Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: For The Love of Art
Author: Crystal
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It's hers. *points to JK Rowling.*
Summary: Draco Malfoy couldn't say he cared for art. It was all right to look at once in awhile, he supposed, and it cost quite a few shiny galleons. But Draco had never really thought about it, much more concerned with school, Quidditch, and himself. And, simply by chance, it was his burden to get involved with someone who carried a bright torch for it.
Dedication: To the Wonks, because they're Wonkily awesome.

Author's Note: Features Indecisive!Ginny and Snarky!Worried!Draco

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Draco Malfoy couldn't say he cared for art.

It was all right to look at once in awhile, he supposed, and it cost quite a few shiny galleons. When he was a boy, his mother simply adored it, tapestries, paintings, ceramic vases. Pieces of handmade, carefully sculpted and beautifully enchanted artwork draping across every wall and decorating every stone corner.

But Draco had never really thought about it, much more concerned with school, Quidditch, and himself. And, simply by chance, it was his burden to get involved with someone who carried a bright torch for it.

Burden was quite a good word to describe her, for at that moment, the little red-headed devil was dragging him throughout a bloody museum. Left, right, upstairs, downstairs, this way and that, and "oh Draco, I missed a painting; we have to go back!"

He felt like a cart she simply pulled around, hand clasped in his and eyes alight with excitement. Why he agreed to accompany her, he couldn't remember, for the sneaky minx had kept him pre-occupied by nibbling on his ear.

Truly, her underhanded tactics disgusted him.

Why, he'd never do- well, perhaps he would do that to her, as well, but honestly, only he should be allowed to.

And her said horrible tactics landed him here, standing in front of one of the few enchanted Leonardo DaVinci paintings. Water rippled under the footbridge, the trees swayed in the magical wind, the pastel tones almost stifling his annoyance.

Almost stifling his annoyance, and the fact it almost did bothered him even more.

The Magical Museum of Art was a stunning building, no doubt. Seven stories, and the length and width of three Quidditch fields placed next to each other, the only other building it rivaled was the Ministry of Magic's.

"Oh, it's beautiful," Ginny breathed, lightly squeezing his hand.

A plump lady with grizzled blonde hair nodded next to her, "it's absolutely wonderful. What do you think, dear?" she asked Draco politely, and he took in her appearance, trying to contain a curling lip. She was small, carrying a bright orange handbag, and wore baggy clothes with un-matching patterns, that touched the floor with no once of dignity.

"Enchanting," he agreed dryly, snappishly, running his free, fidgeting hand through blonde hair.

The woman looked taken aback, but that was no comparison to Ginny's reaction.

Cinnamon eyes burned with a pointed glare. "Why must you spoil today of all days, Draco? Why must you ruin not only mine but another's day? Every painting, every sculpture, even the statues that up and performed a 12th century game of Quidditch bored you!"

Draco blinked his grey eyes and scoffed, crossing his arms and leaving her hand cold. "Stone on broomsticks, Gin. They didn't exactly fly very fast." The lady started looking very uncomfortable.

Her light red eyebrows furrowed as eyes narrowed. "Yes, because your flying skills are so much better," she hissed, borrowing his infamous sarcasm.

Draco glared at the trickling water, "yes, I, a former Seeker, was a terrible flier."

"I'm glad you admit it, then," she said absently, whipping around, her bright locks slapping a sting on his cheek, and then soared away behind her.

Draco hesitated, looking between his angered girlfriend and the calm tranquility of the painting, back to Ginny and onto the flustered lady.

"My apologies," he said with less feeling than should have been.

He'd really done it this time. She'd be in a right state all day, all week, and most likely bring it up every time she wanted something from him.

"Dammit," he muttered, spinning away from the painting and using long strides to keep up with her short, quick ones. "Ginny, just wait a second-"

Crimson hair sliced the air again, and Draco stumbled rather ungracefully to avoid tackling her.

"Wait a second? Wait a second?" she repeated, "for you?"

An eyebrow reached for the ceiling, "well... yeah."

This apparently hadn't been the right answer, for if her hair was fire, it would be crackling and raging with the extra wood he'd just thrown on it.

"Draco, I asked you for one day. One day where we would come here and look around. One day," she let her arms drop in defeat, "but you can't do that, can you? If you're not doing something worth your while, it's a waste of your time. Isn't that right?"

Hands on her hips, and foot tapping impatiently, Draco desperately- although he'd never admit he had ever been desperate- searched his mind for a way out of this self-paved mess.

"Answer me, Draco."

"No?" he offered tentatively.

" 'No?' " Ginny asked dryly, flatly, disappointed. "Just 'no?' "

"No," he said, more firmly, "no, and I'm sorry?"

"You're sorry," she said just as dully.

"I'm sorry for being a horrible git?"

Quite suddenly, the fire in her eyes retreated, a long sigh escaped her body, little fingers reaching to massage a recently acquired headache. "Draco, all you ever do is say you're sorry..." she murmured.

A worried pang struck his heart at her tired tone, "what's that suppose to mean?"

"It means that this is getting ridiculous."

"What is?" he asked, dumbfounded, refusing to understand what she was trying to tell him.

"Maybe we need a break..."

"What?!"

"For a month or two..."

"Or two?!"

"So we both can think about where this is going..."

"Where it's going?!"

"Maybe it would be for the best..."

"For the best?!"

Ginny shook her head in defeat, shrugging, the sad look in her eyes spreading to her slouching shoulders. Shoulders Draco could do nothing but reach out and shake, causing her body to fall towards his.

"What is wrong with you, Ginny?!" he said, surprised when she didn't even try to yank herself away from the assault.

"I don't know," she replied.

"Obviously," he said through clenched teeth. "A break? What were you thinking?" Brushing the lingering fear off, he pulled her soft form to lean against his.

"I haven't stopped thinking of it, Draco."

And the fear stubbornly stopped the slamming door and crept back in.

A bitter, breaking laugh left his lips. "Stop. You're being absolutely ridiculous."

"Am I, really?"

"Yes. I apologized."

"Sometimes sorry isn't enough, Draco."

"Well, then, what else do you want from me?" he asked, voice raising, clutching at her waist tighter.

"I want you to listen to me, Draco," she snapped, the spark in her eyes returning, almost reassuring him, "and try to be nice and civil and talk politely to the little old women who ask you questions no matter how much you don't want to be here!" Expelling air like a provoked bull, and hands gripping his arms like a vice, she waiting with an acute expectancy in her eyes.

"I could..." he started, blinking at the outburst, "for you..."

A small smile took purchase of her mouth, and her face leaned towards him for a softly-planted kiss.

"No break?" he asked warily as she pulled away.

"No break."

Draco Malfoy couldn't say he cared for art, but that day, he realized he really didn't have a choice in the matter.

--end--