Chapter 08 – To Distraction

As the days went by, one thing became clear to Draco: he was obsessed. Obsessed with Ginevra Weasley.

Now that he was using the sleeping potion she'd brewed for him, he had nice long restful dreamless nights. That was a good thing since he really needed the respite. However, he was beginning to wonder if his mind wasn't starting to find an outlet elsewhere, because, more and more, he found himself daydreaming. About her. That was a very peculiar phenomenon for the young Malfoy as he'd never been prone to daydream. Especially since his sixth year. On many occasions, his very survival had depended on his ability to stay perfectly aware of his surroundings.

But now… Just looking at her was sufficient for his imagination to wander. And it wandered on confusing paths.

Some were actually very innocent. The other morning, in the Great Hall, Ginny had been absentmindedly poking at her breakfast with her fork, looking worried. At once, Draco had imagined himself going to her and ask what was wrong. Then, she would have revealed to him what weighed on her mind, and he would have told her that everything would be alright, that he would help anyway he could. Then, of course, she would have leaned on him, and he would have held her in the circle of his arms. Maybe he would have stroke her back, soothe her… etc, etc, etc. In that moment, he'd just felt like sharing that kind of intimacy with her would be most natural thing. His contemplation would have gone on if it weren't for Melody Harper who had interrupted his reverie with a question about Friday's big match against Gryffindor.

Naturally, his daydreams weren't all so honorable. A couple were in fact rather lascivious. And if he were to be completely honest, he would admit those were by far the more frequent. Like the one he had in the middle of Potion class, on Thursday morning. The day's assignment had required a very high temperature which meant that, regardless of the usual coolness of the dungeon, the classroom had been very, very hot. Everyone had discarded their school robe. He'd had to constantly keep the sweat from getting in his eyes. His shirt was uncomfortably stuck to his skin and his hair to his forehead. That, however, hadn't prevented him from eyeing the redhead in front of him.

Her dark blue v-neck t-shirt had attached itself to her body, which was attention-seeking enough as it were, but it wasn't what had snatched his notice. Because of the heat, she'd pulled her red mane up high in a messy bun in a way that would leave her nape bare. On the back of her neck was a fascinating constellation of freckles. How he could ever have considered freckles unattractive, he had no idea. Her skin was like ivory dusted with copper. Right then, he'd had an unbearable impulse to play connect the dots with his tongue. To draw her near and find out if she was freckled all over.

Just as he had been running in his head all the delectable patterns his mouth could trace over her body, she'd turned toward his and Blaise's table to ask if they'd had any Graphorn's horn powder left. Her sudden movement had begun a dangerous chain reaction. Her abrupt shift had made a drop of sweat roll from her temple, to the side of her neck, and down her throat before it'd lingered by the hollow between her clavicles and disappeared between her breasts, caressing the upper swell of those glorious mounds on its way down. The sight had had him shuddering violently. And, Good Lords! If it hadn't given him the sharpest erection known to mankind, his name wasn't Draco Lucius Malfoy.

The desire that had swelled inside of him had been so sudden and overwhelming that he'd felt a little dizzy. What was particularly confusing to him was that there was something familiar about his feelings for the curvy redhead. But it shouldn't feel familiar. Right? When he'd abruptly imagined laying her down on the table and tearing her clothes off her body, it shouldn't have felt like he'd done it before. And, more confusing still, he saw the way her pupils had dilated, the way her breath had caught in her throat, the way she'd shivered despite the current burning temperature in the dungeons. As if… As if she'd felt it too. As if she'd read these images straight from his brain. Scary thought that.

That was why, a few hours later, he found himself alone in one of the study rooms of the library, trying very hard to drown his desire in Transfiguration study. However, at the moment, he had the hardest time concentrating on 'how to morph body parts into inanimate objects'. He got up, deciding to resume his investigation about High King Aindreas instead. The subject might be more successful in keeping his mind off Ginevra Weasley. Wandering among the aisles, he tried to focus on his mysterious vision, but the little red pixie kept worming her way into his thoughts in spite of his best efforts. Maybe she'd drugged him. Maybe that was the potion's side effect.

Or maybe he was going nuts.

He was there in his reflection when a female voice whispered in his ear, "Hello, there, gorgeous."

He turned his head to see Rachel Lindley leaning back against the shelves. He had been so deeply troubled that he hadn't even heard her sneaking up on him. Father would be so disappointed, he thought wryly. Rachel was as stunning as ever. Five foot ten inches of impeccable elegance, most of it in legs. She was currently pouting in a manner she wanted seductive, he suspected. He'd never liked pouting girls, he found the habit irritating.

"Rachel," he saluted with a gentle nod.

She pushed herself off from the shelves and swayed her way toward him.

"Where have you been for the last two months? I'm starting to think you forgot about me. And I have to admit I'm feeling awfully neglected, Draco. After all the fun we had last year… So tell me. Is that it? Have you forgotten me?" she murmured while she soothed the lapels of his robe with deliberate, slow strokes on his chest.

Yes. He had forgotten about her. Completely. In fact, he'd scarcely even acknowledged the girl since their encounter on the Hogwarts Express. He considered her an instant. Maybe she was exactly what he needed. Maybe a good lay was all his body and mind required. He was an almost eighteen years old young man, wasn't he? She was right: he'd been unforgivably negligent… of his own needs. That decision taken, he smoothly switched to seduction mode, although he hardly needed to seduce this one. A wicked smile drew itself on his face.

"Of course not, love. I've simply been very busy. You know, the seventh year is a pain. I've been terribly strained these past weeks." Draco paused before he went for a direct invitation. "Tell you what. Why don't we find a quiet place so you can help me let out some tension and I can show you I have not forgotten you?"

Her conniving smile was answer enough. Without a word, he led her to his cramped study room. He gently pushed her inside and turned to lock the door and cast a silencing spell on it. When he went back to her, her school robe had already dropped on the floor and she was hopping herself up on the desk. He couldn't miss the calculating glow in her pale blue eyes. He knew she was after his money, but since he was solely after her body, in his book, that made them even. He discarded his own robe on the chair and went to stand in front of her.

"I've missed…" she started.

He didn't want to hear her lies. Gripping the back of her knees, he swiftly pulled her to the table edge where he settled between her thighs. Then, he shut her up with a bruising kiss.

In a matter of seconds, her panties were on the floor and her uniform was open, exposing her small pale breasts. In a matter of minutes, he was buried inside of her, trying not to think of anything but the carnal pleasure her body was giving his. He stared at her face as he was thrusting between her creamy thighs but had to look away. All he could see in her eyes was cold scheming. So he hid his face in the crook of her neck instead, wanting her to just be a body he could lose himself into.

About half an hour later, he was straightening his clothes, clothes he hadn't even bothered removing, and left a dazzled Rachel to her endorphin high.

To say that the interlude hadn't had the intended result was an understatement of epic proportions. He now felt even more crazed. Why is this happening to me? he complained inwardly.

Why, in the heat of things with a splendid female specimen, had he wondered what it would feel like if the hands clutching at the muscles of his back weren't long and manicured, but small and softened with use? What it would be like if the legs wrapped around his waist weren't endless and slender, but short and shapely? How pleasant would it be if the breasts he was fondling weren't small and pale, but generous and sprinkled with freckles? What it would feel like if it weren't straight black hair, but red wavy locks he was burying his face into when he came?

He'd had those thoughts and many more. But what disturbed Draco further was that it was precisely thanks to those thoughts that he'd finally reached his release. It was only by picturing his short fiery pixie that he'd gone over that pleasurable edge.

Why? He kept asking himself.

He was going insane.

Around two the next afternoon, Draco was flying high on his Thunderbolt. He kept track of his team's progress while inspecting the field for the Snitch. They could complain about his coaching methods all they wanted. The results were plain to see. An hour into the match, the Slytherins were way ahead of the Gryffindors on the scoreboard and that in spite of the new Gryffindor beaters. They were efficient bastards and had made Draco grind his teeth more than once. However, one of their chasers was also a new addition, and he seemed rather clumsy.

The Harper twins had a wager among themselves on who would get the highest score. Again, Draco congratulated himself on his taking Melody on the team; Neil played even better now that he was in competition with his sister. As for Theo, it never ceased to amaze him to see the lanky Slytherin play. The young man always looked so reserved and scholarly when he was off the field that you would never imagine he could be so proficient on a broom. Draco had no complaint about Malcolm, either. The boy guarded his hoops like his life depended on it. He suspected the fourth year of being terrified of his captain's wrath should he mess the game up.

Works with me, Draco thought.

The Slytherin keeper had only let one Quaffle in. And it had been one of Ginny's shots. He had to admit she was magnificent on a broom. And it wasn't even a good broom. He would like to see her on a Thunderbolt, or even just on a Firebolt. Or naked in my bed…

"Put your mind back on the game, Malfoy," he growled to himself wiping the rain from his eyes for the nth time.

It had started raining half an hour ago. Now, it had turned into a serious downpour. At least, they were all suffering from it equally. But it made it damn hard to spot the Snitch since it seriously reduced his vision. He was still whining to himself about the crappy weather when he caught sight of something from the corner of his eye.

About fifty yards away, Ginny, the Quaffle under her arm, was inching her way through Slytherin's defence.

Damn! he thought. She's going to score again!

However, she was so busy keeping an eye on Blaise that she didn't see the Bludger coming from Greg. Draco froze, and so did his heart. He saw it happen as if it were in slow motion. The jet-black iron ball flew straight at her. She turned her head in its direction, probably hearing it coming. But it was too late. The dark ball hit her on the back of the shoulder. It hit hard. Due to the rain, she lost her grip and was knocked off her broom.

And she fell.

The information hadn't yet reached the conscious part of his brain that he was diving at physic-defying speed in her direction. The rain was whipping his face painfully and the drop in altitude was compressing his eardrums. Regardless of his speed, he knew there was no time for a smooth catch. He let go of his broomstick and intercepted her in mid-fall, enfolding her in his arms. The collision was violent, knocking him off his broom too.

And they went down. Together, they went rolling on the ground. Fortunately, the torrential rain provided a substantial mud cushion to absorb their fall.

And then, they stopped rolling.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They were both breathing hard. Slowly, Draco went on his forearms to look down at his catch who was presently pinned under his much larger body. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. They laid there, eyes locked and soaking wet, for what seemed like eternity. He'd imagine getting her petite body against his own but nothing compared to reality. She fitted. There was no other way to describe it. She just fitted. Instinctively, his hand went to her face. He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Her skin unbelievably soft. Draco couldn't help himself; he started to lean forward. For weeks, he'd wanted to do this and now he was going to. The rest of the world could go to hell.

Of course, in his state of mind, he wasn't counting on the horde that would be rushing to them by now.

"Get off her, Malfoy," Potter's accusing tone came from a few yards away.

Not moving right away, they both reluctantly turned they eyes toward the intruder. Most rude, Draco thought wryly, we were having a moment here. But evidently, nobody would accuse Pothead of having manners. Unenthusiastically, he got on his feet and held out his hand to her. Potter shoved it away.

"My team doesn't need you!" he growled while he pulled her up.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry, get a grip! He just saved freaking my life a second ago!" she shouted, tugging her hand from his grasp.

"What's wrong, Potter? Afraid I'll take your part as the Ultimate Tragic Hero?" Draco snarled.

"You? A Hero? Please! More like the Ultimate Evil," he replied.

They were getting an audience. The members of both teams, plus Pomfrey and Hooch, had formed a circle around the three of them.

Alright, he thought, I want out of here.

He looked at Madam Hooch.

"Can we resume the match, now?"

"As soon as Poppy is finished examining you," the yellow-eyed teacher stated.

"I'm alright," he said when the school nurse look inquisitively at him. "Just a little bruised."

Accepting his answer with a nod, she turned to Ginny. Poppy made her loosen her uniform so she could look at her shoulder. Everybody on that side of the circle hissed in sympathy. Draco leaned to look at it more closely.

"That's… hmm… colourful," He said softly so just she could hear. "But you do realise that as red as it is at the moment, those things always turn green in the end, right?"

She looked at him over her shoulder, smiled and chuckled a little. He smiled back. Then, he sensed her tense. He looked up to see her brother, a few yard away, nervously tangling his fingers. After a moment of hesitation, Ronald approached to check on his sister. He looked concerned and, Draco noticed, a tad guilty.

"Is she going to be ok?" he asked looking at the nurse.

Poppy smiled up at the tall redhead.

"Yes, Mr Weasley. She got herself an impressive bruise, but that's all." She patted his arm affectionately.

He turned to his sister, and, again, that mix of concern and guilt was all over his face. He also looked like he was searching for words.

Ginny stopped him by raising her hand.

"It's alright, Ron."

He shook his head.

"No. No, it's not." He pulled her in giant hug. The sight was somewhat comical since he was over a foot taller than his sister. "You scared me to death, Gin," he mumbled in her hair. "I saw you fall and I kept thinking… I thought…" He sighed heavily and pulled away to catch her gaze. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll stop being such a stubborn idiot." That made her laugh, but she had tears in her eyes.

Draco was pretty sure the Gryffindor keeper had all but forgotten his presence, or he probably wouldn't have poured his heart out to his sister. Just as the thought went through his mind, the said keeper's eyes fell on him and he scowled.

Here we go, the blond seeker sighed, let's all play 'bash the Slytherin'.

Ronald let go off his sister and turned to him, looking strangely solemn.

"That… hmm… that was pretty… decent of you." He rubbed the back of neck nervously. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Draco was so stunned, he wasn't positive he'd understood it right. He'd been ready for being told to go to hell, but gratitude took him unprepared. That's when he realised he now was the one who was rubbing his neck nervously. He stopped abruptly. Not fast enough though, for Ginevra was looking at him with laughing eyes. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, well… whatever. If nobody's dead, maybe we could go back the game now. The weather is perfect," he gestured at the heavy rain and turned to the rest of his team with a smug smirk, "and we had a good arse kicking going on, right?"

The Slytherins cheered at his words. At Madam Hooch's approval, the players kicked their brooms up. On his way up above the field, Theodore flew to his side.

"Why did you go after her? She's their best chaser. We could have done without her," he stated with his customary rational tone.

Draco thought fast.

"Just think a second. If a player was to be seriously injured, Hooch would have forced us to report the match to a later date. With the kind of score our team has at the moment? I don't think so!"

Theo looked unconvinced.

Well, just too bad because that was all he would get. Draco sped up to take his position for the face-off. The balls were thrown in the air again and they resumed the match.

Another hour later, the wind had picked up, and the players were flying in a full-fledged rainstorm. During the last time-out, Draco had made his whole team cast warming spells on their clothes but they were still wet and horribly uncomfortable. High above the ground, his eyes roamed over the pitch intently. He was concentrating so hard on finding the Snitch that he was having hallucinations of the damned ball. A few yards below, Slytherins were doing well, but the gap between the scores was still under 150, so nothing was won yet.

He was starting to despair when something made him paused. An odd feeling swept over him. Like an intuition or instinct, except it was… more. A tickle on nape of his neck. He couldn't explain the sensation, but, at once, he knew he should be looking for the Golden Snitch near the far corner of the pitch, on Slytherin's hoops side. Acting on the impulse, he wiped the rain from his face a last time before he flew toward that corner.

With each second, that itching stir grew stronger. It was almost like a voice whispering in his head. Telling him where he would find it. But he pushed the ridiculous thought aside. It must be the wind, he told himself. Yet, that murmur guided him all the way to the other side of the pitch. It was still there, on the back of his mind, as he looked over the field for the small ball. It was with him still when he finally spotted the sparkling orb and sank for the catch. And when, at last, his hand closed around the jumpy sphere, that gentle murmur exploded in a thousand tinkles. Like an irrepressible victorious laughter, light and joyful.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco was peeling his soaked uniform in the locker room. The rest of the team was bragging loudly about their victory. Each and everyone had their bit of sportive exploit to boast about. From time to time, one would come up and give him a vigorous clap with a smiling "Well done, Captain!" He gave them the smug smile they expected, but, in his mind, he was still trying to explain what had happened on the pitch. And couldn't quite find a satisfying answer.

Another mystery, he sighed, just what I needed.

The others were leaving for the castle when he entered a shower stall. As he turned on the water, there was a knock.

"Dray?" It was Blaise. "We're going to celebrate in the common room. Want me to wait for you?" he asked from the other side of the door.

"No, go ahead. I'll be right along." He heard his friends exit.

He adjusted the water heat to scotching hot and exhaled deeply in contentment as the hot stream soothed his strained muscles. Then, he looked down at himself and grimace at his state. His recent mud bath with the Gryffindor pixie had left him encrusted with dirt. Better start scrubbing, he grunted. When he got out twenty minutes later, his skin was red from his energetic cleaning, but he felt much better. He got dressed hurriedly, caught his bag and went out of the room. And he halted.

It had stopped raining. The sky was still gray, but it was a lighter softer shade of grey, and if you looked at the horizon, you could see it would clear out soon. What had made him pause, however, was the person waiting for him outside the locker room.

Ginny was leaning on the wall, hands in her jeans' pockets. She smiled up at him as he took in her presence. He couldn't repress a smile as he notices her skin was fairly red too. Guess I'm not the only one who had some scrubbing to do. She approached nonchalantly.

"Congratulation, Mr Malfoy. Slytherin's team played a very good match."

Draco smiled smugly.

"You know what they say. A team is the reflection of its leadership."

He waited for her to tell him off, but she didn't. The redhead simply nodded, like he'd just said some deep words of wisdom.

"That's very true." Then she shook herself out of that strange solemnity. She smiled again. "I realised I hadn't even thank you for saving me. And since my mother taught me better…"

She closed the distance between them and posed her palms on his chest for balance while she went on the very tip of her toes. And then she kissed him. It was light, and soft, and sweet. And totally unexpected. That kiss was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. And it was far too quick.

"Thank you," she murmured against his lips, her sweet breath mingling with his. Then, she took her hands from him and he instantly missed the touch. Draco barely restrained himself from grabbing her, just so he could feel her hands on is body a while longer.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of something he couldn't quite decipher.

"You better be on your way now. I bet your troops are waiting for their captain to start the celebration."

She offered him a last gentle smile and walked away.