Sunsets

The bathroom was a steamy sauna of warm mist by the time Ginny was willing to relinquish her pleasure, and it smelt faintly of mango-cherry shampoo. Wrapping a large, fluffy towel tightly around her slender form, Ginny stepped out of the shower--and realized she had nothing to wear. Cursing herself for not thinking about this earlier, she idly squeezed a fountain of droplets from her long, tangled and utterly wet mane, before opening the bathroom door to peak out into the room.

The cold air hit her hard, and she shivered, having already remembered the room's other occupant. An armchair blocked her view of his sleeping form (apart from a pair of mud slathered boots), so she could only hope he was, indeed, still asleep. Tentatively, she left the warm haven of the bathroom and tiptoed towards the closet, hoping beyond all hopes she could find something at least the equivalent of a robe until Rosmerta could loan her some night clothes--since she was, decidedly, going to spend the night in this room, with Mr. Malfoy.

The closet door creaked slightly as she opened it, but she was relieved to find a rich mahogany robe hanging limply from a clothes rack, next to it a royal blue, slightly longer. Nodding her head in approval, she quietly dropped her towel to the floor, suddenly bare to the elements, but hastily tugged the mahogany robe out of the closet.

Draco was just coming to when he heard the creak of a nearby door--which not only alerted his suspicions, but seemed to unleash a barrage of pain in his temples. His head throbbed, and as he blinked his eyes open the lights from above seemed to sting and make his pupils convulse in a primal need to explode. Fighting the urge to moan in anguish at his newly discovered hangover, Draco quietly sat up, the creaking door not forgotten.

He quickly took in his surroundings--he was in front of a plush armchair, no doubt out of view of whatever else was in the room with him. Below him was a puddle of muddy and wet carpet, everywhere else the carpet was a subtle beige, inching beneath a large four-poster bed, a coffee table and another armchair. A fire place lay bare not too far from him, the hearth welcoming and homely.

That did not help the fact that Draco was in an unknown place, and that very possibly behind the armchair that served as his hiding place, there was another being. Another person who could be potentially harmful. An image of his father rose up suddenly in his mind, and panic, fear seemed to clench at his stomach...what if...? Pushing the feelings down, Draco slowly rested his back against the armchair, intending to gaze around it--he could hear movement, human movement...something being yanked...

Peering around the side of the armchair, his breathe was caught and quickly left him. His heart stopped, and all the blood in him seem to boil and rush to his groin as his eyes registered what was before him. A female...a nude, wet female. The light, which had previously irritated his eyes, was now thanked, as Draco scanned the person before him--noting every droplet of water that slid down her form and lingered on her. Dripping wet curls of tangled red-brown hair tumbled down a back of creamy pale skin, lightly dusted with freckles; shoulders arched, waists and hips coming together in the harmony of a slender and fragile hour-glass figure. Her back ended in the glory of a rounded buttocks, pale as the rest of her, which leaned down into graceful, smooth legs that turned into proportioned calves. A damp towel lay at her feet.

Draco licked his lips, almost unable to control the eroticism on innocent display before him and the feelings it stirred in his stomach--but his fantasy was soon erased as a deep crimson robe was slid over the nude body. He huffed, and quickly turned away as the person stiffened, pressing his lower back to the foot of the armchair and praying she had not noticed...If she did, god forbid! There was no way he could hide the tent of need in his pants, and he found himself staring down at it and cursing her and his reaction. It had been a long, long while since anything like this had gouged such an...interesting expression from him--it had been even longer since he'd been laid. 'It's all the alcohol, all the alcohol,' he repeated to himself, willing her to go back into the shower, since that was evidently where she had been.

"Malfoy?"

The voice was so familiar, and so coveted it just made the tent in his pants strain further--Weasley, Ginny Weasley. He was in a room--a bedroom, with Ginny Weasley. He pressed his eyes closed, even more guilty than before. 'She's going to think I'm a pervert, above all else,' he cursed, willing the pressing feeling in his belly to go away.

He heard footsteps, but kept his eyes closed, even as she walked around the armchair towards him. He felt the silence tense. "Did you...did you see anything?" he could almost hear the embarassment in her voice, and he felt inclined to look towards her, impulsively pulling his knees up to hide the evidence.

But should he lie? Should he lie to her, the girl to whom he had already done one injustice too many? He took in her face, the slight blush that had krept into her cheeks, making her looked flushed and wind-blown. Her hair was messy and wet, framing her face in many dripping locks, and the fuzzy robe was pulled tight over her front, showing only the slightest suggestion of the figure that he had not too long ago admired. He took all of her in, and knew that he could not lie to her. If he did, if he could lie to innocent, naive and beautiful Ginny Weasley over a matter of her modesty, then he truly, truly was the devil's son. Then, he truly was Lucius's son.

"Ah..." he hesitated, suddenly nervous, directing his gaze to his twisting hands, "I mean...not...ah..." He took a deep breath, "A bit," he said, with finality, and felt himself dare to blush, "Just a--ah--bit."

Ginny sighed, and he chanced a glance at her face, which was now comically red with humiliation. "Well..." She stomped back to the bathroom, abruptly, leaving Draco sitting where she had found him.

Ginny Weasley blushed as she had never blushed before, her porcelain skin flushing with embarrassment and becoming a rather impressive shade of plum. She slid down the door, not sure whether to laugh or cry, holding her face in her hands, wet hair dripping about her shaking figure. 'Dear, dear lord,' she thought, 'Of all the males to see me naked, to be the first to see any part of my naked body--Malfoy!' If she thought that was disturbing, her next thoughts frightened her even more.

In those mercury silver eyes, Ginny Weasley had detected arousal. She hadn't even touched him, hadn't even said a word to him...hadn't even turned around, for god's sake, and Malfoy had gotten turned on! She thought of all the rumors she had heard about the so-called Slytherin Sex God--and then the realization hit her. She was stuck in a room with Draco Malfoy, the most notoriously handsome, sexy and seductive boy, possibly in all of Hogwarts--not to mention the one boy who had taunted her and her family, christened all her values and morals to be dirt and proved himself worthy of the title 'prick' after brutishly dismissing her innocent help.

He was the boy, in whose eyes, she had seen not only arousal, but sincerity, a type of honest apology that couldn't be expressed in words. She had seen regret, guilt and maybe even a bit of remorse--she had seen so much, yet so little, and she found herself pressed taut against the door, wanting more. She wanted to know everything about him; what was behind those devilishly attractive--and currently mud-adorned--features, behind the chiselled and accomplished Quidditch Seeker, behind the good grades and pompous attitude...behind the facade. She wanted to know why it had all changed this year, why he was so different...and why she seemed to be drawn to him.

Draco was still in the same position Ginny had left him when once again the bathroom door creaked open, two bare feet padding out onto the carpet, then over to the bed, where they abruptly disappeared, to the sighing groan of the mattress. There was a silence, thick with tension, which Ginny seemed to have no problem breaking. "Well, Malfoy, you might as well get cleaned up," she paused, "There are more towels and things in the bathroom--just perform a bit of a Scouring Charm on your clothes and send them down the chute, they'll be back cleaner than ever soon enough." At Ginny's words, Draco found himself rather flustered, finally detecting his mud-soaked appearance--and the fact that he smelled highly of Fire Whiskey.

"How did I get here?" he asked, a bit hesitant, reluctant to turn and face her, but knowing he had to eventually. Getting up, he gingerly removed his boots, placing the mentally dubbed 'mud monsters' by the door next to Ginny's raggedy runners.

"How about you get cleaned up first, and then I tell you the whole story," she said, and he was startled--and a bit relieved--to find a bit of playfulness in her voice. Maybe it meant that she had forgiven him?

Obediently, and without sparing her a glance, he plodded over to the bathroom, promptly locking the door behind him and disgustedly stripping. He smelt of sewers and alcohol, a nasty combination, his once brisk white shirt and casual black pants now a continuous suit of smelly brown. He was quick in his Scouring Charm, though they didn't seem to be of much help, and he haphazardly dumped his dirty clothing into the chute, before contentedly stepping into the shower.

The hot water seemed to work miracles on his hangover, washing it all away with his mud-coating and making him feel pleasantly clean again. Though there was still a bit of a throb in his temples, Draco decided it was bearable, and stepped, satisfied, out of the shower, wiping himself off with a towel, before wrapping it around his waist. As seemed to be his custom, he watched himself in the mirror, tracing his fingers along the small scars and cursing his appearance. 'I'm not my father,' he said as if it were his mantra, 'I'm not my father.'

There was a knock at the bathroom door, then a voice. "If you were wondering, there's a robe out here you can use. Rosmerta just brought dinner and she said she'd try to get us some sleeping clothes, too. So Malfoy, whenever you're done..." He almost shuddered at her voice, the feeling of pleasure coursing through him refusing to be repressed. She didn't sound angry and that gave him a type of hope he had never before conceived.

Looking into the mirror one last time, he twisted the doorknob and stepped out.

Ginny turned modestly away when Draco exited the bathroom, trying to suppress the tingles that rose in her stomach from the knowledge that he was very probably naked behind her. She squeezed the pillow she was perched on tighter between her legs, fighting the urge to look...just one glance...one glance at the Slytherin Sex God, just for memory. It didn't matter that he was an asshole, didn't matter...nothing mattered, just that one look that she could keep with her for the rest of her life...

She mentally kicked herself, wondering where the hell that had come from. Almost frantically, she played with a loose thread on the hem of her robe, before quickly attuning her senses to the nearby dinner. On the coffee table were two trays, both containing a warm roll of baked bread, a serving of mashed potatoes and a leg of succulent chicken, accompanied by two warm Butterbeers for afterwards, two glasses and a flask of pumpkin juice. 'It's almost romantic,' she mused, just as Malfoy walked back into the bathroom, doubtlessly to discard his towel in his newly attired robe. She found she was almost grateful for the fact that she was no longer tempted to look...that would put her among the likes of him: staring at her while she was unclothed!

Somehow, the very thought that he'd had an interest in her, sent a longing feeling through her form.

Hastily, with as much precision as she could muster, she walked over to the coffee table, picking up her tray then moving into one of the armchairs. As if on cue, the fire place burst into life, its warm tendrils casting shadows on the walls as the storm raged outside. Ginny crossed her legs, hugging herself tight as she listened to the rain and hail and the mournful wail of the wind, placing the tray atop her knees and a glass of pumpkin juice within close reach. As if it were all the rage among the girls her age, she began daintily picking apart her roll of bread, occassionally pushing a scrumptuous piece past her lips and into her mouth.

She heard Malfoy fiddle about with his tray and pumpkin juice for a bit, before settling himself in a scornfully aristocratic manner in the other armchair, and tearing his roll neatly in half. With as much grace as she could, she reached forward for her forgotten fork and idly began swirling her mashed potatoes around in her plate, making slight clinking noises against the plate.

She felt his eyes on her, a feeling that was quickly becoming familiar.

"You have an interesting way of eating, Weasley," he commented, and she strenuously suppressed the urge to shudder at the sound of his clear, rugged voice as it cut the room's air.

"You eat like a snobby dick, even when there's no one but me around to see you," she retorted, her hurt at his previous dismissal arising as an endlessly bitter taste in her mouth.

Her heart skipped a beat at what happened next.

He smiled.

It wasn't one of those smirks he was so famous for--this one was a genuine smile, and Ginny found she actually liked the way it looked on him. It was a tiny smile, barely noticeable since only the very corners of his mouth rose, but it was beautiful. It extended right to his eyes, which seemed to beckon her to fall at his knees in all her whimsical glory--those grey, grey eyes, with a look of approval and amusement...She found her heart melting and all feelings of bitterness towards him dissipating. It was almost as if he was trying to show her he could be a human, too.

"And should your presence matter to my manners?" he asked, just as Ginny looked away, intent to get away from that enchanting smile.

She shovelled a massive load of mashed potatoes into her mouth, looking at him slightly confused and thanking the potatoes for a reason not to answer that. It wasn't an insult, but for some reason it still hurt. Did that mean he didn't find her different from others...? Wasn't she...special? For some reason she longed to see him uncut, longed to see him without all this...finesse. Was there a Malfoy, void of human social niceties, purely raw and natural as the rest of them?

Ginny almost choked, but quickly reached forward to swallow some pumpkin juice. Boy, was she letting her thoughts get the better of her today. With as little discretion for manners as Malfoy was pale, she picked up the chicken leg and took a large bite. From beneath her eyelashes, she saw Malfoy with his half smile, looking to his food and shaking his head in obvious amusement.

She swallowed just as Malfoy picked up his knife and fork, beginning on his chicken leg with such poise that it almost made her want to ask him how he did it. He was so...perfect, so robotic it almost scared her. She took another bite of her chicken, almost unconsicous of the fact that they had fallen into a companionable silence, for once completely at ease with each other.

They were a quarter ways through their respective butterbeers, content with the peace their conversation had given way to, when there was a knock at the door. Ginny looked up, alarmed, for the only noise that she had been able to discern had been her breathing, Malfoy's breathing and the sound of the violent tempest that seemed to eat at the world outside those walls. That had been enough, and strangely, perfect. She was startled to find that she looked right at Malfoy, and he at her, as if the other hoped to find the answer to this disturbance in eachother. His grey eyes burned into hers, and she recognized sudden panic reflected in them, before they closed shut to her once again.

She frowned, but said nothing, placing her butterbeer down, and heading confidently to the door. She heard Malfoy stand up behind her, as if preparing himself for a fight. She vaguely remembered telling him that she'd later inform him of his whereabouts, ecetera, but once she saw Rosmerta's jolly face in the doorway, she soon forgot once more.

"Hey Rosy," she greeted, motioning for the woman to enter, though she politely refused.

"Ere, girl, your clothes for tonight--" she heard Malfoy come up behind her, "'Oly bejesus, 'zat a Malfoy you got with you? Means, I couldn't make him out through all that mud, but--" Ginny was somehow acutely aware of her room-mate tonight, and practically felt him stiffen defensively.

"Yup, it's a Malfoy," Ginny interrupted, good-naturedly, "And I'm pleased to inform you he's sober and civil for tonight."

Rosmerta laughed, dismissing Malfoy almost as soon as she had noticed him. "Anyways, darlin', I washed your knickers for you," she handed Ginny a faded blue pair of cotton knickers, which were hurriedly and with a slight blush pushed into a robe pocket, "And I got you a pair o' my very own nightie. It's a comfy number, not the newest or the nicest, but it'll do you for tonight." She passed Ginny what looked like a wash-out old t-shirt a few sizes too big for her own generous form, let alone for Ginny's.

"Thanks, Rosy, and for Malfoy?"

He stepped forward now, as if the mention of his name was a summoning into the conversation. Rosy grinned, looking him up and down in his fluffy blue robe. "Nice body on this one, eh Gin, even with the teddy bear robe?" Rosy mused, refering to the boy as if he were not standing right in front of her, towering a good few feet above, as well, "Hope you two don't have too much fun." Ginny blushed, covering her mouth to hide her smile behind Malfoy's back, while dutifully rolling her eyes at Rosmerta. "Anyways, here's the best I could scrummage for you, Mr. Malfoy," she said, handing a baggy pair of boxers that he looked at in disbelief.

Ginny couldn't help but go into hysterics as he held them up between two fingers, his mouth open in shock and said in his serious and ever so manly voice, "Are these clean?" The world seemed to suddenly be a crazier place, Ginny clutching her stomach at the hilarity of the sight before her, Rosmerta eventually joining her, leaning her portly frame against the opposite wall for support, and a bewildered Malfoy staring at them both.

After the show was over and a distraught Malfoy assured to satisfaction that his nightly attire was rinsed and washed to hygenic perfection, Rosmerta departed, promising to send them up some more butterbeer later on that night. Ginny, still smiling and slightly flushed started, "I'm going to go get changed in the bathroom." Malfoy nodded, still eying the boxers warily.

Discarding the robe on a rack, Ginny surveyed the clothing she would have to consider presentable. The shirt was massive, one side continuously falling off her shoulder no matter how hard she pulled it up, or how often, and falling till just below her knees. She was glad for the refuge of her own knickers, consequently her most comfortable pair. Brushing her unruly and still uncombed hair out of her face and behind her ears in a wild mess, she opened the door, to find Malfoy standing at the closet with his robe in hand, the previously doubted boxers hanging loosely at his hips.

'Oh god, oh god,' she said, struggling to look away, but she couldn't help a slow scan of his body, which she realized made her feel very female indeed. His feet were broad and long, bridging up to legs dusted with almost-white hair. The boxers were baggy, the band just on his hip bones, which were visible amongst a set of washboard abbs, sculpted into a row of lean muscle. His chest was smooth and hairless, hard with wiry power, his nipples slightly erect in the cold air of the room and a light pink. His shoulders were broad as his hips were narrow, strong and protective with powerful arms that suited his extraordinarily tall posture. Then, his face, which she seemed to have already memorized...all its curves and angles and--

"So Weasley, I gather I'm at the Three Broomsticks from the personage of our...host?" he said, his voice that same masculinely rough one she was so familiar with, yet so unaccustomed to.

Breaking away from her observations, she padded over to the arm chair she had previously claimed, extending her feet towards the fire and resuming her date with her now cold butterbeer. "Yup," she said, "I suppose you want to know how you got here?"

"That, and why I have a small cut on my forehead," he said, sitting in his chosen armchair and also returning to his drink.

"Oh! I forgot," she said, slapping her forehead as she remembered the hail clattering to his head and the trickle of blood that the rain had washed away. Motherly instinct in full-mode, she placed her drink on the coffee table and moved over to him, mentally summoning her wand before leaning forward.

"Hold on!" he said, pushing her away, and sending tingles through her body as his large hand brushed her ribcage, "First I want to know how and why, then you can heal all you want."

She suddenly became disctinctly aware of the fact that he smelt like cinnamon spice and rainwater, a warm smell and a slightly sharper one. It seemed to suite him perfectly, both sheerly masculine while still welcoming. Moving back, she stood in front of him, overwhelmed by how much bigger he was than she. Sitting, he was only a bit shorter than she was standing.

"Well, Malfoy," she said, "For some reason you were drunk, wallowing in the drains while it rained. So I was passing by and you were all groaning, so I went to investigate. When I saw it was you, I had every intention of leaving you there to get soaked and continue on my way back to Hogwarts, but then the hail started. That's how you got that cut on your forehead, by the way, so I figured it would be dangerous and wrong to leave you out here, so I dragged you in here and that's that. Dumbledore's paying for our lodging tonight, 'cuz it would be plain dangerous to walk up to the school in this storm." Almost subconsciously, her eyes traveled from its current location, downwards, to where his hands were grasping the plush arms of the chair. Alarmed, she reached out, a trembling hand to one of his knuckles, "What did you do?" she asked, distressed as her eyes took in the bloody, mangled mess that seemed to be both his hands.

He flinched. "Nothing," he said coldly, withdrawing his hands, he folded them over his chest, attempting to conceal the wounds.

Her voice hardened, suddenly remembering the way he didn't seem to want to tell her anything. It seemed almost a personal wound--she wanted to protect him, she realized, she wanted to protect him so badly. Almost tearful with worry and rejection she began, "Why don't you tell me anything, Malfoy? The only thing I ever did was care. I want to help you--don't you see--"

"Well maybe I don't want your help, Weasley," he said, his voice ice and calm as he looked up at her.

"It's not a matter of you wanting anything!" she almost shouted, "It's that I want to, I need to. For some reason, I feel inclined to help you. Don't you understand?" Angrily, she stomped back to her armchair, sitting there like an outraged child with her legs crossed and eyes turned downwards as they poured tears.

'Great, just great,' Draco cursed, anger seething in his stomach, 'I'm stuck with this for the rest of the night.' He glanced over at Ginny, finding that all too familiar guilt well up in his stomach once again as he watched her cry silently to herself. 'This isn't fair,' he groaned inwardly, feeling like crying himself, 'Why do I care about a Weasley? She's nothing to me, yet I can't even stand to see her shed a tear.' He rubbed his face, as if trying to wake up from a dream. 'This is all Lucius's fault. None of this would ever have happened if it weren't for Lucius.' He found his eyes full of tears, and before they could slip out, he turned away, gazing at the fire with as much intensity as he could muster.

But that only seemed to remind him of her more. Red and gold--everything about her was red and gold. Her hair was such a mix of it, you wouldn't be able to believe--her cheeks were red when she was embarrassed, and that made the golden flecks in her deep blue eyes stand out even more. Gryffindor House was red and gold--heck, the girl's whole personality was red and gold...Gold for bravery, valiance, loyalty and a sense of justice and righteousness...Red for her temper, her passion...her love...

Abruptly, with just as much feline grace as usual and an equal lack of thought, he rose from the armchair. He saw Ginny look up at his sudden movement, her eyes puffy and miserable, then watching her expression change to shock as he stopped in front of her, kneeling on one knee, and slowly cupping her cheek as they became level. With gentle movements, he wiped each tear away, not really understanding this impulse, but somehow knowing. When she looked down, shrugging her cheek away from his palm, he slowly hooked his hand under the chin and turned her to look at him.

She was beautiful, and his breath caught, but she was so sad and it was his fault. He had to make it better, and this felt so right. He just hoped the guilt would go away after...after...

His eyes scanned her messy red and gold hair, how it framed her face in wavy lines and softened the lightened freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her lips were puckered and pink; beestung, her nose cute and turned up. Her eyes, those pools of blue and gold, peered at him, confused but willing, so fragile...worried, cautious...She was so beautiful.

Draco didn't know why...but in that moment, every single fibre of his being urged him on. His elbow came to rest on her thigh as he leaned in, the thunder and lightening and clattering of hail and rain and whatever else was out there seeming to relfect his thoughts...chaos, but one sure certainty. From where he touched her, it seemed so right, waves of an indescribable feeling wafting throughout his body as his chest came to rest against her knees...

Closer, closer...

He saw Lucius watching him, yelling and shouting for him to stop...

But all he could really see were her eyes.

He kissed her.

Author's Note: There were are, my long overdue chapter, hopefully lavishing and lovely. Sorry, but I've had a couple family issues to cope with this past week, a couple adjustments to, well, adjust to. Thanks for waiting, R&R.