Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but the holidays threw me for a loop. I'm back on my feet and writing again. Thanks for reading and all the wonderful reviews!
- fallenwitch
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Chapter 4
The Fucking Team Mascot
What was she, the fucking team mascot? Three weeks later, Ginny stood in the stands yelling and hooting and howling, cheering on her team until her throat went hoarse. She was draped in Draco's long winter cloak with her hair in braids that ran along either side of her face and a Slytherin green scarf wrapped around her neck.
Yes, the boys loved her. They loved her for cheering them on and respected her for the one, glorious day she played as a Chaser for them, and they let Draco know that, refusing to give him one wretched moment of peace over it. But he was adamant, and more stubborn than any Muggle-born mule alive, in his refusal to let her play.
"Come on, Draco," Blaise said, draping his arm over Draco's miserable shoulder, the one with his losing arm attached to it. Yes, he had lost the Snitch to the other Seeker, sealing the loss for their team. "Let's go get some supper." Draco shook his head.
"You go ahead. I've got to work tonight."
"Tonight? It's Saturday. Nobody works on a Saturday night, mate." Draco sighed.
"I do. I'm drowning up to my neck in it." Blaise nodded and looked up into the stands.
"What about Ginny? Do you think she wants to grab a bite to eat with us?" Draco's head shot up. "Oi, Ginny! What about supper with us?" Draco jabbed Blaise in the ribs with the handle of his broom.
"Knock if off, Zabini. She doesn't want to hang out with you animals."
"We may be animals, but we're a hell of a lot more fun than you, especially tonight." Draco shook his head and kept on walking. He didn't give a damn. Blaise could beg that witch on his hands and knees with his balls between his teeth, and she wouldn't go. She never went anywhere unless Draco ordered her arse to. Quidditch was the sole exception.
A half an hour later, when Draco walked out of the locker room, Ginny was standing with Blaise and an assortment of other players, milling around chatting.
"Ginny, let's go!" Draco called, motioning her to take her place by his side so they could Apparate home. Blaise looked up and threw his arm protectively around Ginny.
"Sorry, mate. She's coming with us tonight." When Draco gave Ginny a startled look in the eyes, she wiggled out of Blaise's arm and came rushing over. Blaise was right on her heels.
"It's what you wanted, isn't it Draco? Blaise said you were working tonight, and that you wanted me go out to dinner with the boys." Sighing, Draco shot Blaise a nasty glance.
"I am working, but I never said I wanted you to go out with that bunch of animals. It's up to you." Draco knew perfectly well that she was going home with him, or he wouldn't have given her the choice.
"Well, alright then. I'll see you later. We'll be at the Three Broomsticks."
What? Had Zabini thrown an Imperius on her? Draco reached out and grabbed Blaise by the collar of his robes. "You take care of her, you hear me? No funny stuff. I'm going to send Sam over to the Three Broomsticks to look after her."
"Sam? Who the hell's Sam?"
"Sam looks after her, that's who he is." Blaise was staring at Draco's fist on his robes.
"No problem. Look, she's going to be out with thirteen guys. What could possibly happen to her?"
"That's exactly my point." Blaise nodded.
"Point taken." Draco released his hold on Blaise, who promptly turned around and started yelling at their teammates.
"Oi, you animals over there! Listen up! Draco says we can take Ginny with us but only if we behave ourselves. Does anybody have a problem with that?" Silence. "Okay, let's go!" Blaise turned around and put a firm hand on Draco's shoulder. "I've got you covered, mate. Don't worry about her."
Draco stood there watching as Blaise threw his arm around Ginny's shoulders and escorted her into the crowd of his teammates. Listening, he heard the multiple cracks of their Disapparations echo through the deserted field until everything went still and quiet. He was alone, and she was gone. Gone with thirteen rowdy Quidditch players. Merlin.
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Passing her bedroom, Draco glanced inside to check on her before going to bed. The only thing he saw was her vacant bed with its covers in a tumble. Pushing the door fully open, he looked around. There was no sign of her. Where the hell was she? It was one o'clock in the morning.
"Weasley?"
Venturing further into her moonlit space, he spied a small figure in a puddle of white cotton on the floor, huddled in a corner. Her knees were drawn up against her chest and her face was buried in her arms on top of her knees. When he was a foot away, he dropped to his knees. It was only then that he heard her crying, a soft, almost kitten-like whimper.
He touched her shoulder with his cool hand. She startled and looked up while backing away until she hit the wall with a thud, ending her hasty retreat. Her tear-stained and blotchy, red face was half hidden in shadows, but her dark, wide eyes were fixed on his as she hastily wiped her face with the sleeve of her nightgown.
"What's wrong?"
She didn't speak. She only shook her head. He sighed and took off his robes, shaking his head when he saw the look in her eyes. "For warmth. You're freezing." He threw it around her shivering form.
"You'll catch your death out of bed like this." She nodded and began to stand up. He had his hand on her shoulder again, this time holding her in place. "That's not an order, Weasley. Merely an observation." Turning, he lit her fireplace. "Incendio."
"That's better. Now, come here." When she remained frozen in place, he spoke again, this time in a gentle whisper. "Come here." She gingerly crawled over, stiff and hesitant, into his unfamiliar open arms, which wrapped around her, enveloping her in Slytherin warmth. "I don't know what that sodding bastard did to you, but there'll be none of that crap around here. Do you understand?"
He heard the catch in her breath before her rigid body relaxed and melded into his comforting form, her wet cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt. He felt her nodding against him as she tightened her tentative hold on his waist. What a miserable fucking mess he had gotten himself into.
Running his hand over her crimson locks in a reassuring fashion, he attempted to soothe her ruffled soul. "Shhh…Ginny. It's okay. It'll all be okay again." No, he wasn't particularly equipped for or adept at dealing with this kind of situation, but hell, he was the only thing she had, wasn't he?
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Draco pushed the stack of parchment across his desk and threw down his quill. Where the hell was she? No, this wasn't a bloody dormitory in Hogwarts nor was he its Head of House. However, it was just shy of midnight, and she was nowhere in sight. How did she expect him to get any work done when she was cavorting around wizarding England with half his Quidditch team in tow?
Draco began tapping his fist on the desk in an anxious, absent-minded fashion. Six hours ago, he let her go with no real concerns. She had Sam with her, didn't she? He was more concerned about his teammates' roaming hands than any outside threat, especially as the night rolled on. Civilized company they were not. No, they were a rowdy bunch of wankers who played hard, drank too much, and talked out their arses about women. Draco expected her home hours ago.
Give an ungrateful witch an inch and watch her take a yard. Should he Apparate to the Three Broomsticks and drag her skiving arse home? Draco ran a hand over his worried face and sighed. He had asked himself the same damn question on the hour, every hour, for the past three hours. If she wasn't home by midnight, he decided he would throw her roaming bum in the Malfoy dungeon and chain her to the wall where she belonged. There would be no daily allotment of air or weekly trips to his Quidditch matches, and he would cancel her book account at Flourish and Blotts. He knew how to keep his piece of property safe and sound and in line.
Oh, fuck it. Draco grabbed his wand and Disapparated, tense and uneasy, to the Three Broomsticks. The late night crowd was thin as he stepped into the dimly lit pub, scanning the room for her presence.
"Draco!"
He looked up and spied Blaise and three of his teammates gathered around a rickety wooden table at the back of the deserted room, shooting glasses of Firewhiskey and beckoning him to join them. He shook his head. Where was she?
Draco strode over to Blaise, grabbed a fistful of the drunken Slytherin's robes, and yanked him around.
"Where is she?" Blaise looked up at him, confused. "Ginny, you bastard. Where the hell is she?"
"Calm down, mate. She's sitting right over there." Draco shoved Blaise back onto his drunken arse and swung around. Ginny was lying on a bench in the back of the room, asleep, with her head on Tom Fitzgerald's lap. Tom was passed out with one drunken arm thrown protectively over her.
"She went out a couple of rounds ago, didn't she?" someone said.
Draco swung back around.
"What? Drinking games with Ginny?" he seethed.
"Yep, and goddamn that witch can drink. Wouldn't know it to look at her though, would you?" Hill said, glancing over at Ginny.
"She's bloody gorgeous is what she is, drinker or not," McMillan mused.
"And a helluva Quidditch player as well. Think she'd fancy a round in the sack with me?" Bruin Smith asked.
While Draco's blood pressure rocketed through the ceiling and the hand holding his wand began to twitch, he became aware of Sam standing some feet away from Ginny, quietly watching the scene, wand in hand. Motioning to him, Draco stepped aside.
"No external threats, Mr. Malfoy. Just too much Firewhiskey." Draco nodded, thanked Sam, and bid him goodnight.
Forget those drunken wankers, blowing hot air out their collective arses. Draco went to Ginny and gently pulled her sleeping and vulnerable form up and out of Tom's arm. The drunken Irishman grunted before scratching his balls and collapsing onto the bench, snoring.
"Ginny," Draco said, attempting to rouse the unconscious witch. "Wake up. It's time to go home." After giving her a firm shake or two, she stirred and opened her sleep-dazed eyes, confused.
"Blaise?" she said, rubbing her face with the back her hands and yawning. "Is it time to go home?"
"Ginny, it's Draco."
"Draco? Are we home already?"
"No, you're still at the Three Broomsticks. I'm here to take you home. Let's go." Nodding, Ginny stood with Draco's hand on her arm. Looking around, he grabbed her cloak and scarf.
When he did this, Blaise began shouting from the table. "Oi, Draco, are you taking Ginny home already? Don't bother. I'm leaving after this round. I told her I'd take her home." When Draco didn't respond, when he began putting on Ginny's cloak and fussing with her scarf, Blaise stumbled over. "What the hell, I can go home now. Hill," he yelled, "I'm out. I gotta take Ginny home." Then Blaise reached out to take Ginny from Draco.
"Stay away from her, Blaise," Draco hissed, shoving Blaise back with an infuriated hand to his chest. "You call this taking care of her? Don't touch her. Don't talk to her. Don't go near her. Do you hear me?"
"Whoa, mate, keep a lid on it. I promised Ginny I'd take her home, that's all." Draco snorted at this.
"You also promised me you'd take care of her. Getting her shit-faced drunk and letting her pass out on a bloody public bench with Fitzgerald while you drink yourself sick isn't what I'd call taking care of her." Draco finished buttoning Ginny's cloak while Blaise stood on his unsteady feet, staring wide-eyed at Draco in utter disbelief. Ginny watched the pair, her silent eyes going back and forth from one to the other.
"So what? Since when did you give a damn about how much a witch drank or if I took her drinking with me or even if I shagged her?"
"Since now, that's since when." The two wizards were nose to nose. Blaise shrugged his shoulders.
"Well why the hell didn't you say something earlier?"
"Because I didn't think you were a goddamn troll, that's why." Blaise shook his head and slapped Draco on the back.
"Fine. Take her home. I'm too damn drunk to give a shit about this. The next time you ask me to take her out don't get your skivvies in a wad about it."
"You took her. I didn't ask. And there won't be a next time." Draco withdrew his wand, grabbed Ginny, and Disapparated.
As soon as their boots hit the floor of his flat, Draco released Ginny, leaving one hand on her unsteady frame.
"Draco?"
"Yes?"
"Blaise didn't shag me." Draco looked down at the wide-eyed, intoxicated witch staring at him, concerned. Putting a gentle hand on her cheek, he sighed.
"I know he didn't. That's just the way he talks when he's drunk."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Draco?"
"Yes?"
"Blaise took good care of me. He bought my dinner and drinks and made sure I wasn't left out of the drinking games. He even gave me two Galleons to play with the boys." Draco pulled Ginny into his possessive arms, drew her delicate frame close to his heart, and closed his miserable eyes.
"You don't understand, do you?" He could feel her shaking her head against his chest. "You're not just any witch, Ginny. You belong to me. And that's no way to care for a woman who belongs to a Malfoy."
Ginny sighed and laid her intoxicated head on Draco's chest, wrapped her drunken arms around his waist, and held on tight. "I belong to you."
"Yes," he murmured, kissing the top of her crimson locks, "you belong to me."
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