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 and Kristina, for inspiring this ficlet and are the coolest Slyth girlies- you know, after me. :P

Author's Note: *poke* Change the dedication. Turns out the playing-Twister-with-Tom-Felton was Tina's idea. *blush*

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"Parkinson," Draco clipped out shortly, black robes billowing with the speed of his pace. He stepped through the messy line of teams, dodging bottles and conversation.

Bouncy ringlets of brown hair jumped into the air, hazel eyes brightening. "Oh, Draco-"

"I changed my mind," he said just as shortly.

"Oh, I just knew you would, Draco," Pansy cooed, "Do you want some butterbeer?" she asked, handing over a new bottle.

He took it, opening it shortly and taking an easy sip. "It was getting awfully dreadful without you, Draco," she explained, as if he cared, "Theodore Nott is a horrible partner- gangly with no grace whatsoever," her eyes flashed, "but now you're here."

"Right," he agreed, brushing off the sound of her voice. Grey eyes searched the crowd for a familiar head of fiery hair.

"And he left; can you believe him? Ran off with that ugly Ravenclaw-"

"That bastard," he responded mechanically, eyes darting.

"Malfoy," an icy voice halted his search, and he only had to turn his head to find the little witch.

"Why, Weasley," he said, smirking, "I was just looking for you."

"I'm flattered, truly," eyes in slits, she continued, "now I want you to move your scrawny arse out of my way-"

"I beg to differ," he frowned, eyes only glinting mischievously, "my arse is quite the fine specimen-"

"Move, you unbearable git. I need to find a damn partner so I can rub your face against that plastic mat in victory," Ginny cautioned.

A winning smiled curled Draco's lips, "well, well." Knowingly, he readjusted his stance to position his eyes over hers like two storm clouds, raining down and flashing like lightning.

"Draco," Pansy drawled, lips curled in disgust, "why are you conversing with such a-" she paused, looking at the fraying robes covering Ginny's curves, "-pauper?"

Ginny uncovered a sardonic grin to Pansy, and then turned back to Draco without another beat.

"Shut up, Pansy," he ordered, agitated, ignoring the fact she had a fair point.

Why was he taunting Ginny Weasley into an unspeakable rage?

Brushing the question to the recesses of his mind, Draco took in Pansy's blinking, blank expression and Ginny's beet-red skin and dotted freckles. Lips pursed into a thin, white line, chocolate eyes flaming, she seemed to be waiting impatiently for a well-aimed retort or a path to stomp by him.

"Well," she tapped her foot purposely, "are you going to move or are you going to stare at me all day?"

The thought of staring at Ginny Weasley made his stomach twist rather roughly, and he bit out, "which would make your life miserable?"

"By the pesting of the gods, I swear, Draco Malfoy, that if you don't move - right - now - I will kick you in a place where the sun does not shine!"

"Not my arse again, is it?" he smirked back.

Her eyes widened, a foot kicked back, and Seamus Finnigan pushed a swishing bottle of butterbeer against her chest.

She stumbled, and the Irish boy had saved Draco from immense, overpowering pain.

He now owed Potter his sight and Finnigan his gonads.

Just bloody wonderful.

"Gin!" the Gryffindor slurred, cheeks red with alcohol, "have some butterbeer!" he blundered uncertainly, "I thought you said you didn't want to play?"

Ginny suck in a trembling breath, ripe with annoyance, "I didn't," she answered.

"You know what's funny, Ginny? Huh? Huh?" Seamus asked with a drunken smile.

"What?"

"Fire whiskey," he said joyfully, letting out chuckles and taking a swing from the sloshing bottle.

"Extremely humorous," Ginny responded dryly.

Bleary eyes met with condescending grey ones, and they widened, almost as if he hadn't noticed the Slytherin standing not three feet away. "Malfoy!" he said, pointing at the figure.

Draco looked at the outstretched finger as if it was a buzzing fly he'd only like to swat.

"Oh, you shouldn't be near him, oh no, Ginny, Ron'd kill you..."

"Yes, yes, YES!" Ginny yelled out in frustration, face still filled with a constant heating, "I know this, now go away!"

"Whoa," Seamus took a step back, "is it that time of the month?"

"Yes, Weasley," Draco quipped, "are you usually this snippy or is this a special time?"

Two little hands curled into each other, anger matching hair matching the red blood that filled her skin to the brim. "I - hate - you," she snarled, "and if you must know, you unbearable git, it's not that special time, you just happen to be especially infuriating!"

"I'm glad I inspire in you such a strong, meaningful emotion," he smiled widely, "I only hope someday I can feel the same."

Ginevra looked ready to jump for his throat again, and he was quite ready to take a few steps back when unexpectedly, the blood slowly drained her face, leaving pale skin and dark freckles spotting her cheeks.

Chest no longer heaving with rage-induced breaths, she sighed, releasing her fingers from her palm and flexing them.

"You know what, Malfoy?" she said, curiously, a strangely familiar smirk pulling her lips, "you are completely correct. Perhaps one day your black heart will feel something. But that day is not today, obviously," she scoffed, "so, either stand aside for me to pass or suffer the consequences."

He almost laughed. "Consequences?"

Ginny smiled in response. "Yes," she confirmed, "consequences. Not only will I humiliate you terribly by winning that pointless game, I will do it completely sloshed."

Draco blinked. "What?" The simple syllable escaped his mouth, hanging in the air stupidly.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," sarcasm, and latent mists of anger spilled from her tone, "shall I repeat that for you?"

Mouth opened to a small 'o,' Draco deftly shook himself out of a temporary stupor. "No," he answered sharply, "I heard you just fine, little Weasel."

"And, just to make this public display even, so do you."

Her small hand reached out in dealing, eyes twinkling with surety.

The Slytherin sneered, upturning his nose at her even-freckled digits. Touch a Weasley? Willingly?

"Well?" she prompted, pink lips wet with a sweep of her usually flapping tongue, strangely trapped behind her teeth.

There was no logical reason to accept the challenge, no conceivable, acceptable reason. He knew, overall, that the only outcome of taking her hand would be embarrassment for both. More specifically, himself. And yet, looking into her daring eyes, so confident in her claim, and in the stillness of her lips, he found he didn't want nor need a reason. After all, he, Draco Malfoy, never dabbled in excuses.

Resolve hardened, Draco Malfoy encircled her little hand with long, milky-white fingers, fitting perfectly.

"Deal," he agreed, a ghost of a smirk coating his face.