Fruits De Mer

a/n:I was considering writing this immediately after I finished Red Moon Dreaming, and Kaykos's review just convinced me further. But it took me so long. Not because it was hard to write, but I just kept stopping and leaving it for later. But alas, it is finally here! The D/G companion piece! You may want to read

Red Moon Dreaming

first - but it's not required, especially since it's R/Lu, and it may not be your piece o' cake.

Fruits de mer is French for 'seafood'.

disclaimer: Well, JKR said all the credit should go to me. But she sort of created the characters. But the Piabble is all mine, I tell you. All mine.

"You don't want me," a strangely familiar redhead protested.

"Course I do," Draco Malfoy insisted, his hands sliding around her soft waist and pulling her body hard into his, "don't you feel it?" He asked, his voice dropping low.

She let out a kind of whimper and her soft body melted against his hard, angular one and she let out a low moan. "He won't approve," she hissed, as Draco spun her around and tossed her onto the large, white bed.

"Who?" He murmured, half interested as he concentrated on pulling her knickers out from under her skirt.

"You know who�"

"Voldemort?" He teased, and she flinched, and then froze.

"I hadn't thought about him�." She confessed, and wouldn't let Draco make love to her.

Draco woke from his dream and calmly flipped over onto his other side, chasing after the images of a heavenly woman who wouldn't have a bit of a shag.

No one refuses Draco Malfoy, he thought dully, closing his eyes.

They were in the thick of it now, in a lovely bed. Everything was hot and wet and cold at the same time, and they moved to a fast rhythm that followed no rules. It was a staccato, beating in their hearts at an irregular meter and an invisible tug of their souls.

She was so smooth, so soft, so supple. Freckles littered only her face and arms, except for one gathering of the them in the small of her back. He noticed such amazing things about her, now.

"Draco -" She cried out, her voice hoarse.

"What?" He asked, concentrating.

"Faster, harder, aaaaieee!!!" A loud, masculine voice mocked. "No, no, it's more of a growl - Graaauuuugh!" A deeper, heavier accented one responded.

"You make it sound like she's a troll!" Blaise Zabini exclaimed, looking at Vincent Crabbe strangely.

"Might as well have been, it was Millicent�" Crabbe said, and chortled at his own joke.

Blaise rolled his dark eyes. "You're not much better, mate," he quipped, standing.

Draco parted his bed curtains and looked at them angrily. "Is it customary for daft gits like you to conduct loud conversation right next to my bed, or is it a special occasion?"

"Special occasion," Blaise snapped back, always ready with a sharp insult, "because said bed was hosting a wet dream."

Draco rolled his eyes, though his neck turned a slight pink. "Closer to anything than you've experienced, Zabini."

"Perhaps I, but Crabbe here was just telling me about the lovely tryst he had with Millicent Bulstrode." Blaise said, mock punching Crabbe in the arm. "Way to go, ol' buddy, ol' pal."

Draco flung back his sheets and slid out of bed. "I really don't need any of that mental imagery, thanks." He began to collect his bath amenities and a change of clothes.

"What imagery? Oh, you wouldn't mean that of Millicent and Crabbe writhing in a mass of Slytherin sheets, shrieking and panting and sweat-"

The door slammed and Draco had left the dormitory, headed for the prefect's bathroom in his bathrobe.

He didn't know who he'd been dreaming about, he reasoned. No, you could never know when it was a good dream. If it was a good dream, there was lots of sex, but it was faceless, nameless, no identity to have to worry about facing in the morning. That was what made it good, after all. The fact that there was no tag, no strings added, just pure passion in your mind without the embarrassing ramifications that knowing who you were shagging in your dreams could have.

So if he didn't think about her, about how bloody familiar she'd looked, he wouldn't know, and the dream would be good. It would be better than good, it would be the best bloody dream he'd ever had in his life.

He gave the password and slipped into the prefect's bathroom. The large bathtub met him and he filled it to the rim, before disrobing and slipping in. The water was warm and cleansing, no bubbles, no scents, just pure, clear water which washed away any doubt. In this case, he knew, it wasn't really doubt, as it was more of the opposite - a fact that he knew who he'd been shagging and he just didn't want to face it.

Draco frowned, as he ducked his head under the water to wet his hair. Think how horrid it could be if he ended up remembering - facing Ginny Weasley in the Great Hall and knowing he had dreamt of her legs wrapped about his waist and his lips locked onto her white hot skin.

He stopped his thoughts quite abruptly. He knew. Oh, he knew, he'd known it all along, that horrible, nasty knowledge. Ginny fucking Weasley, parading about in his dreams. God only knew how she'd gotten herself in them.

That entire family was enough of a virus to the real world - always reproducing and adding another Weasley to the wizarding population. The last thing they needed to do was start appearing in his dreams. As Draco rubbed some of his shampoo between his palms, he fervently prayed that none of the other Weasley children would be appearing next.

Draco next rinsed, conditioned, rinsed, and repeated the process. Twice. Usually one repeat was good enough, but now he felt a certain filth clung to his skin.

Only a little bit of skin, revealed by a few missing blouse buttons. But there it was, her skin, pale and freckled in the moonlight. He kissed it, and she clung to him.

They were sitting in a gondola. Dobby the house elf was rowing the long, narrow boat down the canal, even wearing a striped shirt.

"I've loved you a very long time," he heard himself whispering, "from before I was born."

"Rubbish," Ginny said, swatting his arm. "You're in it for the sex."

"And what wonderful sex it is," he said, and he felt his lips curl into a wicked grin.

He suckled at her neck again and he wondered why it was she tasted like soap.

Soap, filling his mouth. Draco sat up abruptly, spitting out the foul taste, and looking around in a panic. Not another one. He was glad that he was still alone, it wouldn't be the best thing to be found asleep in the bathtub. Of course, it wasn't a good idea to fall asleep in a bath anyways - he figured it was better to be found asleep rather than drowned.

He reluctantly got out of the large bathtub and started to dry himself off with a plush towel.

These dreams were too frequent, he thought to himself, far too many in such a short amount of time. He briefly toyed with the idea that perhaps it was an elaborate plot hatched by Potter and Weasel, to try and mess with his mind. But Saint Potter and that wretched Weasley weren't smart enough to come up with something that could torment him this much. And he very much doubted that the Weasel would agree to give him dreams about Ginny. What was he doing calling her Ginny, anyways? She was a Weasel. Weasley, Weasel, ragamuffin, lovesick for Potter-Draco wrinkled his nose at that thought. How she could see anything in that speccy prat was beyond comprehension.

She deserved to like someone better, he thought idly, as he dressed and headed back to the dormitory. He dropped his things off in his room and then started for the Great Hall. She deserved somebody better, someone with more taste - whose hair wouldn't clash with hers when it mixed on the pillow, someone who at least acknowledged her existence as something more than Ron Weasley's darling little virgin sister. Draco stopped.

This was getting out of hand. He turned around and started off for Snape's office. If there was anyone who would know what kind of horrible curse had been placed upon him, it would be Snape.

And anyways, who did he think was better for her? Himself? He had to be kidding himself. Either that or he had eaten something strange for supper. Granted, his hair didn't clash with hers, he knew she existed - and he definitely knew she existed as more than a pure younger sibling of Weasley, thanks to his recent dreams. It was all those dreams that were causing this. These were those ramifications he had been dreading earlier.

Wretched things, these consequences.

He rapped at the door three times, and waited for a response.

Snape opened the door, and looked down his long nose at Draco. "Mr. Malfoy," he greeted him coolly, opening the door wider so that he could come in. "What can I assist you with, this morning?"

"I've been having these dreams," Draco started, flopping into a chair and spinning around idly. "Dreams about a girl I shouldn't be having dreams about, and there've been three, in a row, just from last night and this very morning."

"Three girls or just three dreams?" Snape asked boredly, shuffling some papers on his desk.

"Dreams. Same girl."

"What girl?" Snape countered, and Draco shot him a fierce glare.

"None of your business, of course." He said, playing patterns on the armrest. "It doesn't matter, all that matters is that I've had three dreams, already."

Snape quirked an eyebrow, looking at his student suspiciously. "It wouldn't happen to be a Gryffindor, would it?"

Draco said absolutely nothing, staring him down icily.

"That's what I thought." Snape said, smiling dryly. "I understand why you would be worried - I wouldn't want to be dreaming about a muggleborn either-"

"I'm not dreaming about Mudblood Granger!" Draco said, sitting up in his seat very suddenly. "Good God, have you gone mad?"

"You implied by your silence that it was a Gryffindor and I naturally assumed�" Snape stopped, and tilted his head up, keeping a steely gaze on Draco. "If it is not Miss Granger who plagues your dreams," he said, "the only other option that would bring so much� fluster� is a certain Miss Weasley."

Draco felt his neck turn pink, and it spread to his nose. "Fine, fine it's her! But that's hardly the point. I want to know why I'm having these dreams and why so many!"

Snape coughed and hid a smile. "You may be having these dreams purely out of lust, Mr. Malfoy. You may just happen to find Miss Weasley� attractive."

Draco sneered. "If it was mere lust, Professor, I wouldn't have had it so many times in one day."

"Perhaps you're right," Snape said, raising his eyebrows, "I'll look into it and get back to you with some� helpful advice later today. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Draco shook his head and left, feeling slightly humiliated, and very disgusted with himself. At least he knew he could trust that Snape wouldn't blab it all over school. If there was anyone who Draco would choose to entrust a dangerous secret to - it was Snape.

And this was certainly very dangerous.

Read and review! Huffah!
- Vanilla

a/n: Chapter two! Enjoy.

Draco strode confidently into the Great Hall, looking forward to a good breakfast to set his mind straight and his conscience clear.

He took his seat at the Slytherin table and was doing a very good job of staring at his food. But he couldn't keep it up, he knew that. Before he realized that he was giving in, his head lifted and he gazed across the Hall, straight at Ginny.

She looked exactly like she did in his dreams. That was a bit of a surprise, he'd never really looked at her, nor paid attention to her, but there she was - the spitting image. Her hair curled and waved and looked like wine. Much prettier than her ginger brothers' hair - not an orange mop of straw. He thought of it mingling with his on a Slytherin pillow - looking deep and gorgeous against the green, complimenting his own silvery hair in a stark contrast of cold and warm. Draco wrinkled his nose. He was thinking too much again.

He turned back to his breakfast, as Pansy Parkinson flounced into the seat next to his.

"Hello, lover," she said, drawing out the R. Draco nearly choked on his bacon. He didn't think people actually said that seriously. But Pansy was no normal person, he reasoned.

"Parkinson," he greeted her coolly.

"I was thinking we could skip Care of Magical Creatures and spend some � quality time."

Draco lifted his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, comparing her to the youngest Weasley. He had had sex with Pansy before - obviously - but that was really a matter of keeping up appearances. They were, in all conventional meanings of the term, a couple. But it was casual, flippant, and cold. Pansy seemed to be more attached than was perhaps necessary, but Draco's father had taught him that the fierce loyalty of a lover could come in handy.

Draco had yet to test this theory, and he was beginning to doubt that Lucius had known anything since he had been thrown into Azkaban. He was simply losing faith in his father.

The Great Hall was suddenly abuzz, with a fresh piece of gossip. Judging by the way it spread - it seemed to have originated at the Gryffindor table. Draco watched as the wave of whispering students traveled from table to table, until finally, it reached Blaise, who leaned over and told Pansy, who turned to Draco excitedly.

"Dirt on Weasley!" She squealed, and he looked up from his dinner abruptly.

"Which one?" He asked, and she stared at him in confusion for a moment.

"Oh, that's right - there's two of them, isn't there? Well, anyways, the boy asked the Mudblood to fuck, and she turned him down!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Everybody knows she's in love with Potter, anyways."

Pansy looked at him strangely. "What?"

"Nevermind," he said, standing up. "I'd better go taunt him now."

"Already?" She asked, putting a hand to his thigh, "But you haven't even had breakfast yet."

"I had some food before you came," he said icily, and straightened his robes. He fixed his gaze on the Gryffindor table, and headed over.

As Draco approached, Weasley seemed to be in a rather serious discussion with Potter. Granger had disappeared. Weasley spoke: "That question I asked Hermione, I mean. See, she was supposed to say something else-"

Draco took his chance to interrupt. "Potty, Weasel." He greeted them, positioning himself behind Ginny so he wouldn't have to meet her eye.

"It's gotten all over school that you asked the Mudblood to do the nasty and she rejected you, Weasley." He said, waspishly.

Weasley's ears turned red and he looked down at his plate. They were so bloody predictable. Draco decided to press it further.

"How's it feel to be turned down by a filthy little-"

Ginny flounced out of her seat, and, eyes burning, delivered a stinging slap to Draco's face. He recoiled, touching his face briefly, and staring down at her angrily.

They really had ruined her - she really did deserve better. She deserved silk sheets to make love to in, and diamonds in her hair. She needed to be treated like a princess, not some tomboy. He was filled with contempt for her older brothers and their raising of Ginny.

"Don't talk about Hermione like that!" Ginny hissed at him, curling her hands into tight fists at her sides. Those same hands that in his dreams had stroked his chest and ran down the length of his�

"What are you going to do about it, Weaselette?" He taunted her, wanting feverishly to elicit a reaction from her, to see her flaming hair shaking in anger.

"I'll kick your ass!" Ginny shoved him with all her might, causing him to pull back slightly, before he caught her wrists tightly, and held them in front of him. He couldn't do anything with Potter watching with a death glare, but Weasley seemed to have� fallen asleep.

He grabbed her chin and twisted it so that he could whisper into her ear. "You try and kick my ass, Ginny," she shivered at the use of her first name, "and I'll fuck your brains out."

She twisted out of his grip and glared at him, her eyes blazing heat. Draco was overcome with desire.

Weasley suddenly woke up screaming, before Potter had a chance to reach for his wand. The three of them - and Loony Lovegood, who was for some reason at the Gryffindor table - all turned to look at him in surprise.

"You dozed off and had another strange dream?" Harry guessed, and Ron nodded, glaring at Draco with a horribly angry face.

"You," he growled, pointing a finger at him, "will never lay a hand on my sister ever!" He threatened, his eyes glowing dangerously.

Draco felt a sickly pink rise up in his neck, creeping around his ears and over his nose.

"No chance of that," he said unsteadily, trying to convince both Weasley and himself. "I'd never dream of laying a hand on any Weasley trash." With this, he turned on his heel and left the Great Hall, feeling awash with anger, desire, and humiliation.

How would Weasley even guess what had been running through Draco's mind - through his veins? It was inconceivable.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Snape's voice called out, sharply. "I've found something that may be of interest to you."

Draco turned on his heel and waited for the professor to catch up to him. "Apparently," Snape said coolly, "Dumbledore served a special sort of fish with last night's trout. Have you ever heard of the Piabble, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco wrinkled his nose in thought. "No," he said "I can't say I have. What is it?"

"The Piabble was thought to be a purely mythological creature. However, they are just extremely rare. Evidently Dumbledore decided to serve one to the students as a sort of hidden treat among the normal trout. They're closely related, the two fish."

"So what does it do?" Draco asked, suspiciously, and began walking with Snape.

"The story is that it gives you strange dreams," Snape said, eying him, "however - these dreams are said to show you glimpses of your future."

"My future?" Draco said, and snorted. "I'm supposed to fuck her in the future?"

Snape allowed a corner of his lip to twitch upward slightly. "Apparently so," he said smoothly.

Draco waved it off. "It must be wrong, then, I couldn't have gotten the Piabble. There's no way she would even consider it." He started off down the hall again.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape called after him, and Draco paused to look over his shoulder. "The Piabble is never wrong. The future cannot be altered." With this he turned and left, his robes billowing behind him.

"Rubbish," Draco murmured, and started off for the library, to research this Piabble and find something to contradict Snape's ominous warning.

Draco was sitting in the library, eagerly awaiting lunch. The search for contradictory evidence was going wretchedly. Every book he skimmed was staunchly upholding the silly notion that the Piabble was always right - always inevitable, always true. The idea was ghastly. There was no way he could avoid having sex with the youngest Weasley? Surely there was some way to get out of it. Not that the idea of making love to Ginny was unpleasant. He found that many of his thoughts strayed to it, in fact, and the dreams were not entirely unbearable.

If she was anything like in his dreams - it wouldn't be too bad of a future.

Draco turned a page idly, the words blurring.

"I love you." She said to him, as he reeled in a large fish. They sat on a lovely dock over a lovely lake, in some lovely, serene, mountain area. Everything had a brown haze over it - except for her blood-red hair.

Draco could not bring himself to argue with her over that comment. It in fact ran chills down his spine and he felt his fingers tremble so extremely that the fishing rod slipped out of his grasp and fell, with a splash, into the river.

He turned and looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?" He croaked out. Ginny blushed, a tinge of red in the sepia-colored world.

"I know it sounds crazy," she said, leaning back on the dock, her red hair spilling out over the wood. "But it could work out, if we really tried."

"Don't be silly," he scolded her, reaching out for a lock of her crimson hair. "We can't try that hard, it would be too conspicuous."

Ginny sat up, her hair spilling over her shoulders and her brown eyes gleaming in the warm light. "If it ended up being conspicuous - we wouldn't be trying hard enough."

Draco's eyes flitted open and he glared. At first, it had been the concept of sex with Ginny that was ridiculous. He allowed himself to weaken his defenses against it, and now the Piabble-induced dreams were throwing 'love' into the mix. He had a great resentment towards all seafood at the moment.

It wasn't that he disliked love, he just thought it was a rather silly, unattainable notion. Love was something for the Golden Trio to look for in life - to look for an unreachable goal that glitters in sunlight and yet always flits out of reach. Like the Snitch. A tiny emblem, which, if you really thought about, was unnecessary, but so many yearned to catch. Draco usually subscribed to the ideal that if you get the chance to marry out of love, go ahead and do it. It would, of course, be harmless. And well, more power to you if you can find it. But if it takes you too long to attain it - if your entire life revolves around the concept of love and finding your true love, give it up. Marry for money, marry for power, marry for convenience.

No, he thought, he didn't have anything against love. But love, it appeared, seemed to have something against a lot of people. He didn't want to bother it, and so he didn't search for it.

Now the blasted Piabble dreams were insinuating not only that he would become sexually involved with Ginny, which, admittedly, was nothing too horrible, but they now decided that they would love each other as well. How horrid, he thought to himself. It would have been better to have been hexed, after all.

He caught a flash of red hair across the library. It was Ginny, with some girls, huddled about giggling and studying. They must have come in while he was dozing. At first a thought struck him. He ought to get this whole thing over with.

Draco recoiled from the table, feeling a bit disgusted with himself. He here was, acting like it was torture to bed the Weaselette. Far from it. The dreams he'd had gave a sort of promise to the situation. But what to do about the fourth dream he'd had just now? Love? Rubbish, he thought to himself, absolute trash. He'd ignore that part of the dreams, for now. But if he was going to eventually seduce her in one way or another - what better time than now, when he was young and healthy�. His thoughts trailed to an end. That would be another horrible reason. He would do this, he decided, because she was rather pretty and had a fiery temper that would unleash splendidly in bed. You know what they say about redheads, he said to himself in his mind, over and over, until he reached her table.

"Weasley," he greeted her, and her friends all looked away from him immediately. They were intimidated by his mere presence, and that made him feel incredible.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She snapped, her eyes flitting up to meet his. They were just like the ones in his dream - bright and gleaming, with a look of promise in them. Draco did all he could to contain his admiration.

"Could I have a word?" He asked, stuffily.

Ginny glared at him suspiciously, but pushed her chair back from the table, stood, and followed him to a more secluded area. "Now what do you want?" She urged.

"Weasley, have you ever heard of a certain thing called the Piabble?" He asked, deciding to be rather straightforward.

Ginny looked mildly surprised. "Well, Luna's talked about it before - quite recently, really. Why?"

"Dumbledore served one for dinner last night and I got a bit of it." He looked at her pointedly.

Ginny was beginning to look slightly suspicious. "It's lovely to hear," she said, "and I suppose you must be having some wonderful dreams about being a Death Eater and wasting away in Azkaban-"

Draco slammed a hand over her mouth, pressing her up against a bookcase. "Is that what you think is in my future?" He hissed, keeping his voice very low. "You think I'm going to become a duplicate of my father, who threw his life away so that he could kiss the boots of an evil wizard who's going to lose this ridiculous war anyways, and end up in prison, rotting away until I'm nothing more than a blubbering pile of mush?"

Ginny bit down on his hand, and he pulled it back, but kept his other hand tightly clamped onto her arm, effectively keeping her against the bookcase.

"Why not?" She asked, flippantly, her eyes glimmering dangerously. "What else would you become?"

Draco was overcome with a want to leave her and never touch her again. For an odd, fleeting reason, he felt disgusted that she thought of him so horribly. He knew she disliked him, but assuming he was a carbon copy of Lucius was pushing it too far in his book.

"It's never occurred to you, of course," he found himself saying, "that I'm not my father?"

Ginny looked only slightly ashamed. "I never said you were him, but it's perfectly natural to assume that you'll grow up to be just like him."

"Why?" He hissed, leaning in close, so that his nose almost touched hers. "Why does it come so naturally to you to assume the worst of me?"

"You're a Slytherin," she said emphatically, "we're not supposed to expect the best of you lot."

Draco drew away slightly. So it was mere house pride and programmed belligerence to the Malfoys that caused these caustic lashings.

"I may be a Slytherin, and I may be a Malfoy. But I'm no Death Eater and I'm definitely no Lucius."

Ginny was silent, only looking at him. She didn't seem to be glaring at him, but she wasn't looking very fond of him either.

"Well?" She finally spoke, looking at him expectantly. "What about your dreams, then?"

"They're a bit hard to explain," he said, releasing her arm, "and before I attempt it, I should remind you that what the Piabble says is completely true. And must happen. The future is unalterable, etcetera, etcetera."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. What's so important that you had to tell me?"

Draco looked her straight in the eye, and put on his most serious face. "I have to have sex with you," he said, bluntly.

She didn't bat a lash. "Funny joke, Malfoy, you almost had me going with your speech about your individuality-"

"It's not a goddamn joke!" He bellowed, and they both looked round to make sure no one had taken notice.

"Malfoy," she said calmly, "I just don't believe you. I'm a Weasley - a ruddy Gryffindor, for God's sake, and you want to have sex with me? It's too transparent. Work on your story a bit, and it may make a rather humorous practical joke."

He gritted his teeth. "The only place, other than your face and arms, that you've got freckles, is the small of your back."

Ginny's face went pale. "How did you-"

They looked at each other for a very long moment.

"So, what, you've just got to sleep with me, one time or another?" She finally croaked out.

"Eventually," he said lamely, "it's kind of inevitable, you see."

She seemed to shrink back. "I've never� done that," she whispered.

Draco wasn't very surprised. Ginny had dated several boys before, but he'd never even seen her snog one, and if you aren't snogging in the halls, you're not shagging.

Ginny continued. "It would just be strange because I kind of want my first time to be� special," she paused here, as though she wasn't sure why she was telling him this.

"Are you saying I'm not special?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow, and eliciting a small smile from her.

"Malfoy, I just wanted it to be with someone I loved."

Draco leaned in, so that his lips brushed her ear. It sent a satisfying shiver throughout Ginny's body. "I would make it special," he insisted, ignoring her latter comment.

"How special?" She asked, so quietly he wouldn't have heard her if his face was not brushing with hers.

"What?" He asked, drawing back and looking at her in surprise. He hadn't expected her to give in, even in the slightest.

"How special could you make it?" She clarified, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Could you make me forget it was you I was with?"

A muscle in Draco's jaw twitched, and he felt a bit insulted at her wishing to forget who he was. "I suppose I could try. With proper lighting�." He trailed off, looking at her intently.

"Special," Ginny said pointedly, "you swear it'll be special."

"I swear," he said hoarsely. "But it'll have to be right away. As soon as I'm ready, I'll send an owl. You'll know what to do from the letter. Agreed?"

She nodded silently, and he felt a bit of sympathy. The way he said it made him sound like it was a business appointment.

A/N: And the plot thickens�. Flames and love letters can be left in a review. : )

A/N: Trying to have this be the last chapter so that it will truly be the companion to Red Moon Dreaming - but D/G is more complicated than R/LL. : /

She agreed, Draco kept telling himself, as he transfigured his Slytherin sheets hurriedly. No silver, no snakes embroidered in the corners. Just green, a deep emerald. Silk, they had to be silk, he thought angrily, fumbling as he waved his wand over them.

He tried laying against them and looking up at the top of his bed, and he frowned. It needed something to accent the lavish drapery. Diamonds, she needed diamonds or pearls or emeralds. Where the fuck was he going to get diamonds?

"Draco!" Pansy's shrill voice sounded, at the door to the dormitory. Draco sat up and looked over at where she stood, her body flung suggestively on the frame.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded. "This is the boys dormitory."

"I came to visit you, of course," she said, smiling vapidly, and swinging a string of fake pearls around her finger. They caught Draco's eye.

"Can I borrow those?" He asked abruptly, reaching out and tugging at them.

"What for?" She asked, suspiciously.

"A surprise," he said, nonchalantly.

"For me?!" She shrieked, clapping her hands together in glee.

Draco rolled his eyes and tugged at them again. "Yes, come on and fork 'em over, then."

Pansy giggled madly, and took off the pearls for him.

He immediately headed back to his bed, and then paused, looking over at Pansy, who was watching eagerly. He turned, stiffly, and then pocketed the pearls in his robes. "Is there anything else you want?" He demanded.

"What kind of surprise is it?" She asked, rushing over, and clinging to him.

"I'm not telling you anything," he growled, pushing her off his chest. She was staring at his bed. "Get out now," he said, "I need to work on the surprise." He started tugging her towards the door.

"There's something different about your bed, Draco," she said, letting herself be pulled away, "but I can't put my finger on it."

Draco shoved her through the frame and shut the door in her face, and then quickly locked it.

He crossed the room in quick strides, transfiguring the pearls as he walked. He draped the now extremely long strands over the woodwork, so that they hung in low arches. He flopped back on the bed and stared up at his handiwork, the lavish pearls accenting the emerald swag perfectly. He stared a long time, and then wondered if even this was enough.

Truth be told, Draco had never tried to make things special for the girls he had been with. It wasn't that he wasn't romantic or anything, it was just that he'd never cared. He'd never liked anyone for anything other than their appearance, and sometimes it was purely out of convenience. There was never any special time taken beforehand to ensure that it would be memorable.

He ignored why he thought she deserved it.

He looked at the pearls for a long time, and then went to the owlery.

Looking down at the smooth, creamy piece of parchment, he hesitated. Then he swiftly wrote,

The password to the Slytherin common room entrance, in the dungeons, is Betelgeuse. Attached is my invisibility cloak.
- Head Boy

Draco recklessly threw his eagle owl out the window with the note and package, and watched drowsily as it soared across the sky.

Draco had never seen a more beautiful sky. It was a deep, royal blue. Large, fluffy clouds floated by, and one seemed to be shaped like a � mermaid? The cloud gathered and sparkled and Draco blinked. It was a mermaid. In the sky. She smiled at him, twirling her silver hair around a white finger.

"This is your last dream, young man," she cooed, smiling.

"About bloody time," he snapped.

"Have you taken them all to heart?" She asked, tilting her head.

"I'm taking care of it, trust me."

The mermaid lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. "What about the ones concerning love?"

"Fuck off!" He yelled, and the mermaid blinked, and dissipated into clouds again. Suddenly it was cold.

Draco's eyes flittered open, and realized he was laying on the cold, stone floor of the owlery. He heaved himself up immediately and rushed back to his room.

Draco lay on his bed, staring at the top of it, at the waves of green silk and the low strands of pearls.

Suddenly, there was a low creaking noise as his door opened.

He didn't look over at her, as she quietly approached the bed, clambered on, and shut the curtains behind her.

"Did you lock the door?" He queried, and she gave whisper of affirmation.

Draco finally glanced over at her, and immediately regretted it.

Ginny was weeping, silently. Her eyes were puffy and red, and he wondered how long she had been crying.

He stared at her for a moment, marveling at the way her hair looked in contrast to the silk and the pearls hanging from his bed, and then spoke. "I'm not going to� force you to do anything if you don't-"

She lay beside him, sniffling and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "No," she said firmly. "I know that it has to eventually happen."

Draco sat up and looked down at her, her scarlet hair strewn across his silk sheets. She had stopped crying, and her sobs had muffled. "What� what's this?" She spoke up, her voice trembling; and she reached at the pearls.

"I said I would make it special," he explained, watching her carefully. "So I did."

Ginny stared at him, silent, and sat up so that they were facing each other. She pressed her lips against his.

Draco pulled back, abruptly. "What was that for?" He asked, bewildered.

"Well we're supposed to-you know-and I figured we'd better start eventually." Ginny said, tucking a strand of her hair behind a pink ear.

"I'm not 'starting' until you're sure that you can do this without blubbering about it for the rest of your life." He snapped, and she started crying again, and buried her face in her hands.

"I just don't understand it," she said, around her hands, "I just don't understand why it has to be you."

Anger flared inside of him, and he grabbed her wrists and pried them away from her face, glaring straight at her puffy eyes. "You think I was delighted to find it was you?" He snarled, his eyes flashing. "You really think it's such a simple matter for me?"

"My family-" she started, but he cut her off with a growl.

"Your family?!" He shouted, fixing her with an incredulous stare. "At least your family would fancy you under a spell or something! Your family wouldn't disown you or kill you or make sure you would never be treated respectfully anywhere again in your life. You think you have things on the line? If my father finds out that we were engaged in such-contact and that we had fallen in-"

He stopped himself, turning away, his eyes now stormy and troubled.

"What did you say?" Ginny said, hoarsely.

"I didn't say anything!" He roared, turning back to her.

"You did too!" She shrieked, "You said we would fall in something and I want to know what that something is! What did that stupid piece of fish tell you, Draco?" She asked, grabbing his shoulders.

"Love," he said miserably, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head. "The fucking Piabble said we would fall in love."

She released his shoulders and clasped a hand over her mouth, turning away.

"I didn't-" he began, but she shook her head, removing her hand and laying back down.

"It must be true," she said, after a long silence. "How could it be wrong?"

"If I'm under some kind of hex - maybe there's no such thing as it - maybe Snape lied just to tease me-" he shot out possibilities.

She shook her head, her crimson curls quivering. "Ron has been having the same sort of sudden dreams," she said, "there's no way it would just be coincidence."

"He must be under a spell too," he said lamely, "we're all under one huge, Goddamn spell, and it's just someone torturing us."

Ginny looked up at him. "Of course we are," she whispered, "we're all under the spell of life and living, and it's just destiny torturing us."

Draco shot a glare at her, but it was halfhearted.

"It'll get us eventually," she said, as he lay down next to her.

"It doesn't have to get us right now," he said, reaching out and twisting a curl around his finger. "Who says we have to get it over with?"

She looked at him in shock. "All of that hullabaloo and we don't have to?"

"Well, it's inevitable eventually," he said, "but I suppose� if you don't want to right now�."

She bit her lip, her brown eyes moist.

"But Draco," she said, and a shiver traced down his spine as she said his name, "that means it won't get out of the way. That means� you have to drag this out. Over time. Make it� last. Do you really think-?"

"No," he said stubbornly, "I don't."

She glared at him, and he glared back.

"But it said so," he conceded, making a pouty face, "and I guess that makes it so."

They fell into a very pregnant silence.

"Don't you wish� that you had skipped supper?" She said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Draco kissed her, out of wonder. He wondered what it was like. What it would be like.

He reached out and cradled her face in his hands, keeping her pressed against him, before pulling away slightly.

Ginny looked bewildered and beautiful. "And what was that for?" She asked, and he said nothing, but kissed her again.

After a moment, he pulled completely out of her embrace and stared back up at the bed canopy. "It won't be too horrid, I imagine," he said, his voice rumbling.

She looked at him in wonder for a moment, and then leaned back against the pillows and stared upward also. "I imagine," she said.

"What happens if someone finds out? About this? What if your brother asks where you've been?" He suddenly said, turning his head to look at her profile, and counting the freckles on her cheek.

"I� I'll say we� I'll tell him that we you know-" she said, flustered.

"He'll kill me. And it's not true."

"He won't kill you. And it'll give us an excuse for when it actually happens. When destiny finally catches us."

"I'll pretend I only used you to fulfill the Piabble's sordid bits," he said, catching on.

"And I'll pretend you broke my heart," she said, and turned her head, startled to find him looking at her.

She kissed him, and left.

Dinner came all too quickly. Draco had been eating for a mere fifteen minutes when Ron Weasley barged into the Grand Hall and swooped down upon his sister.

Draco watched carefully for a moment, as Ginny turned a shade of pale.

"YOU DID?!" Weasley roared, and the hall fell silent.

Draco quickly stood up and headed towards them, ready to play the proper part.

"It's none of your ruddy business!" Ginny shrieked, standing up from her bench and looking her brother in the eye.

"The hell it isn't!" He shouted, "He's evil!"

Draco smirked, stepping forward. "You flatter me," he interrupted, "but I'm afraid I'm not that bad."

Weasley turned around and sent a flailing punch into Draco's nose. "I told you never to touch her!" He bellowed. The dining room erupted with discussion.

Draco put a hand to his throbbing face and glared at Weasley with icy eyes. "You can't change anything the Piabble shows you. Might as well get it over with, I said to myself."

He noticed as Ginny's face flickered for a moment, and then swiftly fell into a forced, sad grimace.

"So you did get the fish!" Weasley exclaimed, and turned to his sister. "What do you have to say for yourself?" He asked her, and Ginny's face remained firm.

"I didn't think I was something to just get over with," she screeched at Draco, who didn't bat an eye. "Best fuck in my life, you said, midnight at the Astronomy tower, you said. Get it over with?!" She was livid, her eyes flashing, her hair tumbling over her shoulders during her frantic speech, and Draco thought she never looked more alluring.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Pity it didn't work out, you were rather good," he said, and left. As he glided out the door, he caught a glimpse of her sitting down, stonyfaced.

Draco stormed into his room and ran a hand through his hair. Midnight at the astronomy tower, she had said.

And after all; destiny literally had all the time in the world to catch up to them.

A/N: Review, if you loved it, hated it, or were entirely ambivalent about the matter. Either way I love your feedback.