Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: The Game That Ties You Up In Knots
Author: Crystal
Disclaimer: 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: One more chapter after this one!

One shot.

One shot that burned his throat unmercifully and made his head spin.

Draco Malfoy, though he'd never admit it, could not hold alcohol. Draco Malfoy couldn't even hold a glass of wine, let alone the gagging taste of fire whiskey. Though blurring vision, he saw Ginny smiling cheekily at him, almost knowing the effect the drink had on his senses.

Damn Weasleys.

Two shots.

What was that assumption about the Irish?

Three shots, and Ginny gulped down hers with zeal, ignoring her brother's frantic warnings.

Were Weasleys even part-Irish, anyway?

They all had red hair, and by the way Ginny looked completely aware and full of the clarity he was beginning to lack...

Four shots.

...he thought the guess was possibly true.

That was it. The Irish could hold their drinks like no other.

Five shots, and the promised 'fire' in 'fire whiskey' shot out through his mouth and licked the air inches in front on him.

The burgeoning crowd that surrounded the two gamblers guffawed in appreciation, only Pansy Parkinson's arms crossed in a huff.

"You, mate," a hand clapped the Slytherin's back with amusement, "are now sloshed."

Draco burped another unsophisticated ball of fire at the contact, eyes unfocused.

Ginny Weasley poured the next shot, and through the den of compromised sobriety, Draco heard her say in singsong, "no stopping until I am..."

And so it went on, each molecule of liquid causing another fire hazard (though, if he were not so incredibly drunk, he might have remembered this particular fire was charmed not to burn), and each shot fatefully impairing his mind.

Ginny Weasley had tricked him into this, and glaring at her double-form as red flames finally spouted from her mouth, he realized this.

That manipulating, convening chit.

How dare she? He was the manipulative, convening Slytherin. Only he was allowed to ploy others to certain doom!

With the air of mixed frustration and surprise, he concluded that this just wasn't fair.

"Right hand, green!" Luna Lovegood announced, and the game begun.

This move was easy enough, and in a bleary stumble that was more violent than Ginny's, Draco reached for a green circle.

"Left leg, red!" and both players were now trying with drunken effort to stay upright.

"Left hand, yellow!" and now the smell of mutual whiskey mingled with the apple scent of Ginny's shampoo drifted dangerously to tickle a crinkled nose.

"Left leg, blue!"

Victory was the only word that Draco could think of in that point in time, and soon a small whimper escaped the petite redhead as his back dented into her balanced arm. He could almost hear her praying that-

"Right hand, yellow!"

A sigh escaped her, and with effort a little hand stretched far to cover yellow, having to span the length of Draco's torso.

And it was at that precise moment that neither Ginny Weasley or Draco Malfoy couldn't clearly remember how they had gotten themselves into this situation. Perhaps it wasn't the 'how' that truly bothered them, and more likely, the 'why,' a question they both couldn't really answer besides the remembrance of anger and deep-seated denial.

And with another exhale of relieved air, Ginny reached the desired circle, body pressed most inappropriately against his.

Catcalls filled her ears, filling her face with a puce color, anger, and renewed determination.

She was going to win despite onlookers, despite the shallow-breathing Draco Malfoy below her, despite this questionable position. Despite her brother's disapproval, and despite being a source of amusements.

All to spite the git below her, who had the nerve to open his cruel mouth about her.

"You're going to loose, Malfoy," she spat with contempt, twisting her head to look him in the eyes.

"When blast-ended skrewts can fly, Weasley," he half-slurred, half-shot back.

"I'll go charm one, then, if that's the case."

Luna's voice interrupted the banter, "Right leg, blue!"

Legs now tangled and the crowd snickering and shouting out unspeakable innuendoes, Ginny felt the heat in her face spike, and quite against the teenage boy's will, his blood to drain to a southern direction.

Torn between disgust and insistent anger at himself, Draco grimaced, praying to a god he didn't believe in. What was possibly wrong with him? This was Weasley, the idiotic, little sister who he had recently found he enjoyed creating a rise out of. Weasley, who had stringy red hair and dots of freckles that dotted her skin like dirt.

Was he attracted to her?

The only answer he could muster was, "just slip and get this over with, Weasley," he sliced into the air, secretly pleading, "you'll loose anyway."

"Go to hell, Malfoy!" she bit back.

"Left hand, blue!"

Agonizingly, Ginny's curving body rubbed necessarily against his on her way.

And quite against his will, yet again, his breath caught in his throat and still quite against his will, his hand slipped reaching for his own blue circle.

Two things happened in rapid precession- one, Draco Malfoy hit the mat in a heap of surprise, confusion, and unexpressed rage, and two, Ginny Weasley, still wove among his legs, followed suit.

Closing his eyes to the cursed lose and the soft body laying on his, Draco felt the instant humiliation bombard him as the Gryffindor mass (and mostly likely both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff) broke out into cheer and laughter. And Ginny Weasley scrambled and stumbled so fast away from him that his chest caved in from the onslaught of her leverage-needing hands.

Slowly, he opened his eyes to meet a raised eyebrow and a grinning face.

"Shall I go tell Hagrid about the skrewts' new development?" she quipped, slightly tipsy on her feet.

Draco blinked and grudgingly sat up, lips twisted.

"Gin, that was brilliant!" The crowded gravitated to her, "way to go!" With a vague smile Ginny accepted the offers of butterbeer and was whisked away to the shouts of "let's celebrate in the tower!"

"What -" a searing voice cut through the shouts and hollers, "- is going on here?!"

Smiles filtered off the students' faces, now all riveted to the furious face of Professor McGonagall.