Ginny spun on her heel, her hand going instinctively for her wand. When she saw it was Draco, she stopped reaching for her wand, although she scowled furiously. "Don't call me that," she snapped.
He arched his eyebrow at her, a gesture she was already coming to hate. "And why not?" he drawled, strolling over to his desk and propping one hip on the corner. "It's so appropriate."
She fumed. "Fine, then I can call you Ferret-boy," she said, smirking, and saw his face darken.
There was a moment of charged silence before he changed the subject. "Why are you in my room, then?"
She suppressed her own smirk. Obviously she had won that dispute. She hunched her shoulders slightly. "No reason," she muttered. Then her eyes snapped sparks at him. "Why are we in adjoining rooms?" she demanded. "This isn't a real marriage, Malfoy."
"How well I know," he said sardonically. "I'd be getting laid a whole lot more."
She grimaced. "I don't need your crudity, Malfoy."
One side of his mouth curled coolly. "I don't see any reason to shield you from it, Weasley. It's not like you're some fainting flower. I think you've sufficiently proved that."
She narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?"
He glanced at her with a bored look in his eyes. "Come now, Virginia. Not many women would dare to go toe-to-toe with me." Then he had the nerve to preen.
Ginny gritted her teeth so hard she was sure that they would shatter. Stupid, supercilious, arrogant, pompous bastard! she fumed. Instead she stomped over to him and hissed, "And don't you forget it, Malfoy." Then she stormed away. His voice stopped her at the doorway.
"Weasley," he called mockingly, "don't come in my room again. Unless of course you're looking to relieve a little of that tension."
With her back to him, Ginny's mouth opened in soundless shock at his blatant innuendo. Then she spun on her heel, eyes flashing furiously. She marched back over to him and stabbed her finger at his chest but didn't touch him. "If I was tense, I would not go looking for you to relieve anything!" she shouted. "I don't want anything from you, Malfoy. And if you come into my room, prepare to leave with your balls hanging around your neck. Clear enough?"
He blinked, then drawled, "Crystalline, darling."
She narrowed her eyes at him and then stormed back to the door that connected their rooms and went into hers, slamming the door behind her. Then she shouted from the other room, "And don't call me darling!"
Draco suppressed his chuckle and called back, "Why? Are you worried that you'll want to be my darling?" To his delight, he could practically hear her grinding her teeth in frustration. But she ignored him.
His lips twitched. Ah, it was so good to find a worthy opponent, he thought in amusement. Most people were blatantly terrified of him, from his house-elves to his assistants. But one Mrs. Virginia Weasley-Malfoy was obviously unafraid of him and ready and willing to go three rounds with him any day of the week. Or any hour, he thought wryly. The damned woman gave new meaning to the word 'spitfire'. Which was one of the reasons that he had cut his meetings short for the day--he had been half afraid that he'd find his house-elves on strike or gone. The damned woman was friends with Hermione Granger-Potter, that idiot woman who was trying to make that S.P.E.W. campaign. He rolled his eyes at the idiosyncrasies of women and then sat down at his desk and unlocked one of the drawers to withdraw a stack of notes.
His lips compressed with anger when he saw that the stack had grown since he had checked it last night. He slid his finger along the crease of one and broke the seal, then read the contents of the message quickly. Seconds later he threw it down in disgust. This was getting to be ludicrous. Half of the notes were pleading for him to take over the role of Dark Lord, and the other half were threatening him if he exposed who had been Deatheaters under You-Know-Who. The threats had grown increasingly more dire and more serious as the months went on. It had been almost a year since Voldemort had been killed in the final battle, and things were reaching a flash-point.
Just last week two members of the Bellaphue family had been mobbed in Diagon Alley. While it was true that the Bellaphue family had always been staunch Voldemort supporters and the upstanding witches and wizards of Diagon Alley had good reason to mob them, it didn't change the statistics. Sooner or later the all old Deatheater families were going to meet horrible deaths at the hands of the everyday witches and wizards of the world.
Although it was commonly known among those who had been on the final battlefield that Draco hadn't been present, no one knew where he had really been. Which was why there was such a wide spectrum of notes. Those who wanted to believe the best of him thought he should be the next Dark Lord and take up Voldemort's mantle. Those who sent the death threats thought that he had been working against the Deatheaters and spying for Dumbledore. In fact, the truth lay somewhere in between.
To the public, his family was still very much a Deatheater family. As he was the last of his line, that meant that he bore the brunt of the hatred against the Malfoy family. Which meant that he was just as liable to be lynched as any other. The Minister of Magic had approached him several weeks ago about the prospect of marrying a woman to try to bridge the gap forming between former Deatheaters and the citizens of the wizarding world. Jonathon Ravensblack had made it perfectly clear that the marriage would be a sham, nothing more than a trick to try to put a temporary patch over the animosity that was running rampant. Even if Draco and Ginny divorced after a few months, the marriage would hopefully have alleviated some of the fears that the public held, and the problem would no longer be at a crisis point. This sham marriage between them was doing nothing more than buying time for the world to try to learn to live together again.
Draco had considered the thought that his marriage to a witch of 'upstanding' family would only incite the letter-writers even more. On that thought, he had increased his security around his home before he had even gone to the Ministry to find out who his wife would be. Despite that she was a Weasley, he had no desire to have a witch hurt on his account.
He was rapidly growing irritated with the letters that kept pouring into his home. He had already spelled the drawer to have all the letters that were sent to him from any former Deatheater family appear in his drawer instead of somewhere where they could be easily found. He had no desire for anyone--least of all Ginny Weasley--to find the problem that he had found himself in.
He also had no desire to become the next Dark Lord. It was fairly obvious what happened to men who tried to assume that position. He wasn't adverse to power, but he didn't particularly enjoy torture. He wasn't sympathetic to Muggles, but he also didn't want to murder them for just being Muggles. He prefered to leave them alone and they to leave him alone. On the opposite side of the coin, he didn't want to expose the deeds that the former Deatheaters had done. He could care less, just as long as they stayed away from what was his. Which for the moment included Ginny Weasley, he thought with a long-suffering sigh. So the letters that he was receiving were seriously starting to piss him off, because either option they proposed was repugnant to him. And it wasn't like there was a way to publicly tell the Deatheaters that he wasn't going to squeal on them.
He heard a quiet knock on the door and swore softly and shoved the letters back into his drawer. "Come," he said sharply, and the door opened to reveal one of his house-elves cowering in the doorway. Immediately he felt his shoulders relax. He had thought it was Ginny. Then he rolled his eyes to himself. If it had been Ginny, she would have just barged into the room instead of knocking. "What?" he asked, his cold eyes boring into the hapless house-elf.
Blinky cowered. "Missus wants to speak with Master."
Draco's eyebrow rose in surprise. "Very well," he said coolly. "You may go." Blinky nodded and then escaped, leaving the door open.
Draco's smile curled slowly. So she wanted to apologize already, did she? He rose from his seat and stepped through the door that connected their rooms without knocking. Almost immediately he had to duck as a vase flew through they air and shattered on the door behind him. He felt a shard of the vase pierce his shirt and slice his shoulder, and he swore viciously, his eyes cutting over to where Ginny was standing with her arms crossed militantly over her chest.
"What the fuck was that for?" he snarled.
"For coming in my room!" she snapped back. "I told you not to!"
"You asked to talk to me, you stupid woman!"
"I'm not stupid!"
"Then why the hell are you throwing costly vases at me for no reason?"
"I had a reason, Ferret!"
"Then why don't you clue me in, Weaslette?"
Ginny glared at her, her blood boiling. "You could come through the front door like a civilized person," she snapped. "That adjoining door is off limits, Malfoy."
"It's my house, you spiteful harpy!"
She tapped her foot and narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Oh yeah? Well while I'm occupying this room, it's mine. And I want you to stay out!"
"Fine then!" he snarled, feeling blood trickle down his shoulderblade and his temper inch up another notch. "What the hell did you want to talk to me about?"
She sniffed. "I wanted to tell you that the room was very lovely, despite it's damnable proximity to your own."
He gritted his teeth. "So," he said with deliberate slowness, "you call me in here to thank me, and suddenly decide that you want to throw something at me instead?"
She sniffed again. "It's a disease I have. No cure. Exterminitis Malfoyitis. Quite bothersome, really."
He sneered at her. "Cute, Weasley. Very cute."
"I thought so," she said haughtily. "You can leave now, Malfoy."
He arched one eyebrow and glared at her. "Maybe I don't want to."
He saw the hesitation flicker over her face and knew with sadistic pleasure that she couldn't think of a way to get him out of her room. Physical force wouldn't work--he was bigger and stronger than she was. Magic wouldn't work because her wand was across the room and he would be on her before she had taken two steps. She felt like stomping her foot as if she were five again.
"Get out!" she said, imperiously pointing toward the doorway.
He smirked at her. "What if I don't, Weasley? What are you going to do about it?"
She fumed in silence. "Fine!" she snarled. "Then I'll leave." She stomped toward the doorway, and Malfoy's lips curled in cold amusement.
"Oh, don't bother," he drawled. "I wouldn't dream of running a lady out of her own bedroom." Then he sauntered back through the adjoining door and closed it behind him.
There was a moment of shocked silence, then she shouted furiously through the wall, "You insufferable prick!"
"All the better to love you with, my dear," he called cheerily, and heard her little scream of frustration. Feeling infinitely more cheerful, he sat down at his desk again and felt another rivulet of blood run down his back.
He grimaced. The damned woman had actually cut him. Thrown a priceless vase at him and cut him with the damned thing. It was unbelievable. He sighed deeply. She was going to be hell on his antiques.
* * * * *
Ginny fisted her hands impotently and since she was alone in the room, she allowed herself to stomp her foot in complete frustration. The man was insufferable. A complete beast. She didn't know how she was going to pretend that she actually liked the stupid git. Remembering the look of shock on his face as she had thrown the vase at him, her lips curved in a small smile. It had been petty and borne out of her frustration, but it had felt good to throw the thing at him. And the look on his face was priceless. Then she remembered when he had turned to exit her room seeing a smudge of red on the back of his otherwise pristine blue shirt.
Her brow creased in a frown. Then she growled as realization dawned. Dammit, she had cut him. She bit her lip, torn. The empath in her made her want to go tend him, but the fighter in her made her want to gleefully watch him mop up his own blood. But eventually the ethics instilled in her by her mother made her heave a sigh. Gloomily, she trudged downstairs and through some trial and error found the kitchen. To her surprise, she saw that Draco was already there, seated in a chair. She felt her knees tremble a little when she saw him pull his shirt off over his head, leaving him bare from the waist up.
She found that all the spit had dried in her mouth, and licked her lips nervously. His back was to her, and the long curve of his spine made her swallow hard. Then she shook herself violently. What are you thinking? she demanded of herself. This is Malfoy. You just had a fight with him. You were just saying that he's a complete, worthless git. Just because he's pretty doesn't mean anything! But her hormones gleefully bounced up and down on her common sense and overpowered it.
She was momentarily distracted by her study of his body when she saw the wicked slice down the back of his shoulder blade. She bit her lip, her emotions swinging from lust to reluctant concern. She saw him slather some clear salve onto a cloth and try to rub it over his shoulder, but the angle was awkward and he kept missing it. She heard him curse her under his breath, and her lips wanted to twitch.
She stepped forward, and his head shot up like he had been shot. Then he glared. "What are you doing here? Haven't you done enough?"
"Shut up," she said brusquely, taking the cloth from him and dabbing it in some fresh salve. Then she stepped behind him. He flinched away from her hands, although she hadn't touched him yet. He eyed her warily over his shoulder. "I don't know if I want you back there messing around, Weasley. You might scar me for life."
"Don't be a big baby," she scolded. "I won't hurt you."
He snorted, and she glared at the back of his blonde head. Then she touched the cloth to the cut, and he sucked in his breath sharply, his skin flinching beneath her fingers. She bit her lip and dabbed gently at the cut. "Why are you doing this with this salve?" she asked softly. "It hurts more than if you used magic."
"Because it heals better," he said shortly. "Doesn't leave scars."
"The spells don't leave scars either."
"They do if you don't know them well enough," he said curtly. "And I don't. Healing was never my forte."
"No," she murmured. "I don't suppose it was. I can do the spells if you want me to."
"No," he muttered. "You've already started with this stuff. Go ahead and finish it." She obediently continued to dab gently at the wicked cut on his shoulder and saw the skin start to slowly knit together. The process was slow enough so that she couldn't see it if she continued to look at one spot on the cut, but if she moved her eyes away then back, the cut seemed to have grown slightly smaller, leaving only a faint chalk-line on his skin that would soon fade.
Once the cut was healed, Ginny put the cloth back on the table and went to the sink and ran some water to wash her hands. Draco watched her, confused by her. One minute she blew hot and the next she was cold. He had no idea what to expect from her. She took the cloth and ran it through the water and wrung it out, then came back to Draco and soundlessly and gently wiped away the salve that remained on his skin. He shivered at the touch of the cool rag, and Ginny had to swallow down another unwelcome flair of lust. She had been running her hands over the man for a good five minutes now, and she'd be a liar if she said she hadn't noticed.
Draco rose from the chair in a sinuous movement that simultaneously made Ginny's stomach clench and made her envious. Merlin's beard, he was so graceful. Just as much as her Uncle Jon. Damn that about them, she thought with a resigned sigh. She, the woman, was supposed to be the graceful one. Instead she was a complete klutz--she lost things all the time, she tripped on rugs, stubbed her toes, tripped over her own feet. . .It was a nuisance.
He turned to face her, and she swallowed hard. Wow, was all she could think. Obviously he hadn't been slacking from exercise. His torso was firm, and she could see the ripple of muscles as he moved. She resolutely dragged her eyes up to his face, and immediately knew it was a mistake.
When had his eyes become so gray? she thought, dazed. They had been muddy before, full of annoyance and taunts. Now they were like a storm-tossed sea, or molten mercury. Gorgeous, she thought dreamily, then shook herself, her eyes flying wide. This is Malfoy! her conscience shouted at her. Get a grip!
She blinked rapidly, and opened and closed her mouth for a moment. "I'm going to go look around," she blurted out, then escaped the kitchen.
Draco blinked. For a moment he had been sure he had seen. . .something in her eyes. But then it had been gone, just as she was. He shook his head and rolled his eyes as he pulled his shirt on again. Damned confusing, irritating woman.
* * * *
Ginny hurried up the stairs and into her room. Once she had closed the door behind her she started to pace quickly back and forth across the room. This is Malfoy, she lectured herself. Malfoy, of all people. You can not want to sleep with Malfoy. Get a grip!
Abruptly she remembered his arms that rippled with muscle whenever he moved. With a squeak, she shoved away those memories. "Not a grip on that," she muttered out loud, continuing to pace. "You are not allowed to be attracted to Malfoy," she told herself firmly. That was just asking for trouble. But her stubborn mind remembered his taut, muscled stomach and that little line of fine silvery blond hair that ran down his stomach.
She sat down on the edge of her bed. She dropped her head onto her knees. "Oh hell," she sighed. "I'm attracted to Malfoy. Bugger."
* * * * *
Hours later, after giving herself a stern talking-to, Ginny ventured downstairs. She had no idea where any of the house-elves were; the house seemed to be deserted. She wondered absently if Malfoy had employees. She would have expected a man like him to have them. But she had yet to see one. She was relieved--she didn't want to have to try to fool any employees. The functions that she would have to attend as Draco's wife would be bad enough. She needed the quiet sanctuary of the house to relax in. Not that there would be much relaxing, she thought grumpily. Damned hormones have ruined that for me.
She glanced hesitantly in the kitchen and saw that it was blissfully empty of one Draco Malfoy. She didn't know when dinner was supposed to be, or even if they'd eat dinner together, but for right now she was starving. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten all day. She reached for the door to the cold box. It looked much like the Muggle refrigerator that her father had shown her, but it was powered by magic instead of this 'electricity' business that her father was always so curious about. She opened the door and surveyed the contents of it. She made a face. You would think that a man with as much money as Malfoy would have someone to grocery shop for him, she thought acerbically. The only thing that was in the cold box was some jelly, some browning celery and beer. "Nice selection, ace," she muttered under her breath, shoving the door closed with her hip as she turned to open the cabinets.
She didn't have much luck there either, but she found some peanut better and bread, she sat them on the counter and pulled out the jelly, unconsciously humming to herself. She quickly found a knife in one of the drawers and set about making herself a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich.
* * * * *
Driven by hunger, Draco had gone downstairs, grumbling about house-elves who didn't do their jobs. He had yelled for Blinky, but the dumb creature hadn't come running. Grumpily, he had decided that he was perfectly capable of making himself some food. But you never have, whispered that annoying little voice in the back of his head. He immediately squashed it viciously. He shoved open the kitchen door and then stopped, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
The room was lit only by the fading sunlight that filtered in through the windows over the sink. His wife was standing at the counter, humming something softly to herself as she spread something over a piece of bread. When he slammed into the kitchen, she had jumped and spun to face him, her heart hammering. When she saw who it was, she immediately scowled. "Do you have to slam through the door like that?" she snapped. "You could scare the life out of someone."
"I could only wish," he muttered under his breath.
She curled her lip at him, feeling the cool taste of relief spread through her. When she looked at him she was only irritated--she didn't see the sexy, half-naked man that she had been lusting over just hours ago. Smirking to herself, she turned back to her sandwich.
He narrowed his eyes at her back. "What are you making?" he asked suspiciously.
"Arsenic," she said serenely. "To sprinkle on your salad."
His eyes narrowed to cold slits. "You're so funny, Weasley," he snapped. He stepped farther into the kitchen to peer over her shoulder.
She felt the warmth of him at her back, and it caused little shivers in her stomach, so she shouldered him away, scowling. "Don't look over people's shoulders," she snapped. "Don't you know it's rude?"
He curled his lip at her. "I wouldn't know about rudeness," he said coolly. "But obviously you do, seeing as it's so prevalent in your family."
She gritted her teeth, her hand clenching on the knife so hard that her knuckles were white. "Keep your mouth off my family, Malfoy," she snarled, keeping her back to him.
His smirked at her and brushed his lips over the back of her neck. "Why?" he whispered silkily. She froze beneath the touch, feeling like her muscles had spasmed. She felt her breath choke in her throat and goosebumps rise along her skin. Surprised and a bit smug at her reaction, Malfoy watched her as she reined her unruly body in. It only took her a few moments before she whirled to face him. "Stay away from me," she snapped. He took in her wild eyes and grinned.
"Why, Weasley, I didn't know you were that hard up," he said tauntingly, and saw her eyes flash with rage.
She brandished the knife at him, and he raised one eyebrow at her. "I don't believe that butter knives usually cause injuries, Weasley," he said dryly.
She curled her lip in a way that he saw with amusement was reminiscent of his own expression. "They can if they're pushed hard enough, Malfoy," she snarled. "Back off." Holding up his hands, he took two steps back from her but continued to smirk. Ginny ground her teeth, furious at her body's betrayal. She eyed Malfoy warily for a moment before turning back around to slap the two pieces of bread together. She took a vicious bite out of the sandwich and pushed coldly past Draco to plop down at the table. Draco watched in amusement. She was so clearly sulking.
Amused and wanting to consider the thought that Weasley was susceptible to his touch, he turned to survey the kitchen with hidden dismay. He had no idea where anything was. If Weasley can do it, then I can too, he thought staunchly, and opened a cabinet. He immediately shut it again when it yielded nothing except wine glasses. Might need those later, he thought grimly. Having Weasley in his house might drive him into a drunken stupor. Unwillingly, his mind remembered how she had reacted to just the brush of his lips. Would she respond that easily in bed? he wondered, then clamped down hard on those thoughts. I don't want that little freckled Weasley, he thought viciously. I don't! But he could remember how her body had shivered at his touch, and it tightened his body.
Feeling his temper rise with every cabinet that yielded nothing to eat, he finally turned on Ginny, who was surreptiously watching him in amusement. "Where the hell is all the food?" he snarled.
She eyed him peacefully and munched on her sandwich, obviously relishing her food in the face of his hunger. "It's your house," she said serenely. "Don't you know where things are?"
"Of course I don't," he snapped. "That's what I have house-elves for."
She shrugged one shoulder. "Then I can't help you," she said cheerfully. "You'll have to find it on your own. I did, and I just moved in."
"And Merlin willing you'll be out soon," he muttered under his breath, and had the cold satisfaction of seeing her eyes darken with annoyance. She bit down hard on her sandwich and glared at the tabletop, refusing to look at him. Draco swore under his breath. If he was ever going to have any food, he was going to have to be nice to her. Bloody hell. He bit his tongue for a moment, then demanded, "Fix me some food, Weasley."
Her head shot up in absolute shock, then she burst into laughter, nearly spitting out her bite of sandwich. He narrowed his eyes as she howled with laughter. "What's so funny about that?" he snapped.
She giggled, her eyes alight with laughter. "Do you honestly think I'm going to do anything for you? Especially when you try to order me around? I don't think so, Mr. Malfoy."
He growled under his breath. "You're my wife!"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me," she muttered, and he glared at her.
Still grinning broadly, Ginny wiped away tears that had collected at the corners of her eyes. "Ah Malfoy," she sighed. "You're always good for a laugh."
"I wasn't being funny," he said coldly. "You're my wife. You're supposed to take care of me."
She arched one eyebrow. "If I was your true wife," she said, her voice matching his in coldness, "I would. However, seeing as I'm not, you can fix your own damn sandwich."
He rapped his fist on the counter in frustration. He saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes and blinked. "I'm not going to hit you, Weasley," he snapped, goaded by the thought that she would think he would hit her. Granted, she wasn't his favorite person at the moment, but he had never struck a woman in his life, and he didn't intend that Weasley should break his record.
She rallied immediately. "I should hope not," she said haughtily. "Seeing as I'd have to gut you. And besides, I wasn't thinking that. I was thinking that you're going to crack that lovely marble counter and then you'll have to get it replaced."
He eyed her skeptically, but she crossed her arms, her lips pursed, daring him to contradict her. "I seriously doubt that," he muttered dryly, but didn't pursue the issue. He felt like whining like a little boy, and firmly shoved down the urge. Finally he decided that wheedling wasn't too closely to whining, so wheedling was permissible. "C'mon, Weasley," he coaxed. "Just one little sandwich. You don't want me to starve, do you?"
"It's my fondest wish," she said acerbically.
He sighed. He had walked into that one. He crossed his arms to mirror her position and leaned against the counter.
"Now look here, Weasley. I can't very well go out half-starved all the time. That would reflect badly on
you."
She rolled her eyes. "No it wouldn't. And besides, there's nothing to eat here. You have jelly and dead
celery and beer. Doesn't make much for a meal, Malfoy."
He jumped on that. "You're absolutely right," he agreed smoothly. "Which means that tomorrow you should probably go grocery shopping. But for tonight, you're eating something. That means that there's something around here to eat."
She smirked at him. "It's a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, Malfoy. Something that I don't think you would ever deign to eat."
"It's food, isn't it?" he snapped at her, dropping his pretense of pleasantness.
She smirked at him. "And the real Malfoy returns," she murmured to herself. Draco resisted the urge to shake the dratted woman. She was so damned frustrating! "Just fix me a sandwich!" he shouted at her. "I'm starving!"
"Fix it yourself," she said tartly. "You have two hands."
He had taken a half step toward her before he stopped himself. He whirled on his heel and flung open the door to the cold box. He glared at the empty shelves and snatched up one of the beers and took off the top with an irritated snap of his wrist. He chugged down two gulps, glaring in bad temper at the cabinets that hadn't yielded anything to eat. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him that he still hadn't eaten. And all because of his damnable wife.
He took a deep breath. He was a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake. Part of that was knowing what buttons to push to get people to do what he wanted. Surely he could handle the littlest Weasley. He sat down across from her at the table, and she eyed him warily. "Please, Virginia," he said softly. "I haven't eaten all day, and I'm hopeless in the kitchen. I really need your help." He watched in satisfaction as she hesitated. Asking a woman for help was a surefire way to get what he wanted, and he wasn't adverse to using it when needed. As his stomach clenched with hunger, he decided that this was assuredly one of those times when it was needed.
She stared across the table at him, feeling resentment bubble. Damn him for using her emotions against her, she thought fiercely. How did the man know exactly what to say? She had been ready to watch him fumble around himself in the kitchen, and now she was wavering. His eyes had gone soft and pleading, and he had half-reached across the table to her. Remembering the brush of his kiss on her neck, she suppressed a shiver. Feeling like she was a traitor to herself, she rose with a heavy sigh and silently went to the cold box and withdrew the jelly, then the peanut-butter and bread. She drew out her knife and quickly and efficently made up a sandwich for him.
Draco watched her in carefully hidden fascination. There was an economy in her movements that was somehow graceful and unbelievably sexy. She didn't have one wasted movement, and she was obviously at home in the kitchen. Her wine-red hair spilled over her back and shoulders, and the fading light made it burn like liquid fire Her eyes were a steady color that seemed at first a very dark, dull brown. However whenever you stared at that face, it seemed as though her eyes were a rich dark chocolate. Sometimes they were like drowning in the finest chocolate, other times it was as though they were the light, pale brown of a doe's coat. He was utterly fascinated by her eyes, despite that he was rapidly growing to hate her personality. Beneath her clothes her body was slender but had hints of curves that intrigued him. Abruptly he brought himself up short. This is Weasley, he reprimanded himself. Weasley. Focus on that.
Moments later, Ginny plunked a plate down in front of him with a messy sandwich on it and sat across from him to finish her own. He stared down at it, nonplussed. She hadn't been wrong when she said that he had never had a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich before. He gingerly picked it up and took a bite, wondering if she had put arsenic in it. Or something equally dire. But to his surprise it was good, if incredibly sticky. He swiped a chunk of peanut-butter off the roof of his mouth with his tongue, his face screwed up in concentration. Ginny ducked her head to avoid him seeing her smile. Oh, it was priceless to see the great Draco Malfoy eating a peanut-butter sandwich for the first time. Well worth the small inconvenience of actually making the sandwich.
His voice broke the silence that had fallen over the kitchen. "Where did you learn to make this?"
Startled, she looked up at him and saw that he looked uncomfortable, as if he hadn't meant to ask her. She smiled faintly and glanced back down at her plate for a moment. "My mother used to make them," she murmured. "In the summer, she'd always make them after we got done playing Quidditch. We'd sit in the kitchen and eat them, and I could always smell the gardenias that were outside the window." Her lips curved in a small smile. "I can still remember the smell of them," she murmured. "The taste of the sandwich. The feeling of being with my brothers." Unexpectedly she felt a lump rise to her throat. "I wouldn't give it up for anything," she whispered, swallowing hard and avoiding his gaze. She abruptly felt vulnerable, as if she had willingly stripped away her defenses before him. She had shared something fairly insignificant with him, but it was extremely personal to her. She felt like she had opened the gates and now he would bombard her with his sarcasm. But to her surprise, he said nothing, just stared down at his hands for a moment before taking a sharp bite out of his sandwich.
She glanced up at him hesitantly through her lashes, half wondering where his usual sarcastic and cutting comment was. But he remained silent, so she just looked down at her plate again.
Draco knew that he should have said something derrogatory, but all he could think of was a picture in his mind of a young Ginny among her brothers. He could imagine the scene, and it made yearning rise in him. His family had never been informal, never ate together at anything less than a huge table that separated them and made connecting difficult. Conversation had been sparing and stilted. Draco had essentially been alone, and having grown up that way, he liked it. He couldn't imagine having a family like the Weasleys, a rowdy bunch of loud noise and laughter. Laughter had never rang in his house. It irritated him that he should feel a yearning for something of that sort now.
He finished off his sandwich and slugged down the rest of the beer, then threw away the bottle and stalked out of the kitchen in silence, his face drawn into a scowl.
Left alone in the kitchen, Ginny watched him go in surprise. What did I say? she wondered in bewilderment. First he hadn't insulted her, and now he looked as though she had made him angry. She shook her head as she rose to wash the two dishes that they had used. Men were so odd, she thought with a sigh.