Title: Highrollers
Rating: R
Ship: Draco/Ginny, implied Blaise/Tracey
Timeline/Spoilers: Who knows? Some alternate 6th year for Ginny; 7th for Draco.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Summary: Draco Malfoy doesn't know how to have any fun. Incidentally, neither does Ginny Weasley,
so it's all rather doomed from the start.
Notes: Long time, no update. I had a strange burst of inspiration to add a chapter, so here it is. Hopefully it's just as enjoyable as you guys found the other chapters; I had a good time writing it. I know the tone is a bit more serious, but I think that was inevitable. Anyway, hopefully you guys like it!
She was going to kill Draco Malfoy. There was no doubt in her mind that this would come to pass. If she said it out loud, she would not stutter. That slimy, disgusting little ferret would get what was coming to him, and Ginny would be vindicated from the humiliation he'd subjected her to the other night. Kissing her like that, cornering her, having the holier-than-thou balls to give her three lowly knuts for half-terrifying her and being angry when she didn't put out for him. And taking her skirt! She liked that skirt!
The sexist, misogynistic, prejudice, awful, disgusting... She was simply running out of appropriate adjectives. As it were, she had no plans of yet, but she was sure she would think of something brilliant, something to put Salazar Slytherin himself to shame. And then Draco would be just as hopelessly humiliated as she'd been, and all would be right in the world.
She stalked the halls the next morning like a woman possessed (no pun intended, for she did catch the irony of that metaphor, thank you very much), her head held high, her long, fiery hair following. Her eyes were bright, and livid, and people steered clear of her as she streaked her path into the Great Hall for breakfast. It was full by that time, the cacophony of students and teachers talking and laughing filling the large room, the smells of hot foods wafting into her freckled nose.
But Ginny couldn't care less about all that, no. She halted and her gaze immediately sifted through the sea of silver and green, searching and searching until her attention was caught by Draco Malfoy's slick white-blond hair. He was sitting with Blaise, picking at a muffin, and she merely smirked, a promising, furious twist of her lips when his bored, grey eyes lifted to hers. Oh Draco Malfoy, she thought sweetly to herself. You messed with the wrong Weasley this time.
Draco Malfoy wasn't intimidated in the least. Really, watching the dirty little witch put on an angry look for him was at most entertaining and at least astoundingly pathetic. Although he'd be the first to (secretly) admit the idea of her besting him in this little war she seemed to be waging was frankly adorable. Just as adorable as she'd been last night, so very full of rage and so very warm against him. Pansy always did say he got off on pissing everyone off. Ginny's fantastic knockers just made that astute observation all the more true.
So he smiled, quite simply, lecherously and maliciously back at her, reaching to loosen his tie as he licked his bottom lip and gave her to old up-and-down. She flushed prettily, and he felt victorious over the ire she must be feeling, the way her cool attitude hesitated as she turned to the Gryffindor table to sit.
Yes, Draco Malfoy wasn't worried about the little weasel in the least. She'd stay right under his thumb, where she belonged.
That was precisely when Blaise opened his big mouth. "Malfoy, I was just remembering the time when Ginny Weasley hexed you. Wasn't that just a brilliant hex?"
"Shut it, Zabini," he ordered, with just enough venom to let the smart arse know he meant business.
Blaise gave him that infuriatingly all-knowing, thin-lipped smile and went back to his toast, but Draco couldn't help but sneer and peek up at the redhead in question with a glaring look of trepidation. It had been a brilliant hex. The little spitefire, back when she didn't have curves, had given his snot pairs of dripping wings that attacked him mercilessly for an afternoon the year before. All because he might have subtly alluded to Harry Potter getting his just desserts when the Dark Lord rose. Well perhaps not subtly and maybe he'd included the mudblood and her ignoramus of a brother in that threat too, but no bother.
Draco cast Crabbe and Goyle a look from the corner of his eye. They were stuffing their faces with no manners whatsoever, as usual. It'd been awhile since he had the two bumbling fools watch his back, but perhaps he'd start stringing them around for a week, just for old time's sake or something to that effect. He smirked, glanced at little Ginny Weasley, and went back to his muffin.
It just was not fair. Perhaps Ginny's wonderful plan of giving Draco a good hex when his back was turned had the right Slytherin spirit to it, but something told her Salazar himself would more likely laugh at the attempt than pat her on the back and give her a high mark for effort. Draco seemed to always be two steps ahead of her anyway, the alarmingly sharp prat that he was, and had Crabbe and Goyle shadowing him like his loyal, idiotic dogs once again. It was enough to drive Ginny to enraged distraction, the kind that even Luna took notice of while they were working on Potions homework in the library.
"Do you have a crush on Draco Malfoy?" she asked, in a tone that suggested some unimportant topic such as the weather. Coincidentally, she was looking out the window when she posed the question, too.
Unsurprisingly, Ginny had never been more horrified in her life, and lashed out at Luna for even wondering something as positively, awfully awful as that. Luna had simply changed the subject to enchanted tree bark, and that was that.
Or it would have been, if Theodore Nott hadn't been following her around like a puppy in heat, asking her back to his blasted strip poker games with the ambition of, well, a true Slytherin. She'd been walking down the hall to Transfiguration as he pestered her about it, only a few days after Luna's ridiculous question, when it occurred to Ginny that perhaps Theo could help her, however unwittingly. Wasn't he close with Draco? She stopped abruptly and turned to look at the boy, who stopped short in his path and in his meaningless prattles.
"You know where Malfoy's special Head Boy room is, don't you?" she asked, and Theo rose his brows is both surprise and amusement.
"Well, yeah," he replied, and then narrowed his gold eyes at her. She had nearly forgotten how strikingly predatory they were, since she had been avoiding any unnecessary contact with him for nearly a week, but now she was forced to put on a brave face and tip her chin up just to prove it. The puzzle pieces seemed to be fitting into their places for Theodore, and she could see them nestle in snugly by the changing of his expression and the slight curl of his lips. It reminded her quite suddenly that this opportunistic Slytherin was indeed an opportunist and a Slytherin, and she should be a bit more careful, perhaps. "What happened between you two that night anyway, little Ginny? Pansy came back to the common room in a right state, and quite a bit of time before Draco, too..."
"Nothing," she replied too quickly, flustering and blushing like an eleven-year-old. So much for careful; Nott's eyes were flashing at her reaction. "Look," she spoke up, her voice infused with strength and conviction now, "he was a right prat to me that night and I didn't appreciate him leering and carrying on like he did. It was rude and disgusting and I want to hex him so badly his grandchildren will feel it. Will you help me?"
"What's in it for me?"
"I'll go to your silly poker game again."
"Deal."
And so it was, on the anniversary of her humiliation, that Ginny Weasley was climbing up a familiar ladder into a familiar room, only to be met with a particularly self-satisfied smirk of a familiar person--and only one person.
"You know," Draco drawled as her jaw dropped, "I never much cared for Nott. Always chasing tail and being a wanker and the like, but he drove an admirably hard bargain for you. Thankfully, I've got more resources and pull than he does, Weasley."
Her cheeks were already suffusing with an angry pink color as she watched him twirl his wand, dressed to the nines in expensive robes and his Hogwarts uniform, leaning against the rickety old table. It took her a few precious moments to realize what he was saying: that Theo had played her, sold her out for some undisclosed sum of money or what have you, and any useful information she could have gleaned from the traitor was evaporating right in front of her eyes.
She was seeing red, she was sure, but she was also seeing Draco Malfoy smirking at her like Christmas had come early. She reached into her robes impulsively for her wand, ready to hex him into oblivion when he raised his own. "Now, now, Miss Weasley. You don't want to hex the Head Boy, do you?"
She froze, seething, her chest raising and falling with shallow, frustrated breaths. Her fingers curled into fists and it physically pained her to bring them down to her sides. "What do you want with me, Malfoy?" she bit out. "You've humiliated me, now you've bested me. What the bloody hell is your game?" She spat the last, watching as the grey of his eyes shone a triumphant silver, as if he was waiting for that question. Her stomach was in knots because she was finally alone with the cruel boy, but in none of the scenarios she ever imagined during the last week. He was always a sniveling, begging mess at her feet or something just as delightful. Not cocky and regal as he smiled slyly and pushed off the table to draw nearer.
Ginny took a step back, gritting her teeth as he challenged her with a cool look and continued forward. She held her ground, because she was sure he'd take it as a victory if she didn't. Thoughts nagged at her, her unanswered questions banging incessantly against her skull. What was his game? What was so important that he had to buy Theo off her like she was his damn property? She nearly vomited at the thought, her cinnamon glare burning up at his pretty, pointed face as he pulled her robe open, snatched up her wand, and tossed it into some darkened corner.
Maybe she should have felt afraid at that, but she didn't; she merely felt twice as enraged. "What is your game?" The words burst forth, but his given surname was muffled as his lips crushed against hers once again, just as forceful and demanding as before. The heels of her hands came up to beat at his shoulders, and she tried in vain to turn her head away. But the slender fingers of one of his hands had wrapped around her hair, tugging her back to him by the roots. She tripped forward, because he'd pressed her body to his torso so close it was difficult to breathe, or maybe that was a result of how his mouth was attacking hers, teeth biting and tongue pressing forward past her parted lips.
She was shocked clearly; that's why it took her a moment to try to wriggle from his grip and his low, answering laugh. Her nails scratched down his neck and he hissed, squeezed her tighter as she let out a stray whimper. She curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt instead, bunching it in her grip. If anything, she could wrinkle his pristine and pressed clothes until he was done assaulting her.
He pulled back finally, his pink lips swollen from hers as she glared steadily up at him, still in his embrace. "I couldn't help but notice you're not saying 'no' now, Weasley," he pointed out breathlessly, and the truth of his statement filled her with shamed ire.
"Couldn't very well do that when you were forcing your tongue down my throat, could I?" she spit back, pressing up on her toes to better get in his face. His eyes flashed, looked down at her lips.
"You weren't biting it off," he retorted.
She flushed, because she could have. "Why don't you try again then and see?" The words left her before she could examine them, before she could identify them as a twisted kind of invitation. There was something dark in her that wanted him to, wanted to indulge this damned desire for him. Could she have fought him off harder the first time as well? Is that why he was doing this, to test her? One look in his silver gaze told her she was simply mad, that Draco Malfoy was an awful, disgusting person who had divested her of her wand and for all she knew was planning on having his way with her.
So why wasn't she scared?
He always got what he wanted. It was as simple as that. He was spoiled, and Ginny Weasley was appetizing to him. He wanted, simply put, to control her flame of hatred for him, make her bend to his will so he could have what he wanted. And here she was, trapped in his arms and responding to him once again, in such perfect, sweet ways underneath her violent refusals. There's a thin line between lust and hate and all that.
Her little challenge made him pause, made his lips curl up into a smirk. The backs of her fingers were against his neck and he found he liked the soft touch accompanied by that uncertain, shameful desire in her eyes. For him. "Is that what you want, Ginny?" he asked in a lover's murmur. The tone of his voice seemed to confuse her, and her light lashes fluttered. His fingers loosened around her hair then; his eyes traced the splattering of her dark freckles. "You want me to kiss you."
"No," she responded quickly, furiously. This time when she shoved him, he let her strength overcome his, and he took a few steps back, his teeth flashing as he chuckled at her. How fucking precious she was, wanting him. And even as the mirth of that fact resounded in him, she stripped it away with her next words. "You want to kiss me," she accused of him hotly, "because you're a filthy pervert and you liked what you saw. This is all just a disgusting game to you and I want no part of it. Go fuck Parkinson, I'm sure the bitch will like it."
His face fell at that, and he was still feeling the building fury at her words when she turned from him, her skirt twirling as she shakily searched for her wand among crates of empty butterbeers. "You Muggle-loving blood traitor," he spat, and ate up the space between them in only a few determined strides. She straightened even as he grabbed her arm, her wand jabbing him in the gut. "Back off," she snarled, their eyes clashing. He was furious, emotions churning within him as she held his gaze. Furious at the truth in her accusal, furious at the helplessness of the situation, how she had so utterly gained the upper hand with a few words. He didn't want to kiss her, he wanted to control the stupid bint; surely she could see the fucking difference, and now she was ruining it with her pretty little mouth. By telling him the game was over. It wasn't over until he said so.
He stepped closer, tried to contain himself. He was in control. He always was. "Don't forget who my father is, Ginny Weasley. Who my family is. You'll regret making me angry," he threatened, but Ginny merely smiled tightly. "Stupefy," she whispered, and Draco's eyes hardly had time to widen before he was thrown back and knocked unconscious.