Chapter 31: Back Problems

"hghf mmf fmf hummf?"

Draco was unable to fully interpret the redhead's words, spoken into the sofa, but he was fairly sure they were directed at him as he was the only one around. And also, apparently, the only sober person in attendance. In truth, he'd made an effort to stay sober to avoid the mistake he knew he was going to make any second-

"What was that, Weaslette?"

Yes. That. Why was he asking her? It was like he was helping her or something. Well… he supposed he was. He'd told her about the nasty trick someone (Draco suspected Pansy, the vicious cunt) had played on her, after all. Even if it was a good twenty minutes after he'd seen it for the first time. And he'd kept watch over the dozing girl since she'd crashed on the couch, making sure no one else took advantage of the open canvas, as it were.

She turned her head toward him, eyes a little too bright, looking reluctant. Her lips were tight, as though she knew it was a bad idea, but eventually she repeated, "Can you give me some help, Malfoy?" Her voice was quieter than it had been while she'd been enjoying their drunken taunting, but it held a note of sobriety and warning in it. If you make fun of me now, it seemed to promise, you will not live to see tomorrow.

The blond wasn't sure how to respond. "…Are you sure you want me to?"


Ginny readily blamed it on the alcohol. Otherwise she would never be so trusting. But he'd told her about it, and had sounded almost apologetic when he'd done so, so it seemed, at least, like he wouldn't make it worse. "Yeah." She surprised herself when nodded, cheek rubbing against the cushion as she did so. She was pushing the dizzy drunken side of her away, and the result was an oddly sincere gaze as she looked at her semi-enemy, the doubt clear in her chocolate eyes.

His gaze – slightly confused, and equally doubtful – flicked to her back before looking her in the face again. "How, exactly?"


Draco was finding it hard to believe this was actually happening. His whole 'get her alone and then wing it' thing seemed to be… working? But at the same time… not? He hadn't been expecting this situation. He hadn't been expecting to actually help her. And to help her because she'd asked. And – despite not having a single drink tonight – he was confused about what exactly was going on. He needed to stop thinking. Stop plotting.

She was watching him with wary eyes. "It wipes off…" Her voice was careful, well aware of the implication of her words. The youngest Weasley was asking him – the Malfoy heir – to touch her.

Draco had to halt that train of thought as soon as it started, all the imaginary gasps and moans dissipating before he could get drawn in. Non-threatening. Be non-threatening.

He shifted on the ottoman he was sitting on, scooting toward her. When he was close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her body, she turned her head forward again, no longer looking at him. Was that a sign of trust or some kind of warning?

"You're sure?" His voice was low, rough and awkward, not used to asking for permission multiple times.

She nodded, but still clarified verbally, "Yes…"

He brushed his fingers over her back, trying to dust off the white powdery coating. It did nothing. "This doesn't seem to work."

The redhead glanced over her shoulder at him. One eyebrow was quirked in a look of incredulity with just a touch of cautious amusement. "Yeah, well it's magic, Malfoy, it's not just gonna brush off."

"Right. Okay…" He hesitated as she turned forward again, then, purposefully, ran a firm finger down her spine, gauging the pressure needed to remove the painted-on substance.


Ginny's feet twitched and her hands balled into fists to keep her toes from curling. This wasn't an intimate gesture – at least, she didn't think it was – but it certainly felt like it. He'd managed to touch her in the only possible manner that could make the task seem… well, she hoped he didn't notice the goosebumps. Not from him. It wasn't him (though, admittedly, the whole topless guy rubbing her back thing was a little distracting), it was entirely the fault of her nerve endings and the certain spots on her body that forced physical response. Like her spine. Besides, before she'd turned her head she could've sworn he was blushing. If he didn't point out the gooseflesh, she wouldn't point out the blush. Common courtesy.

But he'd stopped. Again. "Look, Weasley, if you don't want me to-"

"Malfoy." She flipped herself onto her back, looking up at him. The sober clarity of her eyes was flickering as her body remembered just how much she'd had to drink, but she managed to speak concisely. "I'm going to make this very clear to you." She felt the slight blush in her own cheeks, but ignored it, focused on keeping her words intelligible. "I appreciate that you are asking – believe me, I do – but I am giving you express permission to touch me in order to remove the word which I'd prefer not to be branded with for the rest of the night. Just clean me off."


cause you're a dirty-

Nope, nope, not thinking that.

Draco nodded, and watched as the redhead settled herself again. The blush had spread down her chest and now encroached on her back as well. Setting aside his own nerves, he paused, curious. He watched the back of her head for a reaction as he waited a good long while. When he finally did touch her again, his hands just above the knot of her apron, she started.

He couldn't help but smirk. "A little jumpy, are we?"

Both of hands closed at the base of her back before pushing upward, spreading open, pushing aside the powdery residue, and he saw and felt her arching her back automatically with the movement.

"Shut up – Malfoy-"

Was it just him, or did she sound a bit distracted by the way his hands were working over her back?


Damn it. Ginny completely blamed the visceral responses she was trying to hide on her alcohol consumption. She refused to take responsibility for the fact that this particular – and oddly specific – situation had her body tight and nerves zinging in a way she'd lately associated with a very different Slytherin seventh year. In fact, if she closed her eyes and imagined it was him…

Wow, now that was much better. None of those confusing warnings about mortal enemies and silly things like that. If she thought instead of Blaise's hands on her… Alcohol took over and readily replaced the blond in her mind's eye.

And with a more familiar pair of hands on her, Ginny let out a practically moaning sigh. "That's good," she admitted, the words muffled by the sofa. With another pass, she rolled her head to the side, eyes fluttering but not open. "Really good," she amended with a hum of pleasure.

Blaise…. Blaise….

Even though she knew, in the core of her being, that Blaise was not the one currently giving her one of the best massages she'd ever received, it was so much easier, infinitely less complicated, for her to avoid that fact.

As he ran firm thumbs in crescents from her spine she scowled briefly and bit her lip. But she couldn't stop herself. "You don't have the right leverage," she muttered with a pout.


A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. I am going to be internet-free for about a month starting later this week, so I'm thinking I'll be put on semi-involuntary hiatus until I have my computer again and can post. Hopefully I'll get one more chapter (one of my personal favorites) up some time on Wednesday, but that will be my goodbye for some time. I've been using up my reserve chapters without adding to the story as a whole, which I need to do. So after 32 goes up I'll be gone for a bit, and should return some time in November with all the things.