Words - 300
Rating - PG13
Warnings - None
#3 – BATTLE OF WILLS
He caught her, when she fell.
She'd tripped, and fallen pretty much literally into his arms, and Draco had instinctively caught her, not realizing what he was doing until he was already steadying her on her feet with caring hands.
Draco swore, foul, and Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Well, there's no use for that sort of language."
Her voice was matter-of-fact, like she hadn't even processed the fact yet that Draco Malfoy had caught her when she fell, hadn't shoved her to the ground or laughed or hexed or done anything. But she would. Oh, she would, and once she did, she'd tell someone, and that was all he needed.
Draco swore again, viciously, and swung his boot into the step in front of him. Only it happened that her foot was there, so instead she went tumbling towards the ground, letting out a cry of pain.
Which, really, would have been all well and good, but then his arms shot out and caught her again, and he was left with a bloody Weasel in his arms for the second time in as many minutes – except this time, she didn't seem inclined to let go.
"Oh, no," she snapped, and when she tilted her head around to glare at him, her red hair whipped across his face, soft and smelling of jasmine. "If you're going to kick me, you're going to get me to the Hospital Wing to get it checked out if you have to carry me… which you might, ow. Bloody idiot – what'd you do that for anyway?"
Her face was tight with pain and Draco scowled, trying to pull loose. Her fingernails were like claws, though, and – ouch! – it didn't really seem worth it.
Draco glared. Ginny glared back.
Draco blinked.