Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Note: My version of Draco is true-to-form: he's not very nice. But that's what makes him fun, right? Beware...this relationship isn't going to be sunshine, lollipops and rainbows. Why? Because I like my Draco a little bit naughty... ;)
Chapter 1
Draco Malfoy turned, disbelieving his own ears. Yet unless his eyes betrayed him, it was indeed the youngest Weasley who had addressed him so boldly, with a recklessness and surprising lack of fear in her voice that unwittingly made him feel a sudden, disconcerting respect for her. He recovered almost immediately, quickly remembering his vast superiority to this little redheaded pauper, and snapped at her as soon as he had regained her bearings.
"What the hell are you doing at Slytherin Tower?"
"I just told you," she said. "I need your help."
Draco stared at her incredulously, searching her face for some kind of clue that she might be joking with him. "Have you gone nutters?" he asked finally. "I mean, I always knew you Weasleys were batty, hanging out with Mudbloods and all, but this really takes the cake." He looked around quickly, as if to make sure none of his housemates were nearby. It wouldn't do to be seen talking to a Weasley unless he started insulting her more blatantly. In his mind, he riffled through the various affronts he could direct towards her, looking for something a bit more creative than the standard mockery of her inferior social standing. He scowled as he realized for the first time that he couldn't reasonably call her ugly; at best he could point out her flame-red hair or the fact that she was a bit on the short side, and those comments would merely seem inane. He was rapidly becoming very irritated by her disturbance of his Thursday evening.
"Can we go somewhere to talk?" she asked, ignoring his insult towards her family. "This might take awhile."
"I don't have all bloody night to waste," he scoffed haughtily.
"Give me 10 minutes," she said. He scowled.
"Please," she added reluctantly, averting her gaze.
He had to surpress a smirk, relishing the desperation that must have led her to seek his aid, resolving that whatever assistance he might decide to give would have to be begged and pleaded for.
"Well, let's get on with it then," he said begrudgingly. "I'll meet you out in the gardens in five minutes."
"Why don't we just go together?" she asked.
He looked at her again in disbelief. "Are you joking? Someone might see us."
"And?"
"And I have a reputation to uphold," he said cruelly.
"Oh, fine," she huffed, biting her tongue to keep from lashing out at him but unable to repress the anger blazing in her gaze. "I'll be waiting," she said, and marched off down the stairs.
****
"For God's sake, what took you so long? You said five minutes!" It was late October and fifteen minutes waiting in the brisk evening breeze had left a very perturbed Ginny chilled to the bone.
Draco shrugged, completely unconcerned. "I had things to do."
"Like what, file your nails?" she asked, irritation evident in her voice.
"Like none of your business," he said, shooting her a glare. "You should bloody well be glad I'm humoring you at all." He neglected to mention the inner debate he'd had over whether or not to meet her after all, his curiosity eventually overcoming him. The knowledge that he could simply laugh in her face and humiliate her if her favor proved too ridiculous was a small comfort. And if he were feeling particularly malevolent, he could broadcast her desperation to the entirity of Hogwarts. With these thoughts, he had made his way almost eagerly to their rendez-vous.
"Well, let's have it," he said impatiently. "I have things to do, you know."
He couldn't be sure in the dark, but he thought he saw her roll her eyes. "Sit," she commanded, pointing to a small stone bench nearby.
"Watch who you're bossing, Weasley," he snapped, obeying nonetheless. "I could buy your entire family if I wanted to."
"We're not for sell," she grumbled.
"More's the pity -- I could use a decent maid," he said coolly, continuing before she could reply, "but enough with the small talk. What's this all about, anyway?"
She took a deep breath. "Well, it's about me, of course," she said. "Me and Harry, actually."
Draco lept to his feet at the mention of his archenemy. "Christ in a sidecar, you really are nutters," he said. "If you think I'm going to do anything to help Scarhead --"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist," she said, annoyed. "If this works, it'll make Harry really unhappy. And that's pretty much your raison d'être, isn't it?"
"Excuse me?"
Ginny sighed. "Nevermind," she said. "My point is that you should be able to get your jollies out of this."
Always one for a cheap thrill, Draco reclaimed his seat. "I'm listening," he said tentatively, feeling vaguely curious.
"I guess you know that I fancy Harry, right?"
"Yeah, you fancy the pants off him," Draco laughed condescendingly. "Barking mad, this one," he added in a lower voice, as if making a personal note of it.
"And there's no one Harry hates worse than you," she said. "Well, except maybe Bellatrix Lestrange, or Peter Pettigrew...or Snape, of course...Anyway, I'm pretty sure you're in the top five, at least."
"Let's get to the point, shall we?" he said, glancing down at his expensive wrist watch as if to punctuate his boredom.
"I want to make Harry notice me and there's no better way to get his attention than to have him think we're snogging." The words came out in one quick breath of air as she braced herself for his rebuff.
Draco laughed uproariously to mask how disconcerted he was, while Ginny fought off a furious blush. "Why in God's name would I want to snog you?" he demanded after his laughter had subsided.
Ginny very nearly growled. "Because if you weren't such a bloody ponce, you might actually like it," she said hotly.
"Yeah, well I might like snogging a house elf too, but I'm not going to try it just to find out!"
"You are absolutely insufferable," she spat, glaring at him. "I should've known better than to even try and give you credit for a shred of humanity. Everything they say about you is true."
"I don't give a rat's arse what your bloody Griffyndor friends say about me," he said casually, feeling suddenly insecure despite his bravado.
"Of course not," she affirmed. "You're the most arrogant prat in the entire school. You think your shit doesn't stink just because you've got money."
"Look here, Weasley," he said with barely contained rage. "I'm not as arrogant as your bloody hero Potter, so you'd best shut your pretty little pie hole."
Much to his surprise, Ginny smiled wryly.
"What?" he asked, confused. "What the hell are you grinning about?"
"Did you just compliment me?"
"What? No," he insisted, flustered.
"You said 'pretty' in conjunction with me," she said triumphantly.
"Well don't get all excited about it," he said, scowling. "Slip of tongue, that's all."
"I think you do want to snog," she said teasingly, goading him.
Draco frowned. "You're bloody obnoxious," he said, standing up and shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his robe.
"You're bloody avoiding the subject," she mocked.
"Look, why don't you just sod off?" he said, flustered. "I don't want any hand in your little head trips over Scarhead."
"But you live to make him miserable," she pointed out.
"And I'd like to keep living," he retorted. "Him and your sodding brother would hex me into Sunday if they thought I'd so much as looked at you wrong."
"Well, that's the idea," she said.
"What?"
"If Harry isn't insanely bothered by the thought of us snogging, I'll know it's useless," she explained with a sigh. "It's been five years, and nothing else has worked...believe me, this wasn't exactly my Plan A."
Draco was silent for a moment. "What's in it for me?" he said finally. "I'll not go sticking my neck out for you without a nice little prize in store."
"Well, I have a few Galleons from my last birthday..." she offered, having given little thought to the matter.
"Pocket change," he scoffed. "What else do you have?"
"I'm a good kisser," she said confidently, "so there's that. You can ask Dean or Seamus if you don't believe me."
Again, he did not seem enticed. "I can snog anyone in this school that I want," he said, nose in the air. "And you're not exactly top of the list."
"Oh, bollocks," she said crossly. "You're all mouth and no trousers."
Draco smiled, an arrogant, incongruous smile that was oddly charming. "In your dreams," he quipped.
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm serious, Weasley. Give me some incentive here."
"I'm not having sex with you, if that's what you're implying," she said firmly.
"Saving yourself for Potter, eh?" he said nastily.
"My sex life is no concern of yours."
"Isn't it?" he asked. "You're the one that wants to snog me."
"Desperate times," she said. "Extenuating circumstances..." She was beginning to think that this was the worst idea she had ever had, that she had humiliated herself, that he would refuse her after all and she'd be no closer to her goal than ever. But Draco was more unpredictable than people gave him credit for.
"Let's make a deal, Weasley," he said slowly. "I'll do this thing that you want if you'll do me a little favor in exchange."
She swallowed a lump in her throat. "What is it?"
Draco leaned over and whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling her cool skin. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip at his words, fighting her instinct to blurt out a refusal. Instead, she inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of his expensive cologne in the process, and nodded her head. "Alright," she said in a reluctant exhale. "It's a deal." She took his proffered hand and shook it, feeling it squeeze hers a bit harder than necessary. He smiled maliciously and said, "Well that settles it, then."
"Yeah," she sighed, overcome by the sinking feeling that she'd once again gotten in over her head.
"Tomorrow night, then," he said. "Don't forget."
"Oh, don't worry," she said under her breath to his retreating form. "I couldn't forget if I wanted to."
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