CHAPTER 13

Draco walked into his study at Malfoy Manor. He quickly flicked his wand, dimming the lights in the room so that only the light of the fire in the hearth illuminated the large room. He poured himself a drink and sat in his favorite plush arm chair, draping one of his legs over the chair arm and making himself comfortable before taking a sip of his cognac.

The young master let the amber liquid cover his tongue for a few moments, savoring the well aged taste and the distinct flavors of the brandy. He swirled the drink in its crystal glass, the motion of the liquid calming him after a hard day. Closing his eyes, he let the warm hues and shadows from the fire play across his eyelids.

"Why did you turn her down?" Ginny's soft voice sounded in his head and his eyes snapped open, turning to gaze into the fire.

The flames danced merrily, licking at the wood as it was consumed. Draco had to suppress a bitter smile. She—Ginny was like the fire, she had consumed him.

He let his head fall against the back of the chair with a dull thud. What had happened to him? He was a mess. She had made him a mess. Ginevra Weasley had taken over his every waking thought and even a good amount of his dreams. Her pale skin, long scarlet hair, and soft curves made him lust for her like he had never lusted for another woman in his life. She was fiery and infuriating. Still, he wanted her.

He had hated her since he had known her. Draco had first met her at a Ministry Christmas party when he was around five. As a large donator to the Ministry, his family was often invited to the large parties. She had been there with her father. Her red hair was then nearly neon orange, and Draco had laughed when he had seen her.

Lucius was proud of him for laughing, saying something along the lines of, 'My boy already knows how to tell which people are below him.' Draco hadn't understood, and that night when he was being tucked in, his father had explained to him what a blood traitor was and how filthy the Weasley's were.

Many of his bed time stories were like that. He was raised knowing he was a prince, just like in the stories, and that many people were below him.

Ginny Weasley was beneath him. She was a silly little pauper with idealist ways, too much courage, and not enough sense. Her skin was covered in garish freckles, her brown eyes too round and her nose too small. She was small framed, and her curves were gentle waves against her athletic physique. She had medium sized breast, her hips were wide, and her ass plump-- giving hint to the fact that later in life she may be more round like her mother. She wasn't perfect by any means, certainly not as beautiful as Clara and no where near what he would usually look for in a woman.

But, there was something about her…

When had all of this started? When had he become so lost?

Working with her and seeing her everyday had certainly heightened any attraction he had for her, but it hadn't begun there. He had noticed her long before they had ever become partners. Maybe being told to hate her, his entire life, had made him curious. No, he knew that wasn't it.

Draco took another long sip of his drink and settled deeper into his chair.

If he were honest with himself, he knew exactly when it had all began. He just didn't know why it was still going on. She had always just been Weaslette to him, the female Weasel. She didn't stand out much in school, blending into the pack of Gryffindors that followed Potter around.

Draco had never given her a second glance. He would bite out the obligatory insult in passing, or trip her when he had the chance, but never more than that. Never more than an unfailing hatred for the only daughter of his father's enemy.

When had he become so attracted to her?

She had become more noticeable in his fifth year at Hogwarts. She was sassier, talking back when he insulted her. She had come into her own, no longer just Potter's shadow. She was strong and proved herself to be competent and dangerous with her wand and her perfected Bat-Bogey Hex.

But he still hated her. He hated her more then because she had gotten the best of him.

In his sixth year, she had become amazingly popular. Her gangly body and chubby face had matured. She was more of a young woman then, new curves straining against her hand-me-down robes. She was an equal to the trio now, popular in her own right, and they accepted her.

Then she had dated Potter. Draco had watched them around school, the way she would tell a joke, making everyone around laugh, the way she would snuggle into Potter's arms. Her inner strengths began to show more on the outside, and still, that wasn't when Draco had noticed her. Truly noticed HER, noticed who she was. Not just a Weasley, Potter's girlfriend, or the girl who had gotten the best of him. Those were outward parts of her, but not who she really was.

He had noticed her in his seventh year at Hogwarts, the year the war was in full swing. It was a funny time to notice her, to begin to watch her the way he had. But it had taken his mind off of things… and for that he was grateful.

The war. It was something that he didn't like to think of much. The fire crackled in the hearth and he gulped down the rest of his brandy before pouring another glass.

The summer between his sixth and seventh year had not been a pleasant one.

He took another big gulp of his drink, letting it rush down his throat as he closed his eyes tightly.

They never should have underestimated Voldemort.

It was supposed to be easy; he and Snape would block their minds so that the Dark Lord wouldn't know that Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore.

It hadn't worked. Voldemort had known the moment he had seen them what had happened. Draco was to be punished, to be killed as an example to the other Death Eaters. He had been terrified when they had brought him to his cell in the dungeons of his own childhood home. He would die in the morning.

He sat there for hours, just staring at the stone walls and wondering how his life had come to this conclusion and so swiftly. There was no redemption, no priest to hear his sins, just the stone walls and the suffocating knowledge that the night would be his last.

Then there was an angel, an ethereal beauty with skin and hair the color of moonlight.

Mother.

She had come to his aid when he had needed her. She, along with Severus, had opened the dungeon and set him free.

Everything was a blur then. He could feel the encroaching death release its hold on him. His body filled with the excitement of life and the knowledge that he would not die. Not yet. Everything happened so quickly that he barely had time to register anything before Snape had Side-Along-Apparated the two of them to Diagon Alley and began dragging him towards Hogwarts.

'Where are we going?' he asked.

'Hogwarts,' Snape answered with a tug to Draco's hand, urging him to hurry.

'What about Mum?'

'She stayed behind. She's going to try to buy us time.'

'Then she'll come, right?'

Severus remained silent.

'Right?'

He lowered his head slightly and Draco began to panic. 'I won't go without her!'

Snape sneered down at him. 'Your mother has sacrificed her life for yours. Don't let it be in vain. I made a promise and you ARE coming with me, even if I have to stun you!' He snarled.

Draco thrust a long fingered hand through his hair. She had died for him. They had never found a body, but he knew that she had died that night, protecting him. He and Severus had offered themselves and their information up to the Order of the Phoenix and placed themselves under their protection.

It was there, at the school and under the order's protection that he had noticed Ginevra Weasley.

She radiated with an inner fire, glowing brightly in a dark world. With McGonagall's permission, she had reopened Dumbledore's Army, teaching the students simple defensive charms and spells and some offensive hexes. She was a powerful leader because she was passionate and filled with hope, even when it was hard to find any. She shared her dreams and ideals with anyone who would listen, helping them to dream again as well. Many of the students adored her, other's thought she was just trying to be a hero.

Draco admired her.

She was shy, but open and adventurous. Strong, but clumsy. Cunning, yet kind. She stood up for what she believed in and didn't take 'no' for an answer. She did what he couldn't and it made him want to understand her, understand how a Weasley, a poor blood traitor Weasley, could best him once again.

When the final battle had come and the Death Eaters had attacked Hogwarts, it was she who convinced him to fight, convinced him to stand up for what he believed in. Even if it meant fighting against what he had been taught to believe in his entire life, fight against former friends and fight against family.

He had met her on the battlefield. She had been wounded, but she had still fought. He joined her, sending curses and stunning as many Death Eaters as he could.

Draco had found his father in the battle, fighting with Severus, and for a moment, was at a loss as to what to do. His father had been in Azkaban when his mother was killed and he was shocked to see him here, on the battlefield, fighting. When Severus had gone down, his eyes open and glassy, Draco snapped, but before he could do anything that he would later regret… a soft voice to his right had whispered 'Stupefy' and his father had fallen to the ground.

The battle continued to clash around him and his ears were ringing with the sounds of explosive curses going off. Sweat was dripping into his eyes, and they burned from the strain of not blinking. He was too afraid to blink.

Ginny's back was against his own, grounding him as he shot curses at the approaching Death Eaters. He saw the headmistress fall a few meters away and felt Ginny shudder against his spine as her brother, Charlie, cried out in pain somewhere to their left.

Suddenly it was over. The Death Eaters were leaving, Apparating away and leaving their stunned and injured comrades to be dealt with by the enemy. "It's… over," he heard her sweet voice whisper harshly. He turned to look at her and she fell to the ground. He had been the only thing holding her up and he hadn't even known it.

Her white shirt was open and he could see an ugly red cut oozing blood down her abdomen and side. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her face paled as she fell unconscious.

There were sobs of loss and cries of names of people that couldn't be found. There were gasps of pain and tears of agony as well as happiness. There were shouts of victory and solemn silences. All of these things went on around him, but the only thing he could focus on was the red blood covering his hands as he ran, carrying her to the school and to help.

He had watched as the nurses had attended to her, made sure that she was all right, because he didn't know what it would mean if she wasn't, and the thought scared him. When he was told that she would be fine, he had felt relieved. He didn't need to worry about her anymore. He didn't have to care. He could go back to hating her for being a blood traitor, go back to hating her for being a Weasley.

Except he couldn't. Something had changed. He didn't know what it was, but it had.

He had gone to his father's trial, watched as he was sentenced once again. His father wouldn't even look at him as he was led out of the courtroom, and he was unsure it was because his father was ashamed of him or of himself.

He had attended more funerals than a man of his age should have had to attend. Pansy, McGonagall, Snape, Finnegan, Gregory Goyle, so many… But, Pansy's by far had been the worst.

They had been lovers once upon a time, a time when life had been planned for them and their wedding had already been decided long ago by their parents. A time when everything was simple, before everything became so messed up and uncertain. He hadn't loved her, not like she had wanted him to. But her funeral severed the last real tie between who he was supposed to be and who he had become.

Draco didn't see Ginny again for a long time. He only knew that her life didn't end as it was supposed to either. Potter never came home to her. He half expected her to become a depressed young woman, locked inside of her house, angry at the world. But that wasn't giving Ginevra Weasley enough credit.

A year after the war, he had seen her, training with the other new recruits to become an Auror. He would watch her train sometimes, admiring her strength of character, and when she was ready to graduate, he had asked to be her partner.

This brought him to his current problem. He had admired her for a long time, but now he was irrevocably attracted to her. Attracted to her so strongly that the urge to just grab her and make her his was almost painful.

He took a large gulp of his drink and placed the glass down on the table. "Need to get laid, that's all. A good shag will solve all of this," he mused aloud.

'But you had Clara ready and willing,' a voice in his head whispered.

"Clara was too much like Pansy. I need someone else, a challenge to take my mind off of Ginny. It's just been too long since I've been with a woman, That's all. I don't really want the Weasel."

The voice in his head tried to disagree, but he quickly silenced it by pouring another drink.