Unofficial Portkey Archive

"To be or not to be a Weasley"

Chapter 4: Wake-up Call

By: Adrial

Rating: PG

AN: Alright, in this chapter we finally get inside of Malfoy's mind a bit. But this isn't going to be one of those 'malfoy falls in love with ginny after kissing her once impulsively and they spend the rest of the story making out' stories. I'm considering Malfoy's mentality and hope that I've done him justice. Nobody likes a softy-slytherin, do they? Review and let me know how I did!

*reposted b/c I decided to be lazy and not spell check w/ M.Word and was horribly embarrassed by the stupid errors I made…heh…:-D*

Adrial

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An unusually cool breeze drifted lazily through an open window in the highest window of the Burrow. It carried with it pale yellow streams of sunlight which slowly flooded upon a dusty wooden floor. The thin boards of aged wood were littered by endless towers of boxes and amorphous objects peaking out from beneath heaps of cobwebs that threatened to swallow them whole.

In the darkest corner sat a shadowed figure, eyes cast towards the floor and hunched over as if seeking refuge from the world, or at least from the signs of the dawning morning. It shook suddenly, shifting and curling itself deeper into the corner in reflex to being discovered by the seeking rays of sunlight that were shedding their glow upon the otherwise dismal attic space.

Giving up on grasping the edges of sleep once again, the partially darkened figure unfolded itself onto the floor. Pale fingers rubbed the signs of an uncomfortable night's rest out of icy eyes that stung from the unwanted light.

Draco uncoiled his legs, wincing at the way they cramped and tingled painfully from being drawn up against his chest for such a long period of time. A few minutes passed over his statue-like body, and soon he was drenched in waves of golden sunlight that reflected off of his flaxen hair, slightly mussed from sleep, and illuminated his face.

"Damn, I hate this place," He uttered bitterly, rising to his full height; the top of his head nearly collided with the ceiling. He shook off his clothing and scowled at the rumpled texture of his white, collared shirt. He stretched lazily and as successfully as he could in the limited arm-space and hunched over slightly to make his way over to the window, sitting on a box filled with what he assumed was old clothing as it caved in slightly from his added weight.

He gazed drearily at the newly awakened day that fell in a curtain of blue skies and pink and orange sunlight over the backyard of the Burrow. He'd never really been in a home with a backyard before; Malfoy Manor was surrounded by forestry, set high upon the peak of an isolated hill in the countryside and much like an island in itself.

After the previous night's "episode," Draco had done what he was known for. Run for his own sake. He'd skirted around the side of the Weasley home and snuck in through the front door, ignoring Ron's growl of contempt and Harry's curious scowl as they huddled over a game of wizard's chess. Mrs. Weasley had delegated Draco to Charlie's old bedroom, but he'd taken one sour glance at the coat closet he seemed to have at once inhabited and the ancient furniture cramped into the space, reeking of a decade's worth of neglect, and promptly decided that if one cell on his royal arse was going to touch that heap, he'd just as soon snog Granger.

He hadn't been speaking to his mother and ignored her as he stormed past her in the hallway. She'd been given the master bedroom, a fair sized room with a large, springy bed decked out in mismatched crocheted Molly Weasley creations and lumpy, worn looking pillow. He'd caught a glimpse of the Victorian suite that she'd magicked it into from a crack in her door as she turned to go to bed and rolled his eyes. If only he could use magic outside of school...

Well, at least he wouldn't have had to sleep in the stuffy old attic. He'd been climbing stair after endless stair until he reached an old door in the middle of the entryway and, tired of searching, climbed the rather dodgy looking ladder that appeared suddenly once he'd opened it, and for some reason beyond his understanding, had found comfort in the isolation of the small space. It was as far as he was getting from that bloody girl, anyway, and that was good enough for him.

Draco's face darkened at the memory of 'that bloody girl' and he realized the potential damage he'd done to his image. He'd have to corner the annoying nuisance and threaten to turn her into a slug if she dared mention the incident to anyone. He thought of the fear that might light up in her eyes as his shadow would fall over her. The same spark he'd noticed the night before would dwindle into such trepidation and he would overpower her with the malice in his own gaze...

His lips slid into an easy smile, yet there was no mirth in his demeanor as he took a final glance at the dew-glistened Weasley yard and left the attic, a trail of bitter cold in his wake.

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Ginny rolled over in bed at the sound of foot steps clunking noisily along in the hallway. Soon, a door was thrown open and slammed shut at the end of the hallway and she dove back underneath her covers, trying futilely to find her cave of warmth again.

"Are you awake, Hermione?" She mumbled. A groan issued from the opposite end of the room ensured her that Hermione wasn't awake and therefore wouldn't feel obliged to get up and beat whomever was stomping throughout the house like a mountain troll for ruining Ginny's precious sleep.

"Whatimsit?" Hermione's sleep-filled voice drawled. Ginny rolled over and glanced at the clock on her wall.

"Too early for my big-footed brothers to be thumping around like Hagrid," Ginny scowled. The back of Hermione's head rose about five inches from her bed and fell deftly back into her pillow in a failed attempt to get up.

"Wake me when it's time for breakfast, would you, Gin?" She said sleepily and yawned.

Ginny threw off her covers. Now she'd be sleep deprived all day long. And she had to be fitted for dress robes that afternoon. Having her mother clumsily stick pins into fabric dangerously close to her very impressionable flesh did little to entice her, and the fact that she'd be forced to remain still for hours and be groggy at the same time made her blood boil with aggravation.

"Sure, Hermione. We'll be having roasted Weasley this morning," She mumbled and stood up with a stretch. Throwing on a dressing robe over her pajamas, she stomped across the room and out into the hallway.

The first door she came to was Ron's, and she pressed her ear up against it; it was impossible not to hear his thunderous snores through the thin wood and Harry's sleepy groans for him to shut up.

Ron saves himself from certain doom, she mused and began to grow annoyed all over again. She walked to the end of the hall where the bathroom she shared with her brothers resided and stopped abruptly at the sound of running water, realizing that the culprit was now using up all of her hot water.

She wondered if the twins had forgotten the time she'd bewitched the water to run in streams of muddy swamp muck when she was ten and they'd been stealing all the steam washing the "practical jokes" out of their hair for five days straight. She wished she could get away with performing magic through temper tantrums still, but then again, there were other ways of seeking revenge.

She smiled silently and checked the doorknob. It turned easily in her hand.

Unlocked...when will they ever learn?

Coyly and silently, she pried the door open and peaked in. Steam was flowing from the top of the shower and a heap of clothing was thrown in the corner. She tip-toed past the sink and reveled in the thrill of getting even. In one swift movement, she jammed the toilet handle down and flew from the room.

Three...two...

"BLOODY HELL!!!!"

One.

Doubled over in the hallway with muffled giggles, Ginny clutched her stomach and waited for a red head to come bounding out of the bathroom furiously. This train of thought was to be held accountable for the look of pure stupor that fell over her face when a decidedly blonde headed body flung itself out of the bathroom, dripping puddles of water onto the carpet and breathing deeply.

Ginny's stomach collapsed. Draco seemed not to notice her and leaned his towel-clad body against the wall opposite the bathroom, staring into it as if at any moment some vicious shower monster would come out and attack him.

He caught sight of her before she'd been given the opportunity by her brain cells to shut her mouth which was open in silent shock. For a moment she thought he would pounce on her and rip her apart by the rage that filled his gaze, but she quickly reminded herself that it was he whom had ruined her sleep and therefore deserved what he got.

A quick glance at his mouth and she was reminded of another reason she had to terrorize the awful prat. She thought of a million witty comments she could say, but none of them seemed to be brave enough to leave her mouth and so left her sputtering lamely before him, the memory of the previous night flooding back into her vision as if he were crashing his cold lips against hers all over again. The eerie chill she'd experienced before crept up her spine and tingled at the base of her neck.

Malfoy absentmindedly heaved himself off of the wall and wrapped his towel more securely around his waist. Ginny's eyes left his own and took in his sopping wet hair, strewn in all directions, and the droplets that covered his neck, shoulders, arms and clung to every inch of his quidditch-defined chest.

She swallowed.

"Are you mad, or what?" He spat, suddenly, and Ginny nearly leapt out of her own skin. The break in silence renewed her resolve and she threw back her shoulders determined not to let him get the better of her.

"Me? Mad? What are you on about, stomping around like you own this place and waking everyone up?" She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, wondering why all of the sudden she felt inclined to press down the fly away strands of hair around her face; she had to stuff her hands in the pockets of her dressing robe to restrain the impulse.

Malfoy scowled and ran a hand through his damp hair, "You seem to be the only one who has a problem with it, Weasel. I don't see any other of your bloody fifty relatives barging in on people taking showers and trying to burn them alive."

Ginny's temper flared. "It's about time someone put you in your place, Malfoy," She spat, "And you'd do well to respect those who are being courteous enough to let you live with them in the first place."

Malfoy nearly laughed at her ludicrous statement. "Courtesy? Do you think I'm grateful to be living in this rat hole with you and your sodding family? If it weren't for the damn Ministry of Magic breathing down our necks, Mother and I would be vacationing in the south of France right about now," He smiled bemusedly, "You know, France is that big country with the really big tower and all those museums--"

"That's it! If you let one more foul word leave those slimy lips of yours, I'm going to-to...-to..." Her oncoming tirade faded from her lips as Malfoy turned on her, pressing her against the wall with such a powerfully menacing gaze that her hands shook at her sides.

"To what, Weasley?" He questioned in an unnervingly quiet voice.

Ginny swallowed, "Let's just say you'd have 5 very angry wizards on your tail if they found out about what you did last night."

Malfoy sneered, "And what would that be, Weasley? I don't remembering doing anything last night that had to do with you. You must have...imagined it," His steely eyes bore into her own.

Ginny cottoned on and shoved him away from her forcefully. Malfoy hadn't been expecting this and had to steady himself against the opposite wall quickly.

"My imagination is no where near as active as yours, Malfoy. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I'd rather be attacked by a blast-ended skrewt than have anyone know that you're slimy face came within ten feet of mine."

Malfoy stared at her, wondering at the blazing fire that lit up in her eyes, just like the night before. He felt as if he should be challenging her in return, but the realization that he'd be doing so out of enjoyment rather than necessity stunned the words off of his tongue. He barely realized it as he silently took in the tan coloured freckles and auburn hair floating about her head and actually appreciated the contrast between them and her crackling hazel eyes. However, as she caught his gaze and he realized his previous thoughts, he straightened quickly, becoming all too aware of his lack of clothing and the painful events that would commence if anyone caught Ginny Weasley alone in a hallway with a half-naked Malfoy.

"I'm glad that we agree, then, Weasley." He stated calmly.

Ginny was more than unnerved by his penetrating gaze before but said nothing of it and let him brush past her and back into the bathroom, leaving her alone in the middle of the corridor, speechless once again.

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AN: Ack! Kinda short, I know, but it popped into my mind tonight out of no where. This was my second shot at ch.4; the first was strange and didn't fall into my plot at ALL, so needless to say, I nipped it in the bud and started from scratch. hope you liked!

don't 4get to REVIEW. it's that little button in the corner of your screen...put there so you can tell authors like me if they suck or not. handy little thing if u ask me...;)

-Adrial

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