Draco reflected on his evening, and found that he was obsessed with Ginny Weasley. He began his long walk out of Hogwarts and down to the grounds, mulling over the party. He'd been looking across the room all night, watching her laugh with her friends, and somehow get everything she wanted, skillful tactician that she was. She'd managed to get Neville fucking Longbottom (presumably) laid, and that takes a true golden tongue. She was stunning. She had worn a loose silver blouse tucked into a tight black skirt and tights that showed off every curve of her ass and legs. They were muscular, and all Draco could think of was the feeling of them around his head, or wrapped around his waist. She had done something to her hair, and it glittered with a delicate grace that made her look like she had tiny jewels in her hair. The silver shirt was sexy, yet modest, with a low neck, but sleeves down to her wrists. It rippled and moved with her, and revealing an athletes build, curvy yet lean. She looked incredible, like she was wearing snakeskin. She didn't need to show any skin, like most girls in his circle thought. As Draco reached the Great Hall, he summoned his old Nimbus 2k1, which he had used to cover the grounds. He then mounted, and began a lazy flight across the castle grounds.
Ginny hadn't even ignored him all night, which she could have very easily done. She'd sought him out, and shared his whiskey, describing it like she was a poet. And nailing the flavors even though its primary flavor was probably burning. She was so much smarter than he had ever given her credit. She had a social grace that was unspeakable. She had held a conversation with him that was simultaneously intimate and casual, superficial and profound, skating around dangerous areas like their sides in the war, and yet commiserating on what it was like to pull the world back together afterwards. Ginny also had the tact to sense small changes in his demeanor, and changed the subject when before he was bored, something that happened very easily. She was charming, irreverent and hilarious, cheeky and witty. 'A little spitfire,' he'd thought as he smirked into his glass, watching her talk animatedly about the merits of the Appleby Arrows and their performance against the Wimbourne Wasps that season. 'A personality with hair to match.' The ginger hair was becoming a favorite of his, becoming solely associated with her, rather than with her brothers.
After the party, Draco had tried to guide her to her common room, but Ginny had been a little too tipsy, forcing the quick stumble through the hall and then straight behind the suit of armor. It was almost too perfect. Draco wondered if Ginny had planned it. She was so sneaky like that, he couldn't be sure. Though, he wished their contact zone with the wall hadn't been him. But then she'd looked up at him with those whiskey-brown eyes and, instantly, he'd known he was fucked. He should wait for her to make the first move, but he'd known all along that if she didn't make it right here right now, he was going to. Damn George and all his wishes, promises and pie crusts, et cetera.
So timidly he wasn't sure she wanted to, she had kissed him. Soft and hot and wet, she smelled like pine and tasted like his whiskey. He'd lost it, kissing her for everything he was worth. By no means inexperienced, he normally liked to toy with his partners, teasing them through a 'courting' dance they could not know the steps too. He liked to have them off balance. This was different. Ginny was on completely equal footing to him, and somehow he felt off balance. It was exhilarating, and it explained why he'd had several former paramours show up at Malfoy Manor over the summers, pining for his attention. If this is what it felt like to be spoiled, teased, and toyed with, he was going to be an absolute sucker for the youngest redhead. He had to deal it back just as strong.
He was cruising past the greenhouses, and heard giggles and talking coming from within. A pair of scantily clad silhouettes danced around in each other's arms, and Draco's suspicions about Ginny's matchmaking skills were confirmed. He smirked to himself, remembering Ginny deftly and surreptitiously moving the mistletoe to where Longbottom and Lovegood were sitting on a leather loveseat.
As his flight through the grounds continued, his fingers began to grow numb with the cold. His warming spell was a little shaky, and it revealed his intoxication level was just a little too high to apparate. He took the safer option and went to the Three Broomsticks to use their fireplace. The pub was closing, but when he explained what he needed, Madame Rosmerta let him use the fireplace. He used Floo powder to travel directly into the basement fireplace at Malfoy Manor. The Manor had more than twenty fireplaces, but Draco chose this one because he did not want to run into his mother. He could not endure her inquisition until the morning, at least. He was in no position to defend himself. The basement would have to do, seeing as he couldn't Floo directly into his room. Using the Floo network was "terribly bucolic", according to Narcissa, and always caused ashes to scatter everywhere. Draco knew he could never tolerate that mess in his room.
Sure enough, when his feet slammed down in the basement fireplace, a huge cloud of ash and dust spread across the floor. He charmed a spare broom to sweep the mess back into the grate, as he trudged up the stairs. Down long hallways, his shoes made no sound on the thick carpets lining the marble floors. As he reached his private rooms in the house, he was relieved to find the fire still burning in his fireplace. He was cold and aching, after a long hike and messy journey home. He hung his woolen coat in the armoire that stood by the door, and placed his old broom next to it, a relic of childhood rivalry. He then stripped off his clothes, folding suit and mud-stained trousers across a chair for later cleaning. He then went into the large bathroom that was attached to his bedroom, and turned on the water for a shower.
He wanted to get clean before he fell asleep. He felt dusty and dirty and sore, a long night of standing and sitting and flying in the cold, even bundled by his warming spell and coat. As the water began to steam, he turned it down a little before stepping in, letting the hot water roll over him. He ducked his head under the water, and pulled through his hair with his fingers, loosening hair product and the feeling of the day from him. He watched the blond locks as they were pulled down in front of his eyes, the hair a palest ash blonde and very fine, like corn silk. He flicked his hair back, running his hands over it, turning to put his back under the hard jets of water. He let the water pound against his sore muscles, loosening the knots and tension from him. He picked up a bar of soap, lathering the bar between his hands, and began to wash.
As he did, he started to relax into the memory of Ginny. He thought of the way her eyes lit up when she was talking to her friends. The conspiratorial way she leaned in to him and gossiped about some of the people she had made matches for during the evening. The way her hand had felt in his, dragging him into the Gryffindor Common room. He remembered her little stockinged feet, playing with the carpet's edge while he made her drink water. The shapely legs attached to those feet, and the amazing ass on top of those. Her round pink lips, wet and ready, as she had leaned in to kiss him. He opened his eyes, finding himself completely erect and covered in soap. He gently took his cock in his hand and began to stroke, up and down. He remembered the tension in her neck as she looked up, allowing him to kiss and nibble under her jaw and down to her collar bone. He remembered the warm feeling of her skin through her cool silk blouse against his bare stomach. Had she pulled his shirt up? He intensified his grasp on his cock, fucking his hand. He could almost feel the juicy curve of her ass in his hand when he'd grabbed it. The soft skin of her cheek when he'd taken her face in his hands, her hair tickling the backs of his hands. The feeling of her breath on his. The sound of her breathy, desperate voice, saying his name like it was meant to come from her lips.
"Ginny," Draco groaned as he came, grabbing at the side of the shower. His orgasm rocked him with its power and unanticipated arrival. His eyes closed through his climax, he stood, gasping at the intensity he had just experienced. As he caught his breath, Draco could feel himself swaying with tiredness. He turned, letting the warm water passively wash the soap and mess from him. In a daze, he rinsed himself off completely, turned the water off, and got out of the shower. The cool air woke him up a little as he toweled off, drying himself with a plush white towel. His eyes still glazed over, he looked at himself in the large bathroom mirror. 'You are now a man who has wanked to a Weasley,' he said to himself, shuddering a little at the revelation, but smirking at the thought of his father's and ancestors' disgust at his actions. 'Well, that's my new role: family disappointment. Changing everything the Malfoy's have stood for after ten centuries. Better to survive than die...'
This bathroom was a testament to his new function: keep the history, change the present. It was part of new renovations to the Manor, completed only a few months ago. Draco had moved out of the rooms he had occupied as a child, and into an adult's apartment suite within the Manor, signifying his new status as the head of the Malfoy Estate. His father was still alive, although 'indisposed', as Narcissa politely put it. Truth was, Lucius wasn't appropriate for the new brand the family was trying to build. He spent most of his time wandering the grounds, training his hunting dogs, or in the library. It was Draco's job to run the family now. Narcissa was guiding him, finding him the right political marriage that would secure the high social status to which the Malfoy's were accustomed. However, Narcissa found her efforts somewhat hampered by Draco. He refused many of her candidates, feeling that none were really acceptable. And Draco knew his mother thought so too, because she was asking his opinion. When she found the girl she really wanted him to marry, he wouldn't be given a choice.
Draco's new rooms consisted of a first sitting room, a small personal study, a large bathroom, and a bedroom. He'd allowed his mother to renovate many of the rooms of the Manor as her personal project. Much had been damaged during Lord Voldemort's self-imposed tenure there, and the remodel allowed Narcissa some personal agency in wiping away the stain the Dark Lord had left on her home. It was almost like the family was regenerating as the house did. When Draco saw her plans for the new face of Malfoy Manor, she had turned to him, and looked up from under her eyelashes. "Branding," she had pronounced. She had opted for a modest version of the grandeur old generations of Malfoys had relished. Simple white walls and trim decorated the room, with dark curtains and sumptuous dark wood furniture. A black and white marble hearth surrounded each fireplace in his bedroom and sitting room. It was austere, but it was everything he expected from Malfoy Manor. Classic, and yet modern.
The bathroom was more equipped than many spas Draco had gone to with his mother. A glass shower with tall ceiling and many shower heads, two sinks, and a wall-to-wall mirror. By the window in his bedroom, Narcissa had insisted on a huge white claw-foot tub that could easily fit two and a half Dracos, the purpose of which he could not fathom. "For the day I want to drown myself, surrounded by my opulence?" he had said, raising an eyebrow when he'd first seen the installation. Narcissa had looked at him sharply from across the room, causing Draco to flinch almost imperceptibly. He had never used it, but it stood there, a solemn open mouth, reminding him that the Manor wanted to eat him up.
A large four-poster bed was the only item of furniture that survived from the suite's previous life as a gaudy, Malfoy apartment. Its dark wooden frame reached tall to the ceiling, and the bed was huge, wide enough for Draco to lie on in any orientation he wanted. When he had first seen it, he had dramatically flung himself on it from several angles to confirm its dimensions. Luckily, Narcissa had not been present for this display.
Draco crawled into this bed now, folding himself under the smooth cotton sheets and heavy down comforter. He was accustomed to some luxury, and a bed was not the place to skimp on it. Weighed down by the long night, and the rush of hormones he had just experienced, he drifted off to sleep almost without effort.
He was running through the gardens in front of Malfoy Manor. Aunt Bella was yelling and cackling just behind him, leading a crowd of Death Eaters. She could catch him if she wanted to. She was throwing spells over his shoulder, blasting patches of gravel in front of his feet.
"Coward!" she yelled, laughing. "You've always been a coward." Draco ducked and turned, running to the front doors of the Manor.
"Let me in!" His voice broke as he yelled. "Please, please, they're coming!"
"The price of your bloodline..." voices from behind the door whispered and moaned. They were thirsty and rasping. There was a dagger in Draco's hand, cold and black and twisted. His father's letter opener.
He slashed at his forearm, cutting a gash that bled on the doorstep. The front door creaked open as Aunt Bella rounded the corner of the hedge, coming out of the labyrinth garden. She looked like she had just come from Azkaban, still in her prisoner's uniform. She was skeletal, ashen, and cackling, her black teeth showing with each peal of laughter. Her long fingernails had blood caked beneath them, and her cheeks had long gashes to match.
Draco went running into the Manor, blood still dripping down his arm and onto the marble of the Manor's foyer. He turned right, toward the bedrooms from his boyhood, but the halls he had known all his life were suddenly foreign, twisting and doubling back on themselves. He was down in the basement, surrounded by towers of old family relics. And Bellatrix. She pointed her wand at him, laughing as he cowered.
Draco struck out randomly with his wand, and fire poured out of the end, liquid jets forming animals of various sizes and descriptions. He looked in horror as the inferno crashed around the room like a tsunami, engulfing his aunt and countless items that embodied the Malfoys. Fiendfyre, the same spell that had killed Crabbe because he was too stupid to control it. Draco took off running, sprinting through the twisted hallways of his family home, watching as the walls around him burned and crumbled even as he watched. He turned, and saw Lord Voldemort's flat face in the fire, laughing and sneering, destroying. Draco had done this, he had brought this upon his family. His lungs burned with the smoke and the cost of running. He rounded another corner he didn't remember, hoping to find the exit. Instead, his foot found a wrinkle in the plush carpeting that lined the hallways, and he fell, face first as the fire crackled and roared around him.
He woke up, sweating and yelling, sat straight up in bed. Bright light was streaming in through the opened curtains, though the shadow cast by the large tub told him it was not late in the morning yet. Draco felt like vomiting. He reached for his wand and conjured a glass of water, as he had done for Ginny the night before. In his panic, his glass looked a little cock-eyed, slanting sideways. He drank from it deeply, sloshing water all down his front before he noticed. He ran his hands through his hair and held his head in his hands, looking down at his arm. No gash, not even a scratch.
His nightmares came in waves, sometimes more tolerable, sometimes worse, but he had them every night. They had been getting steadily worse for the last few weeks. It was another of the reasons he had volunteered to stay up all night to watch Ginny Weasley: if he was up all night, he couldn't be asleep having nightmares. And maybe he would be so tired that when he did sleep, he wouldn't dream. His plan clearly hadn't worked. It was one of the worst nightmares he had ever had. "Aunt Bella is dead," Draco intoned like a prayer. He had seen it, but he did not believe it some days. The memory of her haunted him like a ghost.
And Voldemort? "Even deader."
After another shower, Draco carefully coiffed his hair, dressed in a dark green suit and went down to breakfast with his family. It was Saturday morning, and still before mid-morning. Lucius was sitting at the head of the long table, a breakfast plate nearly empty in front of him. He was picking at it, taking the remains of his meal and feeding them to the dogs sitting raptly at the side of his chair. Asterion and Chara, his father's two hunting dogs, were the only thing Lucius seemed to care about anymore. He would get up early and train them, taking them for long walks around the Manor grounds. He would hunt rabbit and foxes twice a week, and spoiled the dogs more than he ever had his son. Narcissa was sitting halfway down the table, her back to the long windows overlooking the Manors' grounds, eating two soft boiled eggs and reading the Daily Prophet. Each parent had their own pot of tea. 'A symbol of their schism,' Draco observed.
Draco sat at the opposite head of the table, and requested toast and eggs from the small house elf who came to serve him.
"Anything interesting in the Prophet?" he inquired of his mother.
"Where were you last night?" she countered, not even looking up.
Draco tried not to purse his lips. "I went to a gathering."
"Of whom?"
"Some people from school. I went as a business favor." Now it was Narcissa's turn to keep her expression neutral. She approved of the Malfoy rebranding, and liked George well enough as a person, on the one or two occasions they had met. But Draco knew George's family history was something Narcissa could not ignore. She couldn't quite accept him, or of Draco's dealings with him. Draco didn't even speak about his friendship with the Weasley, but his mother almost certainly knew.
"Why didn't you apparate home?" Draco looked at his hand. He was rolling a crumb of bread between his thumb and forefinger, and contemplated it as he formulated his response.
"I'd had a few drinks. I didn't want to splinch myself."
"That pissed were you? Can't handle your liquor..." Lucius grumbled from the other end of the table, feeding Asterion a piece of fried egg from his plate.
"Do be quiet, dear," Narcissa mused, her eyes not straying from the pages of her newspaper. Draco saw her clench her jaw, and knew they had been fighting before he'd come down. He finished his toast and eggs as gracefully as he could before he spoke again.
"Mother, please remind me, which night are you holding the party this year?"
"New Years Eve. I wanted to try something different. I was so tired of those Christmas parties." Remembering the Christmas party from the night before, Draco hummed his agreement to his mother, though he was in complete opposition.
A/N: For Jessica, idreamofdraco. I hope you enjoyed this! For the DG SS, this is as far as I could comfortably get through the story that I found rolling out in front of me. I promise there will be more. What started out as a simple three word prompt has cascaded into a long, multi-chaptered fic that I can't wait to write. ~megglette