The Game That Ties You Up In Knots by InTheStars

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/07/2004
Last Updated: 21/08/2004
Status: Completed

Want to know how Draco and Ginny redefine the term 'tangled?'




1. untitled
-----------

**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.



2. untitled
-----------

**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*

-�

�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.



3. Niti says I should title my chapters :P
------------------------------------------

**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.



4. Men Cant Help Acting On Twister
----------------------------------

**Title**: The Game The 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 The DLA. :D And to Tina, for giving me the chapter title. :D

**Author's Note:** Well, this is the end... Thank you so much to all my reviewers! I
appreciate you took the time to tell me what you thought!

--

�In *all* my years- never- *never* have I witnessed such *reckless* behavior-�
Nostrils flaring in unspeakable anger, Professor McGonagall walked purposely down the hall,
trailing quite a few students, all still stumbling from whiskey and occasionally burping out a
stray flame.

Among them, and baring the back of the group, Ginny was the one of the only two looking not in
the least fearful, almost hazily smiling in self-satisfaction. Draco, the latter, appeared
increasingly livid at each wobbling step, muttering obscenities spewing unintelligibly from his
mouth, grey eyes darting to glare holes in her back.

He blinked at first, letting his pursed lips stretch with a furious, mocking smile, and his
finger stabbed the crease of her spine harshly.

Muffling a surprised yelp, her smile filtered off her lips and she turned to seeth at him, �what
is your problem?� she hissed.

Draco sneered, casting an assured look at McGonagall as she ranted on, �I demand a rematch.�

�What?� Ginny asked, unbelieving, slowing down to find his pace.

Large cinnamon eyes stared into his from the side, eyebrows furrowed. �You *cheated*,
Weasley,� he clarified venomously.

�Ha!� she replied, �and how did I do that?�

Frustration built to the breaking thought, making his voice come out hard, through the thin
dents between his white teeth as he looked at her raised eyebrow, her quirked lips, and that fiery
hair that wisped around her like...

Draco thought it might be best to scratch his eyes out, preventing any further unnecessary and
unwanted thoughts.

�*Because*,� he answered through that slight hesitation, �you- you tricked me-�

�I didn�t do anything we didn�t agree to,� she said with formality, �we are both rightly
sloshed.�

�Yes, *you* are-� he began as they turned a corner.

�Get over it, Malfoy. I win, you loose.�

�Listen, *Weasley*,� Draco spat, eyes flashing, sparked by her overly-assured confidence.
Frustration took a back seat, his pride rearing its head and taking over. �You might have won in
the eyes of your lovely Gryffindor House, but I know just how much you enjoyed molesting me out
there-�

The patented Weasley blush adorned her face, �you�re stark-raving ma-�

Driving thoughts of how far that blush spread out of his mind, Draco scoffed, �please, we�re you
*trying* to hump me, or were you so caught up in the moment you didn�t notice?�

The embarrassed look on her face morphed into one much more angry, causing her hair to stand on
end. She walked faster, determined to not let the git see her in such a humiliated state. �Trust
me, Malfoy, I wouldn�t hump you if we were the last two people in the universe.�

�If we were the last living people in the universe I�d kill myself to avoid spending the rest of
my days with *you*-�

�That�s considerate of my sanity, Malfoy-�

�Nevermind, I�ll do you off instead. Why should my life be cut short?�

�Because even with all the extra room, your ego still wouldn�t fit?�

�But you seemed to like the lack of room, being pressed up against me-�

�Get your mind out of the gutter, you arse! If I didn�t know any better, I�d say you were the
one loving every second of it-� she stopped, cringing, �oh, *gross*-� and was effectively
shackled by the wrists, body stumbling as Draco�s grip tightened, swinging her around to hit the
wall.

Stars erupted into her vision, and she didn�t even recognize the lithe body against hers until
hungry lips collided painfully with hers, ravaging and insistent, biting and invasive. Draco Malfoy
was kissing her like she was some delicious dessert laid out for him, and she could do nothing but
shiver, limply accepting it in shock as her head pounded from recent impact.

With a last, lingering nibble, he pulled away, grey eyes dark like thunderclouds, betraying the
coolness in his smirk and the aloof way he sauntered back. �Gross?� he asked huskily, one eyebrow
reaching high.

Ginny blinked, two searching fingers touching her pink lips in amazement before jerking away
with realization. �It was disgusting,� she replied unconvincingly, tone wavering.

�Whatever you say, Weasley,� he drawled, face lite up, even as he turned to leave.

�It was,� she repeated, rushing to catch up to his long steps.

�Get over it.�

�I *hate* you, Malfoy.�

Cheerfully, he agreed, �I hate you too, Weasley.�






Professor Dumbledore�s expression could only be described as playful and mischievous, that
twinkle in his eyes burning bright as he examined the swaying students awaiting judgement.

�Of course,� his deep voice graveled after Minerva McGonagall explained the situation with a
tight lip, �we will have to contact your parents of this- particular act- and we must inquire
exactly who- and how this fire whiskey came to be present at this-� he paused tapping at his beard
and gazing upward, �what would you call it, Mr. Finnigan?�

Seamus, at being addressed by the Headmaster, stumbled forward and back in surprise before
righting himself. �Um- Well, er, sir, we were playing Twister...� he replied, eyes widened.

�Ah, I see. What is this game, might I ask, exactly? I�ve never heard of it, you
understand?�

Theodore Nott chuckled absentmindedly, unknowing of the sharp look his Transfiguration Professor
gave him, �Twister is a Muggle game, Headmaster- truly delightful if you don�t play with a
Parkinson cow-� he ungracefully and recklessly leaned almost accidentally against the nearest table
of Dumbledore�s, obviously even more gone than Seamus- and a resounding crash of a circular glass
contraption shattered to a thousand pieces.

Ginny flinched, and Draco scowled at his fellow House-mate.

Theodore, on the other hand, blinked, straining to see the damage he�d done, �well,
whoops...�

�Whoops is quite the correct exclamation,� the Headmaster smiled, �don�t worry over it, Mr.
Nott.�

Draco glared steadily at the now-spacing-out Theo.

�Excuse me, Headmaster,� McGonagall interrupted, �but I can explain- Twister is a Muggle game,
yes, and the point of it is to play against another person or team, keeping your balance on
appointed certain colored circles-�

�Oh, that sounds absolutely spiffing-�

�-yes, I suppose it could be, but these students took advantage of the seclusion of the game and
were consuming *fire whiskey*, Albus, on top of engaging in inappropriate public displays of
affection-� Seamus grinned widely at that, �-betting on games, and-�

�Oh, who are our wagering enthusiasts?�

Slightly miffed at her superior�s roaming eyes and mind, the Professor answered, anyway, �Draco
Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley, Headmaster- but I do not see how this is-�

�Oh, please tell me who won? What were the terms? Miss Weasley?�

Sapphire eyes now on her, she blushed under his inquiring, wise gaze, unconsciously sneaking a
glance at Draco, who stood silently, eyebrows high in a mixture of surprise and disgust. �Well, I
won, Professor-�

�Congratulations, Miss Weasley!�

�Um, thank you...�

Draco answered, �the terms were we had to be both sloshed,� bitterly he crossed his arms and
shifted precariously against the wall, lips twisted in a sardonic, unhappy grin.

Cinnamon eyes watched them tilt up with the movement, lips that had only minutes before been
pressed forcefully to hers, gnawing at them with zeal and creating unstoppable shivers up and down
her spine...

His head turned, locking his moody eyes with hers, grimace morphing into a suggestive smirk. And
then, unexpectedly, he *winked*.

Red painted her face and neck from embarrassment and anger, the sure way he leered at her both
pleasing and infuriating. When did these unwelcome feelings start happening?

�Ah,� Dumbledore noticed the exchange with interest, reaching up to adjust his half-moon
spectacles, �I see.� A short pause followed, �Minerva- I think we should take these student to
Poppy, as of now, so she can give them a Sober-Up Potion. We�ll discuss appropriate punishment when
their minds are clear.�






�This is all your fault, Weasley,� Draco drawled from behind a long white curtain.

�*My* fault, Malfoy?� Ginny retorted, �you were the one who went out of your way to bother
*me*, if you don�t recall.�

A flurry of fabric hushed the air, exposed the sitting, now soberly snapping Ginny Weasley.
Looking up to take in his lean figure and the long, pale fingers clutching the cotton, she couldn�t
summon the will to tell him to go away.

�But, if you don�t recall, you got quite something nice out of it,� his white teeth flashed
predatorily, taunting.

�Sod off,� she told him tiredly, happy to find she could tell him to go away. Though she
couldn�t discern whether it was fortunate or not, he didn�t do as told.

�So, you admit you liked it, do you?� he assumed slyly, dragging his hand down the curtains and
casually sitting next to her.

�I never said any such thing,� hotly she shot back, almost mesmerized by the thigh now radiating
heat into hers.

�You acted like it, Weasley,� breath licked at her neck and every muscle in her body stiffened
unmercifully, refusing to jump away.

�No, I didn�t,� she squeaked, inching towards the sanctuary of free space. A strong arm wrapped
around her waist, grasping underneath her thighs and determinedly, pulling her side to its former
place.

�*Yes*, you *did*,� he hissed, lacing bits of lustful greed and ire into his voice
unintentionally, sweeping his lips over the bare skin between strands of thick red hair, �because
*I* liked it too, Weasley.�

�Stop,� whispering so low she even doubted he heard the plea, all ideas of ceasing dissipated as
he turned her head roughly to his, lips claiming an imprint upon hers, just as possessive and
seizing, demanding of her the same intensity. Strangely, as before, she felt herself giving over to
the voices inside her that could only say yes to the onslaught.

Slowly, and infinitely more agonizingly than last time, Draco pulled away.

�Okay,� she admitted finally, �maybe I did like it a little bit.�

-�end--