Author's Note: Merry (belated) Christmas and Happy New Year everyone! I hope everything has been, at the least, bearable. Just thought I would share some seasonal cheer and thank everyone for their kind reviews. I shall endeavour to stay the path of fiction! Obviously I don't mean this in a literal way as walking on books would be wrong. And expensive. Enjoy!
Keep It Unclean
Chapter Five
It was just past five o'clock in the afternoon and the sun had almost disappeared from the sky. The wind was picking up, tossing garden furniture and trees alike. Rain pattered lightly against the rooftops - a pathetic attempt at intimidating weather. It was at this time of day that everything slows down and people begin to relax into the early evening. Within the warmth of her own home, Ginny enjoyed an early evening bath. The lukewarm water lapped round her stomach and thighs. Across the bath lay a plastic tray for holding soaps, sponges and the likes. Instead of this though there was a steaming mug of tea and a packet of digestives nestled in between a tattered book and a bottle of shampoo. As one hand dallied in the water enjoying making ripples, the other clutched at a trashy magazine. She tilted her head to one side and watched the picture follow her movement with a cheeky grin. Her nose wrinkled slightly in disgust.
"HARRY POTTER EXCLUSIVE" she read silently. It seemed that every article about Harry was an exclusive; the press had a field day every time he boiled a kettle these days. Without Voldemort they had been left with less dramatic headlines such as new magic policies and a wizard suing his own broom. However they were still intensely interested in the life of their favourite hero. Even Ginny had to admit that his picture alone made her want to buy the magazine. He was a money spinner and it didn't matter that he was a fairly private man because they had means and ways of finding things out. They'd practically torn Ginny apart when they'd broken up. There had been rumours of an affair and mistreatment, both of which were untrue. The press simply weren't interested in the boring reality. Harry must have suffered, Ginny must have been cold-hearted and they must have had the most acrimonious split ever.
Plucking her hand from the now murky water, she ran a dripping finger along the curve of the fake Harry's glasses. A smear of water bled into the paper unceremoniously. It wasn't the best photo she'd ever seen of him…then again she had seen a lot of them. This particular one was a close-up of his beaming face, winking heroically at the camera and sticking his thumbs up. The picture danced about in front of her eyes tauntingly. Again it was a case of the Boy-Who-Lived being the perfect icon of honour, respect and peace. If this picture was to be believed then he was goodness personified. Ginny smiled to herself and reached out to take a sip of her tea. It was satisfying to see that the magazine had airbrushed his face enough to make him look like he'd had magical surgery.
It didn't hurt as much as it had done a few months ago. She didn't even want to burst into tears anymore. If there was such a thing as progress then that was it.
Apparently Harry had recently visited Romania to seek advice on dragons from a close friend. They had been seen together eating lunch and chatting light-heartedly. Witnesses confirmed that Harry was looking in good health but that he had lost some weight; this was accounted for by the rise in Death Eater activity in western parts of Britain. Some exclusive, Ginny thought bitterly. It wasn't even vaguely interesting! And yet, at the same time, she had been compelled to buy the magazine because of a hope that it might be.
What she hoped and dreaded the most was that he would find a new girlfriend. So far there hadn't been anyone to speak of…but she knew that Harry was very good at covering up things like that. Their relationship had only been so well known due to the connection they both had from an early age. With a famous boyfriend and brother, Ginny was seen as something worth mentioning in connection with the either one. However as a separate entity she was simply Ginny Weasley and that wouldn't sell newspapers. In some ways she'd been glad for the respite.
'Oh well,' she muttered to herself. 'I guess it passed the time of day.' With a well aimed shot Ginny threw it across the room, hitting the wall and dropping into the bin. There seemed no point in dwelling on what the past held. Later she'd probably dig it out and gaze at the photo once more, wondering whatever had happened to tear them apart. It still felt like he was an integral part of her life. Maybe that feeling would never leave her.
As she submerged her head into the water she couldn't help but ponder whether Harry ever thought of her these days. Did he remember her with the same feelings as she did him? The butterflies had only died at the end of the relationship. She used to hold her breath whenever there was a knock on the door, waiting for him to call her name softly through the crack. That feeling was the thing she missed the most - anticipation, hope, confusion and love all jumbled together. It was strange how some of the their moments together were so vivid in her mind. She wondered whether they'd talk again, laugh again, without it turning into an argument. There had to be an end to it all somewhere. At some point she would forget the moments in between where he was completely hers. Their shared dreams would become nothing more than a faint memory. One day she wouldn't remember his phone number off by heart.
What hurt the most was the feeling that she was being left behind.
Merlin Ginny, she thought to herself as she looked at the watery ceiling, you really must stop thinking about thinking about Harry! It isn't healthy for the soul she mentally reminded herself and it doesn't matter in the whole scheme of life. She surfaced from the water and rubbed her forehead wearily, squinting as it ran into her eyes. After all people are dying of thirst all over the world and you're lying here completely submerged in water she rationalised. Harry is just a man. There are millions more of them out there.
Quickly, in an inspired act of defiance against her brain, she grabbed her shampoo bottle and squeezed a shot of green fluid onto her head. Her hands worked swiftly at lathering up the glutinous substance, tugging her hair up into a spike on top of her head and then scrubbing at her scalp like a woman possessed. In this instance it wasn't simply a case of washing her hair - it was a cathartic experience that left her feeling a little less reflective.
Once done she managed to finish her tea, pop a couple of digestives and drag herself out of the bath tub. She wrapped herself in a couple of towels and darted from the warmth of the bathroom to her decidedly chilly kitchen. Absently she rinsed out her mug and left it on the draining board. She leant against the counter and sighed deeply. The flat was a tip and she really didn't want to have to be the one to clean it all up. It was amazing how much stuff she actually owned. She hadn't realised that she owned a measuring jug until she'd used it as a bowl for breakfast that morning. Where it had come from she couldn't fathom but it had been useful when there wasn't a clean bowl to be seen. From where she stood she could just see her typewriter, perched awkwardly on top of a pile of magazines with paper sticking out of it at all possible angles.
Writing her novel had become an unnecessary frustration recently and she'd found herself unable to form any coherent ideas. Inspiration had yet to come to Ginny as to how she was going to tackle a sex scene without cheapening the experience, leaving her feeling like a spare part without any direction. It had been two weeks since her first meeting with Malfoy and they had met several times to no real avail. They had discussed appearances, language and a woman's insecurities. It probably only amounted to about two hours worth of actual speaking though because he had a tendency to drift off into his own world. Sometimes it would take him ten minutes just to contemplate one sentence! At least he was taking something seriously she thought bitterly. Her odd-jobs were another subject all together - she'd washed his windows, typed up his proposals (for the Muggle touch) and put his collection of books into alphabetical order. Simple enough until you saw the quantity that she was expected to do. Her brain still hurt from all the mental repetition of the alphabet.
However this was all a walk in the park compared to the utter agony of being nice to Malfoy. In all honesty she knew that Malfoy had been restraining himself. There had been less snide comments then normal and he'd even enquired as to her health. It was possible that it was this peacefulness that was driving Ginny slowly mad. She was finding it difficult to cope with the level of companionable chit chat. It was irritating the hell out of her that he was completely capable of being civil when she was struggling just to say "good morning" without telling him he was an arse. It was getting to the point where she wanted to insult him just to see what would happen, however it would probably spoil her chances of learning anything more from him. They hadn't exactly covered much ground as it was. It wasn't even worth writing home about. Not that she would dream of ever doing that.
There was one thing that roused her curiosity during their meetings; Draco Malfoy was a very complex person. On one hand you had his public image which was very straight-laced, neat and formal. He looked like the kind of man who would rather die than don anything other then the best and his nose was always risen in a way that suggested there was a nasty smell in the room. Then there was this other Malfoy, the one who wore woolly jumpers, always checked his watch and was a constant fidget. It amazed her how much he used his body when talking and thinking. In particular Ginny had become fascinated by his hands. They had a life of their own, in constant motion. There was a particular habit of Malfoy's that Ginny found worryingly endearing; whenever he was deep in thought he would tug at his buttons or sleeve. She could see how he was a good business man though. Not only was he able to keep a straight face and good manners at all times, but he also had a physical presence that was intimidating. He had a way of almost phrasing questions without words just by standing in a certain way. It was a trait Ginny wished she was able to adopt at will.
Overall it hadn't been the worst experience of her life. Having said that she had had some pretty awful experiences in her time. Her only problem was the way he irritated her without actually having to do anything. Inexplicable but true.
As she mused about the past couple of weeks she found herself drawn to the typewriter, her fingers dallying over the keys spelling out her own name. She smiled to herself and sat down on her rickety stool. Pulling the typewriter forward, she slipped a sheet of paper in and began to type.
The cold wind whipped her hair around her face until Handsome was almost entirely obscured by curls of chocolate delight. She pushed back her hair and gazed at him with a heated desire that almost broke her hazel eyes. Why was it that she was unable to breath whenever he looked at her with those big blue lagoon's of love? Although his clothes were ripped from the fight with the enraged alligator and blood oozed from a cut on his cheek, he still resembled the country gent that she'd first seen on the Moor that fateful night. She had known from that moment that he was the one - it was the familiar way in which he made her feel safe. It was amazing how he managed to win every battle and still maintain his masculine quiff of hair.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered placing a hand to her bosom. 'I should never have asked you to help me. This was never your battle to face…'
He turned away from her and looked into the depths of the valley, consumed by some internal battle. 'We should find somewhere to sleep for the night. If we continue through this damned darkness we may fall to some peril. It would crush my very soul if anything were to happen to you.'
'Ebenezer,' concern laced her voice and she touched his arm, 'what's wrong?'
'There's something I must tell you,' he remained unresponsive to her touch. 'There's something you don't know about me.'
'What is there to know?' she moved so that he was looking at her. 'Everything that I ever need to know I have seen here. You've faced so many dangers, protected me with every atom of your being and then shown great knowledge of the culture. Surely I have a portrait of your being with everything we've been through? I only have to look into your eyes to see your very soul.'
'I'm…gay.'
Ginny ripped the page out of her typewriter and screwed it up into a tiny ball. 'The good old plot twist,' she muttered to herself. However hard she tried she knew that Handsome would forever be what he had been in the very beginning - a romantic hero to the end. He possessed every trait Ginny had considered noble like chastity and sacrifice. Sex was not merely a means to an end, it would be the very end of Handsome himself. It would go against his moral code and his sense of duty. And although she realised that he was merely a fictional character, Ginny was attached to him. She had played at being a god by creating him, breathing life into his literary bones, and to assassinate his character in such a way would hurt her more than she would like to admit. Hermione had once said in passing that, by creating Handsome, Ginny was in essence having an affair with him herself. They had laughed at the time…
The only way to preserve Handsome would be to write in another love interest. She thought about the idea for a couple of seconds, mulling it over. By having another love interest she could let Emerald have sex with Mr X and then maybe he could die of…malaria and she would find a new form of love with Handsome. Yes. She liked that idea. Emerald could become the tragic widow seeking revenge on the murderers of her late husband. There could be flashbacks, dream-like sequences, where Mr X wooed her and told her of an island. Emerald then meets the attractive Handsome who agrees to take her to there in return for…reading lessons. They set off together and all the action already written takes place but, instead of having instant love, they progressively begin to depend on one another emotionally. A love is formed. Unfortunately though the book ends with Handsome's sacrifice and their love is never realised in physical form.
Ginny bit her lip gleefully.
However the jovial moment was cut short by a sharp knocking. With a frustrated sigh Ginny made her way over to the door, wrapping her towel round her body tightly to make sure it didn't cause her any embarrassment. Timidly she pressed her ear to the door and listened for signs of life. 'Who is it?' she called in a sing-song voice, as all people do when answering the door.
'It's Malfoy,' came the reply.
'What do you want?' she asked incredulously.
'Strangely enough, Weasley, I want to come in. It's like the bloody Artic out here.'
Ginny winced slightly at his tone and leant her forehead against the door. Great. Malfoy, possibly the most judgemental man in England, wanted to come into her poky, messy flat when she had nothing to cover her modesty but a fraying towel. Well it didn't matter how nice she was trying to be - there was no way she was going to subject herself to that kind of scrutiny. 'I'm afraid that won't be possible.'
'Why ever not?'
'I'm not decently attired,' she said through clenched teeth.
'How so?' he asked curiously and she could tell that he was smirking.
'That's none of your business!' she growled indignantly. 'Anyway, what is it you want to come in for?'
'I would have thought that was obvious Weasley. I've come here for mad sex.' he said loudly. Her mouth dropped open slightly and she could feel her cheeks going red. 'Now if you don't let me in I'll be forced to stay out here all night. I'm sure you wouldn't like to inconvenience your neighbours and myself by doing that.'
'Fine,' she said quickly, 'but you'll have to wait a couple of minutes.'
'I'm sure it's nothing I haven't already seen.'
'Just wait there…'
Ginny dashed across the flat, leaping over precariously placed piles of clothing. With a soft growl of annoyance she rummaged around for some clean looking underwear. Eventually, after a bit of a struggle with a bent bra fastening, she managed to make herself look slightly presentable. Okay, so the egg stain on her trousers was a little inconspicuous, but she didn't want him to think that she was making any effort. She checked herself over in the mirror and shook her damp hair a bit so it fell into place. It would do. Stepping out of her bedroom she wearily carried a couple of rouge piles of stuff (she wasn't entirely sure how her rolling pin had made its way into her living room) into her room and dropped them on the floor, making a mental note to clean up sooner rather than later. With a firm tug she managed to close the door on the chaos.
'Right,' she muttered giving the room a glance over. 'It'll do.'
With a deep breath she unlocked the front door and swung it open dramatically. No one was there. She frowned to herself for a second and stepped onto the landing. Sitting on the floor, nonchalantly flipping through a dog-eared copy of her manuscript, was Malfoy. His back was pushed up against the wall, his legs doubled up to form triangles with the floor. 'You took your time,' he said looking up at her. She raised her eyebrows to relate that she was only just tolerating his presence. He slowly rose from the floor and brushed himself down. Ginny examined his clothes discreetly - she found them strangely fascinating. Today's choice was a brown v-neck jumper, jeans and a long grey coat. From where she was standing she could see the slightest wisp of blonde hair protruding from the jumper.
'Aren't you going to invite me in?'
'Won't you come in,' she attempted a friendly smile and gesticulated towards the door with a flourish.
'Don't mind if I do,' he said in a way that sounded particularly smug to Ginny.
Once she'd ushered him into her small abode she decided to leave the door unlocked in case she had to make a run for it, which was highly likely from the way he was eyeing the general clutter. She consoled herself with the fact that she wouldn't be able to live any other way. An artist must be expected to create things. Whether it was a novel or a complete mess it all amounted to the same thing - an expression of her character. Of course, that said, she didn't want people to translate that into a declaration of insanity. She wasn't that bad. Yet.
'What is it you want Malfoy?' she asked in what she hoped was a civil tongue.
'I've finished reading your…erm…manuscript,' he replied, distracted by his scrutiny of the room. 'I thought it prudent to talk about it out of office hours.'
'Less distractions?'
He smiled slightly and turned to face her. 'No. More time.'
Ginny nodded and wondered whether this was a good thing or not. Did he find the story so hypnotising that he needed extra time in which to praise her use of language? Somehow she doubted this. It was more likely that he needed more time in which to criticise her.
'Fine,' she said eventually, a little disconcerted by the way he was looking at her typewriter. 'Why don't you take a seat and I'll make you a mug of coffee?'
'No.'
'No?'
'No.' Draco flipped the manuscript pages thoughtfully. 'I was thinking we could kill two birds with one stone. I'm meeting an important client tonight and I would like you to accompany me.'
Ginny wrinkled her nose slightly. 'You want me to be your date?!'
'No.'
'No?'
'No,' he said impatiently. 'Don't flatter yourself. The aim of this evening is to give the impression that I'm some sort of Muggle-loving fool. A good way of doing this is to associate myself with someone known to be just that. And what better example than the daughter of a well-known Muggle supporting Minister?'
'You want to use me in order to make out that you're…nicer?' she asked with an amused smirk.
'Let's just say that by appearing in public with you would make me seem less antiquated in my beliefs,' he scowled at her. 'Alright?'
'I suppose so,' she couldn't help but smile. 'I never thought that you, of all people, would want to be seen in public with me! It's quite funny if you think about it.'
'Not particularly. Unlike your novel.'
Ouch, she thought with a mental wince. Why was it he was so good at spotting the chinks in the armour? You'd have thought a man with his head so far up his own arse wouldn't be able to notice much. However she kept these sentiments to herself. She'd save them up until a time when she could be free of him. Then he'd be sorry.
***
'So where's this person we're supposed to be meeting with?' Ginny asked looking about at her surroundings.
Having been told that she was to make herself look marginally better - which, apparently, meant a lot better - Ginny had changed into her favourite grey dress, with woolly tights and a jumper. It wasn't the most glamorous thing she owned but again it was a case of not wanting to look like she was trying. In her opinion Malfoy's ego was already large enough. It had turned out that they were going to The Ugly Bug Bar which was fairly new to Diagon Alley and Ginny had only ever walked past it. She was one of those people who went to the same places whenever she went out and most of them were places she'd visited with Harry. Maybe she continued to go there in an act of defiance, or maybe to try catch a glimpse of him. However times change, people change and the world carries on as if nothing had happened.
'When I said meeting,' Draco said edgily, shrugging off his coat and passing it over the counter, 'I meant potential meeting.'
Ginny glanced at him questioningly. 'Have you brought me here on false pretences? If you have I'll be very disappointed.'
'The client I'm trying to snag,' he replied slowly, 'is known to frequent this drinking hole.'
'Ah,' she said walking to the bar and slipping onto a stool. 'You're stalking him.'
'Not as such. Merely making sure coincidences are more likely to occur,' he said following her. 'What's your poison? Oh and we won't be sitting here so don't get comfortable.'
'Orange juice. Why won't we be sitting here?'
'We won't be sitting here because I need to be able to see the entire room, which is impossible when you've got your back to it. Why don't you go find a table somewhere over there,' he gesticulated to a corner of the room, 'and I'll bring the drinks over.'
As she wandered across the room she couldn't help but wonder why he was actually helping her. She had just about grasped her own reasons for needing the relationship, but his own agenda was still unclear. At first she had assumed it was his pride allowing itself to be worshipped - everyone loved attention. However it was beginning to become clear that she may have misjudged him. He was far more complicated than simply a man who loved himself. For example there had to be a story behind his intriguing collection of knitwear. Was it all simply a case of horses for courses? Was the jumper a way of displacing her from who he really was? It was more likely that she was reading too much into things.
'Here,' Malfoy put the glass down in front of her. She frowned and sniffed the drink cautiously. 'I took the courtesy of ordering you something that wasn't orange juice, I hope you don't mind?'
Or it could be that he's an evil, conniving, jumped-up bastard, she ended her train of thought triumphantly.
Ginny had chosen a booth in the corner of the room with big open seats and comfy looking cushions. If she was going to be chastised for her novel then she intended to do it in comfort. She had positioned herself so that she would be able to see the door - that way she'd have forewarning if someone she knew came in. Malfoy put his own drink down and slid onto the bench and extended his arms along the back. His thigh was dangerously close to her own and Ginny fought the urge to flinch.
'What is it?' she asked loudly pointing to the drink and trying to ignore the fact that his hand was casually touching her shoulder from where it lay. 'When you said poison I didn't think you meant literally. Although thinking of it now, I shouldn't be surprised.'
'Now be nice Weasley,' he scolded gently, leaning close to her ear so she could hear over the music. 'A gentleman buys you a drink and you don't even say thank you. If I were your date I would be greatly put out.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Thanks.'
'You're very welcome.'
'That doesn't answer the question though. What is it?'
'It's called a Screaming Volcano,' he said matter-of-factly.
'Oh.' Ginny picked up the glass and examined it carefully. 'What's in it?'
'Look, Weasley, if you're too frightened to have it…'
That really pushed her buttons and didn't he just know it. She didn't have to look to know that he practically had smug written all over his face. Well she would be forced to drink it now. It couldn't be that bad after all! It was just a drink. Okay, so it was purple and steaming but it could be worse. Taking a deep breath she took a long swig. As it went down her throat it felt as if her whole mouth were on fire. She took a sharp intake of breath and winced.
'Eurgh,' she exclaimed once she regained the ability to speak. 'I see why they liken it to a volcano now. That's awful.'
'Give it a chance to work,' he said with a half smile.
'What…'Ginny stopped suddenly. All across her stomach she could feel a fluttering warmth that was spreading to every part of her body. She curled her toes involuntarily and her skin tingled slightly. 'That's weird.'
'Nice though, isn't it?' he said taking the glass from her hand and putting it on the table. 'Or so I've been told. Apparently they use dragon's breath and crushed raspberries in order to get just the right effect. A kind of pleasure and pain thing. Of course it's also incredibly potent, so maybe we should just wait a little longer until having anymore.'
'Yes,' she muttered fanning herself with her hand.
'Anyway, to the matter in hand,' Malfoy said brightly, slamming the manuscript down onto the table. 'To call this complete crap would be cruel. Honest…but cruel. For starters your characters are completely unbelievable. You have situations here more complicated than finding a needle in a very large haystack. I got so confused at one point I had to start again. And I was already two hundred pages in! Handsome was irritating and Emerald a complete dimwit. Who on earth would fall in love with a woman who's so self obsessed that she almost falls into a ravine?!'
'If that's your first thoughts, I hate to think what the second one's may be,' she said angrily and shuffled away from him. 'And I guess you think you can do better.'
'Not necessarily,' he gave her a stony look. 'Isn't the whole point of this exercise to get my opinion? To develop what you've already written into something more believable?'
'Yes,' she said tightly feeling herself become more confrontational with every word. 'However I did expect something a little more constructive.'
'Fine. I apologise.'
She looked up at him blankly. Absently she picked up her glass and polished off the rest of the purple fluid. It really hurt her when people read her novel and saw only the negative things. No one was perfect and it was impossible to get it right the first time. She knew in her heart that she needed help; it was just difficult to ask for it when you were so invested in the project. 'I'll be needing another one of those,' she said loudly, hoping that she didn't sound as upset as she was.
'I thought that would be the case,' he pushed his own glass towards her. 'Have mine.'
'Thank you,' she said in exaggerated politeness.
'Let's forget about that for now,' Malfoy swept the manuscript off the table with a flourish. 'I can see that you're in the mood for suggestions. Instead let's talk shop. Think of this as a field trip.'
'Isn't that the same thing as discussing the book?' she asked taking a small sip from the new glass. 'What is this?'
'It's called Hairy Chest.'
'What!?' Ginny gave him a sharp look.
'Obviously they don't mean .literally, Weasley,' he smirked. 'Although I'm sure that would provide some light entertainment for us all.'
'Shut up, Malfoy.'
'Be nice,' he warned sarcastically, 'I may think you don't like me otherwise.'
Merlin! Ginny seethed in silence. She had known when she'd handed him the book that he would not appreciate it; he'd already said that genre killed brain cells. However she hadn't expected his opinion to mean so much to her. She had anticipated it being a case of water off a duck's back. That wasn't how she felt right now though and he knew it. Malfoy knew he was hurting her and was taking pleasure inflicting it upon her. Maybe it was all a bit of a game to him. Sadistic. Yet at the same time he'd brought her to a nice bar, bought her expensive drinks and been generally civil.
'How is it that I've managed to consume almost two drinks and you've not touched a drop?' she asked suddenly. 'Are you trying to get me drunk?'
'No. I would never do anything that obvious.' He leant back in the booth and looked around the bar. 'You're the one who said you needed another drink anyway.'
'Hmmm,' she drummed her fingers around her glass, still worrying about what Malfoy would have to say about her precious book. 'I'll believe that when I see it.'
Malfoy glanced at her and let out a pretend sigh of surrender. 'Here's the first lesson of the evening: always buy the drinks. By doing that you're giving off a certain image. People will think you're generous with your money. It's very attractive to certain women.'
Ginny snorted. 'You mean gold-diggers.'
'Sometimes,' he conceded. 'Although buying drinks also gives you the advantage that everyone feels slightly indebted to you. It means they're more likely to say yes when you ask something of them.'
'And I bet I can guess what you ask for!' Ginny sassed with a cheeky tone.
'I never have to ask for that Weasley,' he said with a sly smile. 'In fact I make a point of it. Surely you must have learnt that much from our little chats?'
She gave him a doubtful look and took another sip of her drink. 'That can't be true of every instance you go out with a woman. At some point there has to have been one woman who you've desired more than she's desired you? It is practically impossible that it couldn't have happened so far!'
Malfoy slid closer to her so that their thighs pressed together intimately. He craned his neck slightly so he could speak into her ear uninterrupted. 'Of course it has but what's the point in asking if you know what the answer if going to be already? If they don't want you as much as you want them then there's nothing to ask. What most women don't understand about me is that I'm just looking. Not buying.'
'Pig,' she responded lightly, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow.
'And don't you just love it?' he slyly whispered into her ear. 'Some part of you revels in the fact that I'm not a good boy. That's why you need me.'
Ginny couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all and also to relieve the tension. 'Come on! I do not revel in the fact that you're an arsehole. I'm simply curious as to what makes you tick. For instance why does a business man such as yourself constantly fidget? Surely you can sit still for two seconds.'
'I do not fidget!' he said incredulously.
'Oh and how is it that you manage to attract so many women? I can't simply discredit the entire of my sex as being brainless. They must know what they're getting themselves into,' Ginny said with an honest smile. 'No offence, obviously.'
A pained look passed over Malfoy's face. 'Ouch. That was almost a scathing remark on my abilities as a man.'
'Tell me. How do you manage to get the girl, as it were? I know you don't pay for it,' she asked eagerly. It could be that her brain had kicked into gear, or the fact that she'd had some strong alcohol, but she was suddenly feeling strong and playful. It no longer mattered what he thought of her.
'It's just one of life's little mysteries Weasley,' he said nonchalantly. 'Maybe we'll never know. That's the beauty of sex. Attraction can be completely irrational.'
She rolled her eyes. 'You must have a theory. How else would you be so offended by the characters in my book? They may be idealised, as my publisher frequently says, but at least they know why they want one another.'
'Maybe we'll save it for another time. I don't want to give away too much, too soon.'
'Tell me,' she insisted slapping his arm gently. 'Otherwise I will be forced to tell everyone that you're an inadequate lover and you'll never be able to come in here again.'
Malfoy smiled to himself and rubbed his knuckles. 'I think the drink may have loosened someone's tongue.'
'Maybe…' Ginny looked down into the bottom of her glass and wondered how she'd managed to finish it so quickly. 'That doesn't mean that I'm not saying what I want to say however. Which I am, by the way. That is to say the words I'm speaking are the words I'm thinking. Meaning, even.'
Malfoy, however, didn't appear to be listening to a word she was saying. He was staring across the bar, his eyes fixed on someone that Ginny couldn't quite make out. She could tell he was deep in thought by the way his fingers busily picking at the hem of his jumper. For a moment she thought he might not speak again.
'Weasley, I'm going to kiss you and you aren't going to say a peep. Understood?'
'Pardon?' she asked in shock. 'Did you just say you were going to…'
'Yes. You asked me to tell you how I managed to attract so many women. So I'm going to show you, okay?'
Ginny nodded mutely and gazed up at him in terror. This was possibly the scariest experience of her adult life. How on earth had she got herself into this position? All she wanted to know was how he managed to trick so many women into sleeping with him! Of course she could have refused him but she didn't want to appear prudish. She didn't want him to think that she was frightened of a little kiss. After all it was just a kiss. People kissed each other all the time without it meaning anything. New Year's Eve for example was a prime example of this. Obviously this was slightly different…
'There's no need to look so scared,' Malfoy chuckled coldly. 'It's not going to kill you.'
'In your dreams, Malfoy.'
'Don't tempt me,' he said with a sly smirk before leaning impossibly close to her without making contact. 'Remember to breathe…'
It was strange the way her heart jumped into her throat when his lips touched hers. She could feel the panic rising as his hand came up behind her neck, holding her in place. His kiss was gentle and chaste - it was a kiss without any expectations. In a way it was sweetly shy like a first kiss. It amazed her that he could be so tender. She felt her own lips remain slacken under his gentle administrations. Her eyes closed with a flutter and she could feel the roughness of his stubble prickling her skin. It was a surreal moment of head meeting heart; the overwhelming sense of physical contact with another human being. The next second the contact was gone and she opened her eyes quickly. His body was still close to hers and she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. Their eyes met. He was looking at her in an intense manner, making her blush slightly under the scrutiny.
'You see,' he murmured, 'it's not about looks or power. It's about suggestion. If I can make you believe that you're the only woman in the world for me then I've won. All I have to do is kiss, touch, and look at you in a certain way.' He moved his hand from her neck and brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. 'Can you feel it?'
'No,' she said defiantly.
'Liar.'