Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: The Game That Ties You Up In Knots
Author: Crystal
Disclaimer: Nonsense: Good news- I have some bread now. So you can have the whole PB&J sandwich! Bad news- no milk. NO nonsense: I DO NOT own the game of Twister OR the title of this fic. The title of this fic is the catch phrase for the game, and I claim NO rights over them. The game and the title are Milton Bradley's.
Summary: Want to know how Draco and Ginny redefine the term 'tangled?'
Dedication: To Stephi, because she is my best friend and got me a wonderful present. To Daniela, for inspiring this ficlet. And to Kristina, who is simply just dahling.

Author's Note: Features Angry!Ginny and Snarky!Draco. Ooh, fun.

--

Ginny Weasley couldn't clearly remember how she had gotten herself into this situation.

It had started with a few insults, butterbeer, many shots of fire whiskey, and a challenge.

And now, she was in a heap of bodies and twisting uncomfortably, trying to reach a blasted yellow circle, playing a stupid game designed for hormonal-driven teenagers looking for a nice feel.

That's exactly what Ginny Weasley had surmised, when she had looked on from her shaded tree hours before.

As it were, all the boys had said yes to the proposition outright, a couple of the girls giving in reluctantly to the shark-toothed grins that were obviously hiding an under-handed motive. Ginny had refused, looking back to her dreaded Potions homework.

Why?

Ginny Weasley was a bitter girl.

Why?

Ginny Weasley would rather not talk about her latest hormonal-driven boyfriend that she wished was cursed forever as a bold, naked mole rat, forever shunned.

Why?

Because she figured being a bold, naked mole rat would be quite unappealing to most, hence the shunning. (Wayne Hopkins of Hufflepuff was no deep-dish treat, anyway, not after you got past the face.)

So Ginny had condemned herself to watch the game instead, during bouts of actually doing her Potions homework, which had slowly been reaching the one-inch mark of her twelve-inch report (an absolutely boring essay on the importance of cauldron thickness). Stuck among laughter and flushed faces, teasing and giggles, Ginny had tried without effect to ignore the cat-calls and increasing amount of butterbeer from Hogsmeade until she could only throw down her books, cross her arms, and take in the absurdity.

The grassy, sunny place between trees was the ideal place for the game, being the flattest land among sloping hills of the grounds, and across the lake. Bottles of warm, soothing butterbeer laid about around the mat, empty, fill, and in between. The current four players on the mat had been a tangle of limbs and torsos, layers of two red-faced girls and two wickedly smiling boys.

Hermione Granger had her arms half-way around Harry Potter, trying with strain to circle her leg awkwardly around his, but with no avail. Under the bright sun, her hair had swept the white mat once more before she fell, letting out a small scream before clutching the bespeckled boy down with her.

Such a questionable position, Ginny had thought, raising her eyebrows at the friends as Seamus Finnigan held his and Lavender Brown's hands up in victory.

They had been playing teams. Two to each team, next team plays winners.

It was an odd coincidence that most, if not all the teams, were co-ed. Ginny had grumbled, chewing at her tongue as Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis kicked off their shoes and stopped onto the mat, the cheery mood of the afternoon becoming a tad more competitive.

Slytherins against Gryffindors.

Ginny had sighed, taking in the game, knowing in the back of her mind she was only torturing herself over that lame excuse for a boyfriend. She just wanted to hit someone, something, anything would do. Michael Corner had left her for Cho Chang. Dean Thomas had left her for Natalie MacDonald. Wayne Hopkins had left her for Susan Bones.

So she could only scowl as Tracey had blushed, placing her hand over Blaise's, body touching his. She could only glare and huff and ignore her work, letting anger tickle her being unmercifully.

She had wanted to be on that mat, fifteen feet away. She had wanted to be playing, and smiling, and giggling, she knew. But she had said no, and that was that. She had refused herself that comfort because she had been so intent on proving to herself she didn't need anything at all.

She admitted it then, to herself.

And that's when it had started.

Draco Malfoy couldn't clearly remember how he had gotten himself into this situation.

It was probably the butterbeer, and the fire whiskey, but the past hour was a bit fuzzy to him, consisting mostly of a burning throat and different colored circles.

And the minx above him, reaching with trouble for one of those said circles, this one yellow.

He surely didn't want to be this situation, in an awkward position and touching a dirty old hag and a mat surely contaminated by other students. But, alas, he was, and he tried through his drunken haze to remember why.

Ginny Weasley. She was the fault of this.

She had been glaring at the game from a distance, with a fixed, twisting to her pink lips and her arms crossed. He had been watching on, amused, harmlessly snickering as Lavender Brown's hand slipped. And then the blazing red of her stringy hair attracted his gaze and, well, why would he give up the perfect opportunity to taunt, mock, and laugh at the littlest Weasley?

And that's when it had started, curse her.

He'd escaped playing the sodding game by telling Pansy off- he, Draco Malfoy, never bothered with excuses- and decided to go to the kitchens for a muffin or two, polish his Firebolt, and other small, insignificant errands. Eventually, he had ended up where he started, and then ended up where he shouldn't have been.

"Ickle Weasley too unimportant be invited?"

Ginny whipped her head around, meeting a furious gaze with a smirking one.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she snapped.

"Touched a chord, have I?" He bared a feral grin, blonde hair licking his face in the summer breeze.

The quill in her hand threatened to snap under pressure.

"What do you want," she hissed between grinding teeth, red hair feathering over her features, "to taunt me? Mock? Bully?"

Draco captured his hands in the pockets of his slacks, leaning his weight against the hard, ragged bark of Ginny's tree, looking down storm-colored eyes. "Actually," he raised an eyebrow, "yes."

"Well," she continued, quirking her lips into a sarcastic smile, "let me save you the trouble. I am an ugly muggle-loving, half-blood lover who has disgusting hair and thin, cheap robes, freckles that look like dirt, second-hand books, a disgraceful father and a plump mother." One of her structured eyebrows raised to mirror his. "All right, then? Good. Leave."

Defiantly, she turned back to the heaps of parchment adorning her lap and scratched away.

"You forgot something," he said superiorly.

Hands ceased movement, crimson hair parted air like a sharpened blade, and chocolate eyes narrowed and burned.

Attention now on him, Draco flashed two rows of white teeth. "That you're dirt poor."

"And that something about you just must be unsatisfying. How else would you explain that Ravenclaw? Who was next? Yes, the Gryffie. And just recently, a Hufflepuf."

Sheets of parchment and inky quills floated and fell to the green, thriving earth.

Two small fists at her sides, Ginny met his gaze straight on, taking a step forward. "Leave," she growled, frustrated tears blurring her vision.

Draco's malicious grin widened. "Is that why you're not playing? Heartbroken?" he asked, craning his neck to better see her flashing anger.

"And why aren't you playing, Malfoy? No one want to touch a slimeball?" she countered, her heart skipping a painful beat at how dead-on his accusation was.

"For your information," he said heatedly, "I was invited. I declined, seeing myself above a dirty muggle game."

"Go find a nice ditch to go and die in, Malfoy."

"Oh, only if you come with me."

"Of course. I'll help in any way I can. I wouldn't want you to waste your time on earth, when hell will be such a lovely place for you."

"I'll save you a seat."

"Why thank you."

Draco flexed his neck closer, inches from brushing his nose against hers. "You're so very welcome," he breathed hotly. "Taking my rightful seat in hell wouldn't be half as enjoyable unless I knew you'd be burning there."

Nails dug in her palm, making red half-moon marks, begging to make the same cuts along one of his pale cheeks. "Think that much of yourself, do you, Malfoy?"

A self-conceited smile painted his pink lips, that opened in retort- only to be cut off, attention seeking something behind her.

"Another Weasley?" he drawled, and Ginny twisted around to meet Ron's angry, red face, the figures of the reminder of the trio jogging to catch up with him. "My, my, you lot make it too easy for me."

"What are you going on about, Malfoy?" Ron grounded out, just as Harry and Hermione reached the redhead.

Ginny felt a new fire start in her, invigorating her with new anger. "I was doing just fine insulting the ferret, Ronald. I don't need you," she cut in fiercely, planting herself between the two boys. Sadly, both boys were a head taller then her, and hardly gave a passing thought to her comment, easily looking over her head.

"Two weasels with one stone," he answered, and Ron's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Honestly, Ron- go away!"

"Ron," Hermione warned, "please-"

"Yes, Weasley, please do," Draco carefully calculated the effects of his next words, ignoring the Gryffindor, "I was just leading up to the grand finale. Think a torrent of tears-" he brightened with a sarcastic quality, "hey! It might have washed away the collecting dirt on her face- I've heard you Weasleys can't afford showers."

Flushed, freckled cheeks spun around to meet his eyes. "You disgusting-"

Steam could have been whistling out of Ron's ears. "Shut it, Malfoy-"

Draco sneered, "but that would silence the only intelligent person here-"

"Oh yes, wonderfully intelligent, you are," Ginny laughed mirthlessly, rolling her eyes, "does the word 'hippogryff' ring any bells for you?"

"Does the word 'Wayne' ring any for you?" Draco spat back.

Something very delicate and fragile inside Ginny snapped, and no lingering bits of self control could have stifled her immediate reaction- scraping those leering grey eyes out of the Malfoy's sockets.

A strangled cry escaped her mouth, and fingernails clawed out- and it took only a short, shocked moment's hesitation before Harry grabbed Ginny's waist in restraint, Hermione's surprised gasp unnoticed.

Draco blinked in surprise as Ginny thrashed in the Seeker's arms, realizing he owed Potter his sight.

Damn chit.

He gathered up his dignity, smoothing out his robes. "Well," he said, strangely at a loss for words.

"Let - go - of me, Harry, or I swear I'll - do you in - first!" Ginny said through struggles.

Harry looked as if he was struggling with Ginny himself, casting a pleading look at Ron as she began pounding his arms with zeal.

"Oh no," the Keeper shook his head, "I even encourage letting her go. Teach the pansy git a lesson."

"Oh yes, speak as if I'm not here, you sodding Weasley-" Draco intercepted.

The color of puce that had drained Ron's face at the minute of Ginny's attempted attack came back full force. "Go eat dung, Malfoy."

"What a wonderful tool you've made of the English language," Draco replied in mock admiration.

Ron let out a low growl.

In defeat, Ginny finally relaxed, even her red hair wilting in disappointment, sliding from Harry's grip to his feet in an annoyed huff.

Harry winced and nursed his bruises, Hermione looking on with worry. "Gin, you hurt Harry!" She said with concern, muttering healing charms, wand at the ready.

Ginny scoffed. "So very sorry," she grumbled, glaring up at Draco, who smiled cheekily back.

Looking mildly miffed Ginny hadn't caused Draco bodily harm, Ron cast a glance to the continuing game of Twister. "Well, now that's that's over," he said, "we better get back."

Harry winced at his contusion, sparing an unappreciative stare at Ron. "You've got to be kidding," Hermione bristled, "Harry saves Ginny from detention and you only worry about catching another feel of Luna?"

Ron blushed scarlet. "No- I- I- I mean..."

Hermione glared.

"I meant- thanks, Harry."

The bushy-haired witch smiled approvingly. "Now, Ginny, would you like to come and play with us?"

"Oh no, please go on and talk about me as if I am a misbehaving pet," she crossed her arms stubbornly on the soft ground of soil and grass.

Startled, the prefect stuttered out, "oh, I didn't mean-"

"Sounded as if you did," Draco said casually, buffing his nail against his robes and having acquired his previous stead against the tree.

"Why are you still here?" Ginny questioned in fury.

"Free country," he answered, sounding bored.

Suddenly the only girl in a family of seven would have liked nothing more than to torturously remove every hair from atop the Slytherin's head, strand by strand.

"GO-" she struggled through the thick haze of infuriation, jaw clenched and fists mimicking, "GO... DIE SOME HORRIBLE DEATH!"

Draco stopped his actions and looked to the leaves spotting the sky, putting on the act of thought. "No, I think I'm going to go play a game of Twister."

With that, he innocently smiled at the littered Weasley and walked towards the rowdy game.

Red clouded Ginny's vision and she jumped up with renewed vigor, turning sharply. "MOVE," she commanded the three friends. "I am going to beat that little twit if it's the last thing I do!"

And they did in fear, the redheaded vixen leaving them in frightening determination.