The rain started shortly after they returned, and hours later, it still hadn't stopped. Relentless and steady, it tapped against the window like a ticking clock, counting down to something - or someone - snapping.
They'd returned from their shopping trip with arms full of paper bags containing books, wine, and a puzzle Ginny had all but demanded they get to "keep them from going mad."
"We need something to do," she'd insisted in the store, holding up the box as if it was the answer to all their problems. "Unless you want to glare at each other for the next 48 hours."
"Tempting," Draco had replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'd rather spend my time productively."
"Exactly," Ginny had said, ignoring the sarcasm entirely. "And puzzles are productive."
The puzzle barely lasted ten minutes.
"What is this? What are you doing?" Ginny snapped, hands darting toward the mess of puzzle pieces. "You're meant to start with the edges!"
Her sudden motion yanked the tether tight, pulling Draco off balance. Their shoulders collided hard enough to draw an annoyed glance from him.
"Children start with the edges, Weasley. Adults sort by color and theme." He shifted, his arm brushing against hers - not on purpose, but not accidental either. The tether's pull turned every small move into a tug-of-war neither of them would forfeit.
They'd stared at each other for a moment. Tense. Silent. Then, at the same time, they'd both reached for the wine.
That was an hour ago, and now the puzzle lay abandoned on the table, a disjointed mess of clouds, blues, and rogue edge pieces. Draco's strategy had been dismissed as "lunacy" by Ginny, and Ginny's strategy had been dismissed as "primitive" by Draco. Neither had won.
The wine, however, had gone down very well.
Ginny had been forced to admit - grudgingly - that Draco had excellent taste in wine. She squinted at the label like it had personally wronged her, tilting it back and forth as if a different angle would somehow make it less impressive.
"Fine," she muttered, reluctantly setting the bottle down. "This is…annoyingly good."
"Years of experience," Draco said, leaning back in his chair like he owned the world. The lazy drag of his shrug reignited her simmering annoyance with his face - his smug, infuriating face.
Ginny scoffed, crossing her arms. "I have experience."
Draco's grin widened like he'd been handed a gift-wrapped opportunity. "Oh, I bet you do," he said, his voice dropping low, thick with suggestion. It wasn't even subtle.
Ginny froze. For half a second, her eyes narrowed as if lining up a shot. Then her smile grew, slow and mean, like she'd already won. "Experience in what, exactly? "Dodging consequences? Must be nice, Malfoy - knowing no matter how badly you screw up, mummy and daddy will always be right behind you with a broom."
The grin vanished. Just for a moment. A flicker of anger crossed his face before the mask snapped back into place, colder now, all edges. His eyes locked on hers, hard as glass. "I meant wine. Some of us have years of experience drinking for more than just getting pissed."
Her eyes flickered. Just once. His words sank in slowly, like poison. She tilted her head, gaze locking onto him with the kind of still, deadly calm that only shows up right before something explodes. Her fingers curled slowly into the fabric of her sleeve, knuckles pressing white against her skin.
"What did you just say?" Her voice was too quiet to be safe.
Draco sat back again, but there was no more ease to him. His jaw tightened, lips twitching at the edges like he was fighting something back.
"Relax, Weasley," he said, the words smooth but his tone just a little too sharp. "If the shoe fits..."
Ginny's eyes stayed on him, unmoving, unblinking. Her head tilted, slow and deliberate, like she was waiting for him to realize just how badly he'd messed up.
"Run that by me again, Malfoy."
Draco tipped his head, his grin too smug to be anything but intentional. "Oh, don't be modest, Weasley. We both know you've put the hours in."
Ginny exhaled through her nose, slow and steady, a reminder to herself not to lose her temper. "Are you calling me some kind of a drunk, Malfoy?"
Draco snorted. "You said it, not me" he said, his eyes flicking to her half-empty glass like it had made the point for him.
Her arms dropped to her sides, fingers curling, uncurling in barely controlled anger. "Say that again, Malfoy."
He stayed where he was, calm as ever, swirling his wine in slow, lazy circles.
"Don't see why I'd have to," he said, eyes cutting to her glass again, lingering this time. "Heard you made the Leaky your second home after the shoulder gave out."
He took a slow sip, eyes meeting hers over the rim of the glass. His gaze was steady, too steady. Calculated. Measured.
"Tough break, losing your spot on the team."
Her jaw clenched.
"If you've got something to say, Malfoy, say it," she snapped, standing, forcing him to stand as well. Her smile was razor-thin. "Go on. Say it."
"Alright," he said coldly. "You're washed up, Weasley."
Her smile vanished.
"Maybe that's why you're grabbing at cursed Snitches like a bloody fool."
His eyes swept down her frame and back up again. More than a glance. A choice. He didn't bother to hide it.
"Still chasing it, aren't you?" he said, his voice low, soft, like it wasn't even an insult. "The rush. The roar of the crowd. Bet you'd give anything to feel it again."
Ginny froze for just a moment before she let out a short, hollow laugh - not amused, not kind. Then came the grin, slow and sure, like she'd already won.
"Better to be a has-been than a never-was." Her eyes stayed locked on his. "Isn't that right, Malfoy?"
She saw it, that tiny shift. The twitch at the edge of his grin. Barely there, but she caught it. Her own grin widened.
"I played every match. Every season. I fought for it. Earned it."
Her eyes dropped to his chest, scanned him like she was measuring him for something. Then her gaze climbed back up, like she knew exactly what she'd find.
"You could've played," she said, voice low, steady. "Should've played. But nobody would touch you."
Silence.
"Not a single scout," she said. "Not a single offer. Not even from the bloody Ballycastle Bats - and they'll take anyone." She didn't look away.
"And we both know why, don't we?"
He didn't move. His face stayed perfectly still, but his fingers curled once, then flattened. The air around him felt like something holding its breath. Ginny leaned in just an inch. Not enough to crowd him - just enough to make sure he heard her.
"It's because you spent a year licking Voldemort's boots."
Silence.
She knew the second she said it she'd gone too far. She felt it in the air - closer now, tighter, like all the space between them had been squeezed out.
"Careful, Weasley," he said, he said, quiet but firm. No rush, no rise in volume. Not a threat. A warning. A moment to walk away. A chance to let it go.
But Ginny Weasley had never been good at letting things go.
They were close now, too close for it to be anything but personal. "Or what?" she asked. Not soft, not sweet. Her eyes glanced down, then back up, deliberate. A glance that wasn't just a glance - it was an assessment. "What are you gonna do, Malfoy?" She looked at his face as if she'd already found him lacking. "Nothing. You're a coward."
"...What did you say?" His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
They were close. Too close. Closer than the tether demanded. Not enough room between them to breathe properly, and neither of them seemed to care.
Her chin lifted.
"Coward," she says again, slower this time, dragging it out like she wants it to hurt. "That's all you've ever been, Malfoy. A cowar-"
His mouth crashes into hers, cutting her off mid-word. No warning. No breath. Just heat and impact, like everything between them had finally snapped.
It wasn't a kiss, it's a fight that forgot where to land.
Her mind blanked - not from shock, but from the heat of it. Her spine went tight, every muscle pulled taut. She didn't push him away.
She should. She knew she should.
But she didn't.
He pulled back just an inch, his breath brushing her lips. Close enough that all she could feel was him. Her chest felt tight, every shallow breath squeezing in like it had to fight for space.
No smirk. No grin. Just that look. The look of a man who had just stepped off a ledge and hadn't hit the ground yet.
Her lips felt bruised, raw and red, and she hated that she noticed. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
"Malfoy, what the fuck?" she meant to snap, but it slipped out a whisper. Her hands twitched at her sides, aching to shove him, slap him - something. But she didn't move.
Neither did he.
One single thought as she stood there catching her breath. 'Don't look at his lips, don't look at his lips, don't-'
Her eyes flicked down.
Fuck.
He caught it. Of course he did. His lips twitched at the corner, just the barest smirk, but it was enough to make it feel like he'd just won a bet.
He kissed her like the first time had been a warning shot. This was war.
Harder. Hotter. More certain.
She was momentarily stunned, but soon her hands moved without permission. She grasped at the fabric of his shirt because if she didn't, she knew her hands would be on his skin. She pulled him in. She didn't mean to. She didn't think about it. Her fingers tugged. A sharp pull. Small. Barely anything at all. But he felt it.
And he followed.
Suddenly there was no space left between them, his body was pressed flush against hers.
She kissed him said, his
Her pulse drummed so hard it felt like it had taken over her whole body. Throat. Chest. Hands. Teeth. All of it thudding in rhythm, too loud, too fast. She hated it. She hated him for it.
Her teeth caught his bottom lip, and she bit down hard, enough to make him feel it. Not just now. Later.
He growled into her mouth, the sound raw and broken, and she swallowed it whole. Her teeth pressed in just a second longer than necessary, long enough for him to know it wasn't just heat that drove her. It was something more intense than that. A reminder. Of her. Of him. Of who they were to each other.
His hands moved fast, sliding down her sides, and grabbed on to her. One sharp pull. No pause. No warning.
Ginny gasped as he lifted her, and suddenly her thighs met the edge of the table as he set her down. His mouth never left hers. Not for a second. The damned puzzle pieces scattered, clattering like broken glass. Draco pressed himself forward, and her legs moved on instinct. Her thighs hooked around his waist, heels digging in. Pulling him in. Holding him there.
"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" she asked, voice too clear for someone who'd just been manhandled onto a table.
"You bit me," he muttered, his lips brushing the words into the corner of her mouth like they belonged there. He didn't stop. He kissed his way down the curve of her jaw, deliberate and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
"Don't start fights you can't win, Weasley," he said, his voice low and rough, his mouth catching just below her ear, the words a slow drag of breath against her skin.
Her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling his head just enough to make him meet her eyes.
"Who says I'm not winning?"
His grin vanishes. In its place is something far more dangerous. Hunger.
"You think you're winning?" he says, his voice dropping lower, slower, like every syllable is being dragged out just to see how long she'll let him play.
"Malfoy," she breathes, fingers still tight in his hair, pulling him close enough for her lips to brush his, not quite touching. "I always win."
That's all it takes. He moves, his mouth capturing hers again.
She inhaled sharply as she felt him hard against her for the second time that day. His arousal pressed against her, searing through the thin space between them.
Her eyes snapped up to his, but he was already watching for her reaction. Already knew.
"Scared, Weasley?"
"Of you?" Ginny's voice doesn't crack, but it's a close thing. "Not in this lifetime, Malfoy."
She moved her hips, grinding against him just to see if he'd react.
He did.
His eyes darkened instantly, grey like storm clouds ready to break.
'You scared?'
His words echoed in her head, taunting, familiar, and she hated how they stuck. Hated how they burrowed in and stayed.
Draco's lips explored the side of her neck, staying there just long enough to make her squirm against him. She felt pressure, the scrape of teeth, and the slow drag of his tongue after. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She knew he was leaving a mark.
"Watch it, Malfoy," she gasped, wincing at the loss of control in her voice.
He leaned back just far enough to meet her eyes. "Or what?" he asked. His thumb pressed into her hip, fingers spread wide across her waist like he owned it. "Gonna bite me again?"
"Don't tempt me."
Her hands were already moving, fingers sliding down his chest at a deliberate pace, slower than necessary, like she wanted him to feel every inch of it. Her thumb hooked into his waistband, the firm tug as much a dare as a move. Her fingers hovered at the button, ready to flick it open.
He caught her wrist. He moved his mouth against her ear.
"Not yet," he said, low and calm, like he wasn't even thinking about it.
Her fingers stilled, her breath going still with them. For one aching second, doubt seeped in.
Her mind turned too fast. Was he messing with her? Was he about to pull away and let her fall? Was this it - the part where he laughed in her face for leaning in? For wanting this? For wanting him?
Her heart raced.
But he didn't pull away. He didn't laugh.
He moved.
His grip shifted, hands locking firm under her. No pause. No warning.
He lifted her clean off the table.
She yelped, arms hooking tight around his shoulders, her fingers catching hard in his shirt.
Her pleasure-fogged mind flickered with one wild, ridiculous thought - he should have been carrying her around all week. It would've made dealing with the tether a hell of a lot easier.
He moved toward the stairs, steady and certain, like a man who'd already decided how this would end.
"Already easier than trying to walk up next to you," he muttered, his breath hot against her neck and his tone just a little too smug.
Ginny snorted, her fingers curling into the back of his shirt, nails pressing just hard enough to feel the shift of muscle beneath. "Funny," she breathed, her words sharp but light with challenge. "I thought you said I was heavy."
"You are," he said, breath even, like she wasn't a challenge at all. "Good thing I'm stronger than you."
Her lips found his neck as he continued carrying her. She felt him shift - the pull of muscle, the tightening beneath her hands. His step faltered, just for a moment. Just enough to know she'd gotten to him.
She pulled back, but only just. Her lips hovered close, breath warm against his skin. Just long enough to speak.
"Then you've got no excuse to drop me now, do you?"
Before he could answer, she was back on him. Lips pressing firm like she had something to prove and suddenly, he was moving again. His eyes stayed forward, his hold on her certain, his focus locked on the bed they'd shared the night before.
"Keep that up, Weasley," he said, steps steady, gaze forward. "And I just might."