sharp as she looked for tells from Ginny's reaction. While the redhead was careful, she may have pursed her lips slightly at the suggestion.
Nat scowled. "Damn, I knew those parties were good. How have I never gotten an invite?" she complained, more to Vina than Ginny.
But Vina was still focused on the redhead. And now Julie was in on it. "Who've you been snogging, Gin?" she asked, moderately curious, as she shimmied out of her jeans and into some sleeping shorts.
"No one!" Ginny insisted, rubbing her hair more vigorously than before. Honestly, her friends were such nosy Nancys, butting into her business like this. …Not that she wouldn't do the exact same thing, in their position.
"Oh come on, Gin." Julie was rolling her eyes. None of the girls believed her.
As she shook her hair out of the towel, she gave them all a look, eyes slightly too wide, face slightly too innocent. "I swear," she held out her hands defensively, "I'm not snogging anyone."
The girls let it drop – for now – but judging by their exchanged glances, she was far from off the hook.
Draco was opening and closing the box, staring at the baubles inside. She'd thrown it at him. She'd accused him of assault. Merlin, where had he gone wrong?
Looking at a Weasley, that's where, he berated himself, letting out a huff as he closed the box with a satisfying clap and tossed it onto his bed. He looked back to his desk; he should be doing work.
But there she was, still in his head. The blond had tried to apologize, thinking it would make these highly unwelcome thoughts of her disappear, and instead she'd (literally) thrown it back in his face. This was ridiculous. He'd never had a girl reject him so thoroughly.
You weren't hitting on her – you'd never hit on her – so it's not rejection, he reminded himself.
Still…
The fucking minx.
'Minx'- you're being entitled Draco, you know how she—
But she can't tell me what to do. I'm not 'entitled,' I've never pushed someone into—
I mean, I don't think I've ever—
He was getting confused by his own thoughts now. She made him grumpy. It wasn't pleasant. And she was so blissfully ignorant of it, that she went on giggling and smirking and laughing on and on with her friends, while he sulked around, thoroughly put out! Did she not realize the complete and utter crisis she was causing?!
Of course she didn't. She was completely unaware of the effect she had on anyone. She could just march in, ruin everything, and march out without realizing the chaos she'd caused. Like now. Like how Draco hadn't been able to flirt with a girl without—
He groaned aloud. That had been a weak moment. He'd actually asked a girl if what he was doing was alright.
Draco wasn't an asker. He was a teller. A commander, more like.
Not that the girl had taken it badly – she'd made it clear that it was all perfectly fine with her – but he just felt so undermined, as though she were trying to reassure him, like someone who didn't know what they were doing. He knew what he was doing. And she'd liked it. At least, that's what she'd said. Her, and her moaning and panting.
…So why was the Weasley girl still featuring so prominently in his head? Why had he replayed their interactions on the back of his eyelids nearly every night? How could he make it stop?
Avoidance. That was surely the answer.
