After not enough sleep, I wake up the following morning hard, again, and I'm a little impatient with it. Enough, now. I have things to do, a job to keep, a financial meeting to run.
I practise my Occlumency, as I've sworn to myself to do, and the meeting after work goes beautifully. No big deal.
Blaise stops into my office Wednesday, asking how I'm doing with a slightly suspicious look on his face. I don't know why. I've been perfectly normal, if a little reserved - thanks to my additional Occlumency meditation.
He asks what my plans are for the weekend and I almost choke on my overly-hot coffee. "Why, Zabini? Are you suddenly available?"
He blushes and demurs, stammering something about Ginny, as if I'm surprised. But why is he asking me?
"No reason," he insists, not weirdly at all, and I decide I need to know. Since he'll be well occupied this weekend, as usual, I ask if he can get a drink tomorrow after work.
Looking a little surprised, he accepts. I know he'll meet me at the lift at 6.30, and hopefully he'll leave me alone until then.
After he leaves, Ilse closes my office door so I can practise for at least an hour and I focus like a proper student. Snape would be proud.
Maybe.
Probably.
After work, I head for the Apparition point to the park.
"Hello, Granger."
We're back in the bookshop - not Flourish and Blotts, the scene of my recent nocturnal imaginings, but Moribund's.
She looks up and maybe it's wishful thinking, but she seems to flicker a shadow of a smile before turning back to the shelf before her. "Oh, hello, Malfoy."
I go ahead and push myself up onto the counter so I'm sitting atop it - and I likewise push down visions of her head dipping between my legs as I sit here.
"What are you looking for today?" I withstand calling her by name again, but barely. And maybe I shouldn't ask, maybe I should prompt my own deliberate topic instead, but -
Granger doesn't answer anyway. She looks at me, almost startlingly sharply and my words catch in my throat.
She starts to speak, then stops, and turns back to the shelf.
I hop down from the counter and approach her cautiously. So cautiously. I don't want to risk scaring her.
"What is it, Granger?" That one slips out and I can't help it. Well, I can't stop all of them.
She tilts her head towards me and I see a bit of a smile before she faces the books again, scanning. Concentrating. Dismissing me. I look at the section she's in: personal improvement and development, magical theory.
Books on Occlumency and Legilimency.
I step back two steps at once and let her look, wanting to know what she gravitates towards on her own. She pulls an Occlumency basics theory book off the shelf, but I know this one. It's deep into the background of the theory, what makes it happen. Not just how it works, but why.
It's perfect for her.
Holding it open along her left arm, she flips pages with her right hand, reviewing. Evidently deeming it satisfactory, she snaps it closed and goes back to scanning the shelf.
"I can hold that one, if you like," I offer, and she jolts slightly, as if she forgot that I was there. I'm afraid for a moment that she's afraid, but she recovers almost at once, handing me the book. I tuck it beneath my arm and lean against the opposite rack, quietly watching her. Not wanting to interrupt.
She moves to another by Maxwell Barnett, who wrote several of the premiere texts to the more advanced theories.
I don't recall him saying anything about the obscure branch Snape mentioned, but there's nothing wrong with expanding her proficiency. And maybe I was a bad student and he does get into it somewhere. It's possible.
Granger accepts this one as well, and I reach out a hand silently.
She gives me a quick look with another shadow of a smile, and hands it to me before moving along.
I watch her loose hair, heavy but still wild, falling halfway down her back.
I watch her arse in her denims and remember them halfway down her knees in my imagination.
I watch her.
She grabs the Fieldwake book next, one I'm very familiar with, and yet another one that I don't know personally. She hands them to me.
I've got a stack of four now, and maybe I should let her keep going but I can't help myself. I ask if she's hungry.
She turns and looks up at me through dark eyelashes, and I hold her gaze, purposefully long. I could be wrong - I'm probably wrong - but I think her breath catches slightly before she says yes.
"I'll take care of these," I say, gesturing to the stack in the crook of my arm, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a rush of pleasure at it.
I can give her anything she wants, if she only asks. Even if she doesn't - as long as I know what it is.
That thought leads nicely into food. I think for her beloved fish and chips, and wonder if I'll ever get tired of the repetition. Probably not. Setting the books down by the register, I nudge a plate towards her and realise, now that we're here, I have no idea what to talk to her about.
My usual repertoire was to needle her about something amusing. But now, those are turning into things I'd rather avoid in her mind.
Well, if anything is going to echo around in her brain, let's let it be Occlumency.
Deliberately waiting until she has a mouthful of food, I say casually, "I'm a very good Occlumens, you know."
Granger actually swallows her bite - must have had too much in there to talk around, this time, and I smirk - and says hesitantly, "Sometimes… I thought you must be."
What?
I look at her curiously and she flushes a little. Just a little.
"You mean at school?" I ask, and she nods once, hurriedly shovelling in another bite.
If she thinks that will stop me asking questions, she's wrong. "When?"
Granger bypasses this, adding in a low voice, "- but also at… at your Manor." She's flushing more now, turning solidly pink, and I'm taken aback.
At my Manor. In my drawing room?
She clears her throat a little and meets my eyes awkwardly. "You didn't want to identify us. Harry was disfigured, but Ron and I weren't. Ron barely looked the same; we'd been in the woods for weeks and weeks. His hair was long and he nearly had a beard. But I had to have looked exactly like me, only dirty, and you didn't want to identify us. I thought -"
She breaks off and I realise I need to breathe in occasionally.
"- I thought you must be a good Occlumens, or something like it, to hide it from everyone."
"I did identify you, though."
She shakes her head insistently. "Only after they kept pressing you."
Oh yes, give me a medal, Granger. It's like Lovegood calling me 'kind.'
"And then, when -" She stops again and looks down at her arm, and I wish she'd stop talking now. No luck.
"- when Bellatrix Lestrange was -" she swallows hard and I almost interrupt her. "- you didn't react. It went on for nearly an hour. I thought you had to be an Occlumens to not react."
This makes less than no sense. I hadn't reacted because I hadn't cared. Not to mention -
She cuts into my train of thought, seeming to read my mind. "Not at the time, of course, I wasn't thinking anything at the time. But afterwards…"
She looks far off and I wonder what she's seeing in her memories, when she was thinking about me and my reactions while watching her tortured.
I feel like I've had enough uncomfortable conversations to last me the next week, easily. I desperately want to change the subject on this one but the topic of Occlumency is good for her. It could end up being very important. I should get us back on track.
"When did you notice at school?" I ask instead, stupidly.
This keeps the focus on me, which I don't love at the moment. But I remind myself I started this conversation by saying how great I am at Occlumency, so I might as well adjust and use it now.
Granger looks at me cautiously, her eyes flitting to me and away, cheeks a little pink. "Starting around… sixth year."
Ah yes, the year I killed Dumbledore. The year I took the Mark. Well, she's right. Both Snape and Bellatrix had set to work on me by that point; Snape to help me protect myself, Bellatrix to help me protect myself from Snape. Quite counterintuitive, but she really hadn't liked him. I still learned loads.
"Yes," I confirm eventually. "I still wasn't very good at it for a long time, though. It's hard. Complex. The foundation is most important, but once you master that, there are several schools or branches of Occlumency you can learn. Some people find certain types easier than others."
"Which do you use?" she asks quizzically, tilting her head as she takes another bite.
"I envision myself building a wall," I explain, wondering how much detail to provide. How much she'll remember. "Sometimes it's a wall in front of me, keeping everyone else out. Sometimes it's a wall around something I want to avoid, or something that's distracting, pushing it to the side until I can deal with it."
"What others are there?"
"I honestly don't know them all," I admit. "I recently heard of one that was new to me, although I think it builds on my own methods. I primarily use Occlumency for my own privacy. It helps with self control. It's great in business, keeps people from knowing my intentions or motivations."
I nudge a butterbeer towards her and continue. "But I don't encounter many Legilimens trying to get into my mind. For people who do, there are tactics to distract the Legilimens, a sort of feinting to offer up things of lower value. Make them think they found something when you're still protecting what's most important."
She looks fascinated. Good. I gesture towards the books on the counter. "The Barnett and Fieldwake books there will give you great detail, but you need the basics first."
"Are you also a Legilimens?" she asks and I immediately wish I was better at it.
"Not really," I shrug. "I'm a much better Occlumens, although they share much of the same theory. It could come down to how much I practise my Occlumency, though. I've probably put a thousand more hours into Occlumency than Legilimency."
This seems to make perfect sense to Granger, and she nods. She pops two chips into her mouth and twists around to reach behind her for the basics book on the counter.
I've stopped talking to watch her, watch the way her shirt pulls across her chest as she turns and suddenly I know - I know - that if someone took a picture of me right now I'd look exactly like I did in Blaise's Yule Ball photo.
My throat feels dry but I don't change anything. I let myself look. She turns back around, book in hand, and starts to flip through it as she chews another chip.
Her hair looked loose earlier but I see now it's partially back, just enough to keep it behind her shoulders without her having to constantly put it there. She's pale, almost ghostly pale, and I figure the companions are never outside.
It makes the dark of her eyelashes stand out as she blinks, skimming the book, and as she chews, her lips have a natural sort of colour to them.
They're full and I have a vivid flash of my imagination, her kneeling in front of me in a different bookshop.
Something in the text is making Granger think because she bites that lower lip, but not the centre of it. More to one side, making the other side jut out slightly in contrast.
I wonder how her teeth would feel nipping my lower lip instead, and she looks up at me without warning. On impulse, I decide to let her see me. My walls aren't up.
Let her look at me looking at her.
Her eyes lock onto mine. They darken and I see a low flush start to rise up her neck. She's so pale, it's obvious, and I see her throat move as she swallows, but she doesn't look away.
She gives me six full seconds of blistering eye contact before she breaks it, looking down at the book spread in front of her with an intensity that I know has nothing to do with the book. She turns a page quickly and it's an act.
She didn't read a word.
I grab the Barnett book and the one I didn't recognise - by someone named Amira Petrova - and start scanning to see if anything looks like what Snape might have been talking about. I note two sections that could be what I want and make specific notice of the four book's Granger's selected. I'm going to discuss them with Snape.
I think Granger is actually back to reading now, so I give her some time. I do want her to learn this, and the more interested she finds it now, the more it might resonate after this fic ends.
But I'm really at a loss as to what to do next. This is all very unfamiliar to me.
Ordinarily, I'd have taken her reaction to my attention in a very specific way. Eloise, for instance, would have been flattered by it - flirted back, responded, allowed things to progress predictably.
I know women find me attractive; I use it shamelessly to my advantage.
I think - I think - based on how she acted, that Granger does too. But Granger isn't like the women I date, as Snape so helpfully pointed out to me two days ago.
Also, in Granger's mind, she's dating Weasley.
Fucking Weasley.
And for all I know, she actually fancies Potter, but that's seeming less likely to me after tonight. When I was with her as Potter, she never seemed awkward or shy like she has here. I think I'd rather she fancied Potter over Weasley, though. Aside from the obviously terrible taste, at least Potter fancies Ginny.
So yes, she noticed I was staring at her and it made her feel self-conscious. She's not like Daphne or Eloise are, or even Pansy was - she wouldn't have been used to feeling attractive, deliberately trying to make herself so. It doesn't mean it made her feel anything other than shy about it tonight.
But forget Granger's insecurities; I'm not used to being this off-balance and I need to go. She's interested in Occlumency and overall, tonight was successful. No fear at all, no anxiety on her part, and no memory confusion. A success.
She's still munching on her final chips, and I push the remainder of mine at her as I stand up.
One final thing to do.
"Are you leaving?" she asks curiously, and before I can think about it, I test something. I think for a shopkeeper, and wonder how quickly the fic can adjust to a simulated addition.
"I'm… meeting someone," I tell her evasively and her eyes shift away from me as if said person is about to walk through the door. I try to judge whether she cares but I can't tell. Maddening.
The door doesn't open, of course, and she stands up too.
"Stay," I say, "finish the chips." I know she won't be able to; they'll bring her out as soon as I exit and Obliviate her. But I'd rather leave her on something positive.
Just in time, a random man I've never seen before comes out from the back stockroom to approach the register. Granger squeaks and begins to stammer an apology about the food on the register counter, but he waves this away generically.
I stack her books in front of him and pull out my money. Granger squeaks again, an astonishingly similar sound, and I wonder if it's how she protests things when the protest doesn't require her screaming in indignant anger instead.
"No, I'll pay for them, you don't -"
"I'm happy to, Granger." I prop myself up on the counter with an elbow, leaning on it nonchalantly as he calculates my total. This I'm good at, and I hold her eye contact again. "Study hard, alright?"
Her cheeks start to grow pink again and the shopkeeper hands her a bag. He has to try twice before she notices.
I stand upright again, leaning over her slightly. I raise one hand to ghost along the side of her cheek with two fingers and she's frozen in place, staring up at me with wide eyes. "Maybe I'll test you on it later."
And then I leave her there.
I drop a heavy bag onto Snape's desk with a deliberately disruptive thump, and he looks up at me nastily. "What the hell is this?"
"Occlumency books Granger was investigating in Moribund's. I bought the same four and I want you to place them in her dorm. But first, check the two sections I marked and see if they're referring to the techniques you mentioned to me. If they are, dog-ear each page of those sections before you get them to her."
"Why?" Snape asks snidely. "If she enjoys the topic, she'll read the whole book. All of them."
"I'm aware," I sigh, "but it's a lot of information. I want to mark those sections as important. If it's a single page dog-eared, she might just flip it back straight. If it's the whole section, she can't miss that it's somehow intentional. She'll be horrified at the bent pages, she'll have to look. And maybe that'll mark it in her mind."
Severus studies me gravely and I look at the wall over his shoulder. "Do you think she can really do it?"
"Do you?" I snap to the wall. "You brought it up. But I mentioned it in a fic and she's mentioned it, too. Today she was doing research on it entirely on her own. So yes, I think it's going to be memorable to her. All we can do now is give her the right tools and hope she's able to use them."
I turn to leave but he asks, "Anything else you want to report? While you're here?"
Still looking to the right of him, I can see his crooked smile, the satisfied one that I always hated.
"No fear at all tonight," I say finally. "No memory issues, no anxiety. It's possible that limiting her fic time is helping."
"Or," Severus says silkily, "maybe it's because it was you."
I know he's hoping for eye contact and I won't give it to him. He sighs in exaggerated disappointment and I smile this time. "I'm back to practising, Severus. In the meantime, I won't let you in so easily again."
As I step out of his office back into the darkened hall, I hear him call behind me, "I hope not, Draco."
I hope not either, because Granger is becoming a regular apparition in my nighttime thoughts.
After dropping into Moribund's tonight to buy the same books she'd selected to read and then smacking them onto Snape's desk at the park, it's quite late. I should get some sleep. I've been getting rubbish sleep and I need to catch up. I'm having drinks with Blaise after work tomorrow and he seems to have something to say.
He'll then be with Ginny all weekend, and I'm looking forward to spending more time with Granger.
Granger.
Granger in that shirt tonight, just a regular cotton shirt, pulling tight across her chest as she moved. I wonder what her tits look like under it, what sort of bra she wears. Probably something as basic as a sports bra, but nothing wrong with that, I think. Keeps them high and tight, good cleavage.
Eloise seemed to like lacy nonsense and she had small breasts. They fit her frame, of course, but she thought she had to dress them up. She went with the intricate undergarments men think are sexy. And it's not that I didn't; I just prefer more to them.
I like picturing Granger's instead, full in a bra tasked with restraining them, maybe only just managing it. Who knows what they give the captives?
I should find out.
In the meantime, my helpful brain decides it's nothing at all, and I see Granger without her shirt on, without a bra, long hair draped askew over her shoulders and across her chest. I force myself to rewind this, back to the overstuffed bra that looks uncomfortable, really, and I can help her with it.
She's on my lap again, knees on either side of me, and I palm her breasts through the bra while she kisses me. She sighs against my lips and I tug the straps off her shoulders, running my hands across her, around, down, until I can feel her nipples under my thumbs.
I sit up slightly so I can gather her closer, until she's nearly wrapped around me and I can dip my head down to taste her perfect skin. I squeeze one large breast gently, tugging at the nipple with my fingers and she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat just for me.
I want to show her what I can do, what I can do for her.
But for now, my cock is throbbing almost painfully and it's not the same if I'm not imagining she's the one touching me. Touching myself and thinking about touching her isn't the same.
My mind lets her take over and she reaches down between us, fingers softly stroking me and I want to beg.
She moves down on the bed, full tits dangling, nipples pertly pointing to the sheets as she crawls, and I want to feel one in my hands. Her mouth is hot and wet, and her tongue has barely touched me a full length before I cry out, jerking quickly, and it's over.
Always too fast.
When I have her in my bed, it won't be fast. I won't let her touch me at all until I'm done with her, if that's what it takes.
At half six precisely, Blaise meets me at the lift. He says nothing at all, does nothing but give me a polite co-worker nod as other wizards and witches file in and out. When we reach the exit from the lobby, he turns not towards our usual pub haunt but the other way. There is another pub on the corner to the left, but no one we know goes here. That's clearly his point and I wonder again what it is he has to say.
I asked him to come out after work because he was acting oddly, so what does he want to talk about?
I keep my walls tightly down as we grab a table and order our first round of firewhisky. Blaise is openly assessing me, not trying to hide it. He's grown a stupid little goatee and I focus on that. I lock myself down further and sip my drink. Nothing to see here. Move along, Zabini.
But finally, I have to break the silence. I asked him here, after all. Impatiently, I snap, "What is it, Blaise?"
He gives it another moment, rolling his jaw as he thinks, before finally saying, "I want to talk about our girls."
Even looking around with no one close, with plenty of ruckus coming from the bar, I still cast a muffling charm. I see a wry smirk cross his mouth, darting and vanishing in the blink of an eye.
"Well, I don't know what's new with yours since we last talked Monday at the park," I say stiffly, "so it must be about mine. Out with it."
He gives an appreciative nod at this deduction. "Have you seen her since I did?"
That phrasing makes me wince internally, but I'm too tightly buttoned up to show anything to Blaise. He's still scrutinising me closely, as if expecting a reaction. I'm determined not to have one.
"Yes," I respond casually, no big deal, "after work yesterday. I wanted to see if she'd imparted any of the Occlumency talk. She had, so I dropped off some books for Snape to get to her."
"Nothing else?"
"Hell, Zabini, it's only Thursday. No. How often do you think I go in there? I don't want her Obliviated more than necessary, even if I'm restricting the time she spends in fics." Frustrated, I take a larger drink and wait.
Blaise still outlasts me, which tells me I need yet more practise clearing my mind and meditating. I'm thoroughly annoyed when I tell him, "Say whatever you want to say. Get on with it already."
Blaise's hesitation has clearly been spent planning his approach. Finally, he settles on something I don't expect. "You're overcorrecting, Drake."
"Excuse me?" I'm defensive, angry. Caught off-guard, which I don't like.
"You're so pulled back, it's noticeable."
"Yes, you idiot, that was almost the point. Snape is in my head too easily. I need to practise more and I need to be less accessible. If that comes across at work too, no harm done."
Blaise shakes his head sadly. "I don't know exactly what Snape told you on Monday, but it obviously affected you. I want to try and clear things up, if any of it has to do with me."
I scoff into my drink as I raise it to my lips. "Is that what you're worried about? Don't. I wasn't in the right headspace on Monday when you came out of the fic as Weasley. I'm sorry, alright? I know you were doing what I asked of you, and I don't hold any hard feelings about it."
"Big of you," he comments wryly, raising an eyebrow for a half second. "And I do appreciate that. But there's something else."
He waits until I'm looking at him, properly focusing, before he goes on. "Yes, she was relaxed from the Calming Drought, she was ready to let go and have a good time. And yes, she was happy to see him - me. But I didn't feel any of the same emotion behind her that I feel from Ginny, when I'm Potter."
"What do you mean?" I ask, nonplussed.
"I'm trying to say, you tosser, that I don't think she's in love with him. I think she's close to him, of course, and she cares for him. She wants to know he's alright and wants him to be happy. But I don't think she feels any particular attachment to him, personally."
Blaise picks up his own drink now and motions for two more while I think about this.
"So she's running a charity. Lovely."
Blaise inhales his last sip and coughs violently, turning it into a laugh when he can breathe. "Maybe? I'm sure you can get that impulse out of her, though."
I swirl my remaining firewhisky around the ice cube in my glass as we wait for our second round to arrive. "I still don't see her as the kind of girl who just fucks around. She must feel something for him."
He tilts his hand back and forth in a maybe-yes, maybe-no gesture. "Who knows what's going on in her head? If she doesn't remember anything - let's just say - he's still her boyfriend, even if she's not in love with him. Or maybe it's just that she's only human; she wanted to fuck around and she trusts him."
Alright, then. I could probably buy that. "And if she is remembering? I don't think there's any doubt that she is at this point."
"No, there isn't," he sighs. "Maybe he's just a point of comforting familiarity. Everything else seems scary and confusing, and Weasley doesn't. And maybe part of her knows she hasn't seen him in over a year."
"That's how it seemed when I was Harry," I say quietly, ruminating
('I miss you. Come back soon')
and Blaise looks at me, puzzled.
Right. That happened after Blaise stormed out through my fireplace, after my Confunded test. The next day he helped with the two other tests for me, but we haven't had a chance to talk about my Harry experiment. Too much has been going on.
I tell him about it and he gives me a knowing expression. I know what he's getting at and I admit defeat. "Yeah, she was so happy to see him. It was great. It felt incredible, even though I knew it wasn't about me."
Blaise has that far-away look in his eyes again, the wistful one he almost always wears when he thinks about Ginny.
"Well, you owe me a favour," he says as the cute server brings over some appetisers for us, and I can't deny that I do.
She's giving Blaise an appreciative look and he's oblivious to it. I order us two more drinks with a wink at her. I'm not running a charity but she shouldn't take his lack of interest to heart. She's very cute. Two months ago, she'd have been just his type.
"A few weeks back, we talked about you testing to see if Ginny shows any fear with you, since she won't with Potter. I'm cashing it in. Test her for me."
Ah, bollocks. I do remember this conversation, now that he mentions it. And I do owe him. I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. "Alright, fine. What do you think would be the best test?"
Blaise has obviously given this a lot of thought. "If she's going to be afraid of someone, the situation has to seem threatening to her. A bedroom or something, something obviously meant for sex."
He's wincing, his idiotic new goatee wrinkling at the edges of his mouth and I know how he feels. But I also won't hurt Ginny and this shouldn't take nearly as long as his test for me with Granger.
"When?" Presuming he's going straight into his regular weekend with Ginny tomorrow, I have a suspicious feeling I know what he's going to say.
Snape isn't pleased. "Don't you two bloody idiots ever sleep?"
As my sleep rhythms have been somewhat… distracted of late, I keep my eyes firmly on Blaise.
"Some of us would like to spend time at home, occasionally," he spits, "and Zabini, you've said you haven't felt any other lapses in Weasley since she looked around for Ron before Quidditch."
"I know," Blaise says, "but I'll feel better if I know how she usually reacts in fics, that's all. And Malfoy here needs to return a favour."
Snape stalks towards a cubicle, robes flapping about. "The pair of you are pathetic. This is embarrassing."
"Oh, shut it, Snape," I say wearily. "This won't take long. She's either afraid of me or she isn't. Then you can go home, if it's so important, but I'd figure you're more entertained here anyway. I'm sure you don't have four laboratories to play around with at home."
He shoots me an irritated look as I say, "Put me into a generic flat, just not the one Zabini always uses. I'm sure Dolohov has more than one layout."
Blaise steps back as Snape pokes at the pad on the wall, and I inhale the mist.
I'm three firewhiskies in thanks to our stop at the pub, which is probably not the best time for this and I don't have much of a game plan with Ginny. Rote curiosity is fine, but I really don't know how to interact with her.
I land in a flat not dissimilar to the one I had Granger in Confunded. The kitchen looks about the same, anyway, what I can see of it. Two moments later, Ginny's red head appears in what's probably the doorway to a bedroom and she spots me with ease.
Before I can clock what's happening, she's rushing at me, shrieking, "You foul, despicable piece of shit!" which I'm amused to note is the exact thing she opened with when she saw me at the 'Leaky Cauldron' weeks ago.
But my split-second of wonder at her repetition - would she always say this to me? Is she remembering something, or is this just how she would approach Draco Malfoy in any situation? - costs me. There's no party-favour wand for her to reach for now, and she's drawing back a fist.
Ginny lands a solid punch on the side of my chin and I reel back. Someone taught this witch how to throw a punch. She had all her weight behind it.
My back hits the wall and she's coming at me again.
"Weasley, what the fuck?" is all I manage.
My hand comes up to grip her wrist before she can make contact a second time and she swings with the other one from down low, aiming for my stomach.
She makes a glancing blow as I twist to the side and I grab that wrist, too. Her face is red, furious, hair falling from her ponytail as she valiantly struggles with me, both her wrists now trapped in my hands.
Goddamn firewhisky, slowing my reflexes. This witch is strong. I curse Blaise and all six of Ginny's brothers.
I bring my leg up and to the side just in time to prevent her knee making direct contact with my twig and berries, but it connects perfectly with my thigh instead and I feel the sharp impact ripple down the nerves in my leg all the way through my foot.
I grit my teeth and thank Merlin it was just my thigh, or my father might have been out of luck for the next Malfoy heir.
I've had quite enough of this, thank you. I pivot slightly to aim for the couch and push hard, releasing her wrists so she falls backwards onto the cushions. I back up before she can rebound.
"Easy, Weasley," I pant, holding out a hand to forestall her. "For fuck's sake, take it easy. What the hell?"
Ginny stays where she is but her muscles are coiled, her jaw set. Her eyes are glittering. She reminds me of a cat, ready to launch into the air.
I've no desire for a second round. If I did try to advance on her in any sort of sexual way - or any way at all, it would seem - it's clear she'd fight me.
When I reappear in the cubicle, Blaise is looking at me anxiously. I rub my chin - ow - and say, "No fear. None. She hates Draco Malfoy, but she was not afraid of me."
He starts to talk but I have to needle him a little. I just took a real punch to the jaw from his special girl. "I don't know how much grappling the two of you usually do overnight, Zabini, but she is one strong witch."
His eyes bug out and Snape coughs a small laugh behind his hand.
I go ahead and clarify before Blaise has an aneurysm, "She attacked me immediately. Went for my face, my stomach, and my nuts, in order. I finally pushed her off me and got out. I'm sure I'd have been able to get beyond that into a fear reaction at some point, but it would have involved fighting her - so no, thanks."
He looks increasingly mollified and I know he's recovering when he's able to say, "I thought you liked getting smacked around, Malfoy," with a smirk.
Touché. I lift an eyebrow and retort, "I prefer it with more verbal abuse, first. The slap is supposed to be the crowning achievement at the end."
Snatching at Blaise unexpectedly, I yank on his ridiculous goatee. "Maybe I should grow one of these. I'm going to have to hide the bruise."
"Gerroff, you tosser," he shoves me away and I cackle. "It would take you as long to grow one as it'll take for that bruise to fade."
Snape rolls his eyes and drawls, "Are we done here, yet?"
I look at him as something else occurs to me, rubbing my sore jaw again. "Almost. I thought the companions weren't allowed to inflict damage."
He raises his eyebrows in disbelief that I'm this stupid. "Generally, they aren't. But you, Draco, have requested to permit any damage that isn't permanent, thanks to your duelling with Potter. So congratulations. Your preferences were stored and you got hit. And unlike for someone else - Zabini here, for instance - it didn't feel like getting hit with a pygmy puff."
Snide bastard. He doesn't need to look so pleased about it.
"Mr Malfoy!"
Ilse's shocked voice cuts through my morning paperwork. I glance up from my desk to see her standing in the doorway, her eyes wide. "What happened?"
Ah, yes. "I made a girl mad last night," I say roguishly, which isn't untrue. "I'm sure I deserved it."
I give her a wink and she blushes faintly, but I'm not really flirting with her. I know Ilse finds me attractive, but I've never had any interest in messing about with someone who works for me.
The shadowy bruise on my jaw is nothing. The side of my thigh looks like I took a close-range shot from a Bludger - or maybe from the Beater's bat. Thankfully Ginny hadn't had one of those.
Ilse stammers something and hands me several sealed folders that I rifle through. I keep the third one out, which appears to be the latest financials reports from the park I'd asked to have sent over, and tuck the rest into a tray on my desk.
I thank Ilse and she tells me the next hour is blocked off for me, my intended Occlumency practise. She leaves me to it, softly closing the door behind her, and I make myself wait to review the financials until after I'm done. It's good to have something tempting I have to push aside.
When I do finally dive into them, it's good preparation for our meeting late next week. Things are moving in a good direction. They'll give me hard numbers at the meeting, but I think the growth trend is greater than 8% from last month to this month.
If things keep moving like this, I'll be able to start shifting my investment to include some of my trust instead of all of my salary.
As the park's revenue shifts, so can my contribution. Then, I'll eventually be earning money on all the work we're doing, putting the profits back into my trust and I'll be back to having spending money from my salary again.
Not that I know what I'd be spending it on. Maybe more Occlumency books, I think with an eye roll.
Blaise is out all weekend with Ginny and my weekends really are dull, now. I saw Granger Wednesday, but I'm still trying to limit how often she requires Obliviation. I've spent a fair amount of time reflecting on Ginny, though.
I was in that fic with her for less than five minutes. Maybe less than three. I tentatively think she'd have reacted to me like that no matter what, but I'm not confident that she wouldn't show fear when faced with a threat from someone more random to her.
In short, I don't think it was a very good test for what Blaise wanted to know.
I can think of a better one, but he'd punch me in the face himself if he knew and that one might look more like the bruise on my leg.
Still… I think I'm going to do it. I'll tell him about it after the fact, maybe. Probably.
Also turning around in the back of my mind is something Granger said when we were in the middle of our horribly uncomfortable conversation about her being tortured for an hour in my Manor.
("Not at the time, of course, I wasn't thinking anything at the time. But afterwards…')
Afterwards, as much as I can recall, it wasn't long before the three of them broke into Gringotts', Granger impersonating my aunt like it was no big deal - such a Slytherin, I think again - and then the final battle at Hogwarts was… immediately after. Wasn't it?
When did she have so much spare time to think about me and my likely Occlumency talents?