Aftermath of a Kiss

Bingblot

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 12/12/2004
Last Updated: 12/12/2004
Status: completed

It all started with a kiss. He'd only meant to frighten her a little but then one kiss turned into something more... One-shot.

Chapters

1. Aftermath of a Kiss

1. Aftermath of a Kiss

Disclaimer: Everything HP-related belongs to JKR, etc. etc.

Author’s Note: For Rayne Malfoy- your Christmas fic. Enjoy; I hope you like it!

Aftermath of a Kiss

It all started with a kiss.

He’d meant to scare her, intimidate her. The youngest Weasel girl.

And at first, he’d succeeded perfectly. He’d cornered her against a wall, enjoying watching her eyes widen and her breath quicken, a flash of fear which she’d quickly tried to hide.

“Well, well, the littlest Weasel all trapped. Now what shall I do with you?” he’d drawled softly, leaning in just that extra inch to definitively cross the borders of personal comfort.

His gaze dropped from her wide, amber eyes to her lips, parted slightly, and he deliberately let his smile deepen, become smug.

He’d seen a flash of defiance in her eyes before he closed the gap between their lips.

And then he just lost control.

Something about the touch of her lips, the heat he felt flare between them, the taste of her, sweet, innocent… Something just went straight to his head stopping all conscious thought. And he forgot that she was a Weasley, forgot that he’d only been meaning to frighten her a little, forgot everything except the feel of her lips against his and the taste of her…

He’d deepened the kiss automatically, seeking more, deliberately coaxing her lips to part until he felt it. The slightest movement, a softening of her lips as she kissed him back. And he knew a surge of triumph.

How long the kiss lasted he didn’t know. She was the first to move, tearing her lips away with a gasp. Some semblance of sanity returned to his mind as he stared at her, seeing his own shock and confusion mirrored in her eyes.

And in that moment, the only coherent thought that went through his mind was, This wasn’t supposed to happen, rather inanely.

That was when it started.

It was insane. It was wrong. It was out of character for him. It was—it was irresistible.

This urge to see her, to touch her, to kiss her… Dear Merlin, especially to kiss her…

He dismissed it as just lust at first. Lust for someone like a Weasley might still be frowned upon and a little odd but it wasn’t unheard of. He could handle it if it was only lust.

Lust was behind this obsession (he couldn’t think of it as anything else), the compulsion that made him seek her out whenever he could, that made him watch her when they were both in the Great Hall… That made him wait impatiently for the stolen moments of kissing and talking and even a little laughter (this was what he really couldn’t understand, how somehow he could talk to her as he’d never talked to anyone before, and even laugh, finding that she had a surprising sarcastic streak in her that matched his own)…

It was some kind of temporary insanity; he was sure of it. Temporary insanity induced by lust…

And then he saw her talking to Finnegan and laugh at something he said and then put her hand on bloody Finnegan’s bloody arm as she smiled up at him… His hand clenched into a fist so tight he felt his nails digging painfully into his palm.

He waited for her later, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the nearest broom closet.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing, smiling at Finnegan like that?” he hissed, his hand still gripping her arm so she couldn’t escape.

She twisted away, ineffectually trying to free her arm. “Let go of me, Draco. You’re hurting me.”

Abruptly he let go of her, more because of her use of his name than because of her words. It was the first time she’d called him by his name.

He let out a ragged breath and then pulled her into his arms, his mouth coming down on hers fiercely. The kiss wasn’t gentle; it was angry, hot. But she didn’t fight him, just wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back until he insensibly gentled the assault of his lips. It was a branding, as if he wanted to mark her as his, which was in fact the case.

He tore his lips away from hers, his gray gaze burning into hers. “You’re mine, Ginny. Never forget that.” The words were an intense whisper, his voice low and urgent, his breath hot against her lips.

For one long moment, his gaze continued to burn into hers. And then he kissed her, quickly, his lips firm on hers, before he was gone.

Leaving Ginny to stare at the door he’d closed behind him, one hand covering her lips.

He’d said she was hers… And he’d called her by her name for the first time… What did he mean by it, she wondered, even as she felt a small flicker of hope… It was the closest thing to a declaration of his feelings—if he had any feelings beyond mere desire for her. Now she knew there was at least one more emotion he felt for her: possessiveness. And couldn’t that be a hint of more, some deeper feeling?

She didn’t know and she was afraid to hope.

She’d already acknowledged that there was something about Draco that attracted her more than to any of the nice boys in Gryffindor who had asked her out before, something about his arrogance and his rigid self-control that attracted her even as it sometimes repelled her… What it was she felt for him she didn’t quite know but she knew she wanted to know that Draco felt something more than just desire for her. Wanted it but wasn’t sure she should even allow herself to hope…

After that, he couldn’t even try to deny that whatever this thing he felt for Ginny was, it was more than simple lust. It went deeper than that. Just how deep was the question… His mind balked at the thought. He couldn’t even think it. It was impossible. It was madness. It was- it was just something. Something he couldn’t- didn’t want to- put a name to but something undeniable, something very real. Something…

He saw them before he saw her, the crowd of the 5 Slytherin boys, Adrian Pucey and Blaise Zabini from his year and Jasper Kilroy, Horace Whittaker and Peter Gilman from 6th year, surrounding someone, taunting them. They’d confiscated the person’s wand- he could see Blaise holding it, tantalizingly just out of reach.

And then he saw a flash of bright red hair that could only belong to one person. Ginny.

He felt a surge of unfamiliar emotions inside him. Rage that they dared to bother her, who was the first person to really treat him as a likable normal person, who made him feel so many unfamiliar things… But it wasn’t just rage; rage he’d felt before. This was more than that, more personal… And he suddenly realized what was different; this was rage on someone else’s behalf, and it was protectiveness, this sudden need to help someone else and his compulsion to make sure she was alright… That was what was new…

He had to swallow the urge to just charge in there and curse them all. He couldn’t do that; they’d tell their parents who would tell his father and then he’d really be in trouble. And part of him just didn’t want to deal with the ridicule, the scorn he knew he’d get for this compulsion to be with her. No, he’d need to try a less direct way.

“What do we have here?” he managed to say coolly.

They all turned to look at him, the malicious enjoyment in their eyes not abating one whit as they greeted him. He saw the flash of hope that was swiftly concealed in her eyes and steadfastly refrained from meeting them. He couldn’t be distracted by looking at her.

Instead he made himself smirk as he looked at the five boys. “Nice job, boys. I think I’ll take over, have some of my own fun with the little Weasel.” He held out a hand to Blaise for Ginny’s wand, a silent command in his eyes.

They relented, as he’d known they would. He may not be active in the group of young Death Eaters, in fact avoided them as much as he could these days, but he was still a Malfoy, still known as Lucius Malfoy’s son and that gave him power among the Slytherins. Power he was, for the first time, beginning to wish he didn’t have but was grateful for now. Because he knew it was only because of that power that they would go without causing a fuss.

And they did, only laughing a little among themselves no doubt at what they had already done and then at what they thought he would do.

Little did they know, he thought with some irony.

He glanced around and then gave her back her wand. “Come on, follow me,” he said under his breath. “But look like you’re being dragged,” he added, taking her arm in a grip that looked much tighter than it actually was.

He led her to a private room he’d found in one of his ramblings, one of Hogwarts’ many random little rooms, this one furnished like a sitting room with a couch in front of a fireplace. It was decorated in shades of forest green, which suited him nicely and he came there when he felt like being alone.

He shut the door behind them, muttering a charm to lock the door as well.

She was still standing, just looking at him quietly, when he turned back to her.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked quietly.

“No.” She straightened her shoulders, her usual spirit returning, and shrugged, although he could see some lingering shadows in her eyes. “They were just saying their usual trash. Thanks for saving me though; they took my wand or I would have hexed them but…” She stopped, letting herself shudder a little at the memory. He understood; the bravest and best witch or wizard suddenly became helpless if they were without their wands given how rare the ability to do wandless magic was. She met his eyes again and managed a smile.

And he wondered how it was that just seeing her smile at him suddenly made him feel as if he’d defeated a Hungarian Horntail with his own two hands.

He crossed the room to her almost without thinking of it, feeling the same compulsion, the same need he always felt when he looked at her, just compounded this time by the vulnerability he could still see flickering in her eyes and by his own soul-deep relief that he’d been there to save her before she could be really hurt.

And in that last second before he kissed her, his eyes met hers and he knew that his life would never be the same again. Because of her. And because- because he loved her… He couldn’t deny it or lie to himself about it. Not anymore. Not now when he’d suddenly realized just what he would do for her… He’d looked into her eyes, seen the lingering shadows in them along with something else- something that shook him to the soul: trust, pure and simple and unconditional. And he’d known that he could- that he would- face his father’s wrath, the derision and the enmity of every Slytherin, the suspicion and distrust of everyone else, just to be with her, to have her as his…

The kiss they shared now was different from every other one that had come before. There’d been kisses of passion, of anger, of unwilling desire… This was a kiss of tenderness, of love…

He didn’t say anything then, didn’t know if he could say the words he’d never even thought of saying before now. All he could do was kiss her and let his kiss tell her the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say…

He walked her back to the Gryffindor Tower for the first time after that, ignoring the stares that greeted them as they walked. There’d be hell to pay later but for the first time in his life, he was sure that this was worth any unpleasantness he’d have to suffer. For the first time in his life, he was more concerned with what someone else would have to endure. It was new and unfamiliar, this concern over someone else’s well-being. New but not entirely unpleasant. And all he had to do was look at her, see the light in her eyes, to know that she was worth it.

He left her before the picture of the Fat Lady who stared at him in disbelief. He ignored her, only smiled slightly at Ginny before murmuring, “I’ll see you later,” and leaving.

“Draco.”

He turned at the sound of her voice saying his name.

She hesitated slightly and then smiled. “Thanks again. I’ll see you.”

And he smiled to himself as he turned and walked back toward the Slytherin dungeons. Thank you… It was one of those things he had hardly ever heard in his 17 years of life, had never really thought of hearing. But hearing Ginny say it was different; it meant something, made him feel- nice. And because of her, too, he didn’t think the word as a derogatory epithet.

She made him feel as if he could be nice, as if he could be good, and more than that, she made him feel that he wanted to be better… He didn’t understand it, was still not entirely sure that he liked it. But there it was.

And it all started with a kiss…

The End