Her date leaned towards her, covering her smaller hand with his own, and smiled at her seductively. "So," he said, his voice low and throaty, "How about we go back to my flat for drinks." He didn't state it as a question; it was phrased as a rhetorical statement. As far as he was concerned, she was a done deal. Her eyes narrowed.
The entire date had been like this- full of thinly veiled expectations and salicious comments-and Ginny, no fool, nor a stranger to lecherous men, was growing tired of it. She had hoped that Nicolas might be different from the rest of the idiots she normally went out with, but, alas, he was just the same. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.
"Your place?" she repeated, sounding doubtful. He missed her tone, and nodded slowly, like she was a bit slow, and added a sly wink for good measure.
"Yeah, you know," he moved his hand slowly up her arm and ran his knuckles against her skin, "my place."
"No, I don't know." she said waspishly, pulling her arm and hand back. "And no, I'd like to go home now."
"Aww, cummon, love," he entreated, "Don't leave me hanging," he raised sorrowful eyes to hers and made to take her hand again. She moved out of the way.
"No, Nicolas. We've been on, what, three dates?"
"Yeah," he said, not understanding.
"Three dates, Nicolas." she slapped his searching hand away. "Stop that." she growled. "Three. I will not sleep with you after only three dates." In fact, she thought, I will not sleep with you after a thousand dates!
"So how many more?"
She actually gaped. Was he serious? Her mouth must have opened a little bit in awe, because he grinned at her, shaking his head.
"Love, you can't take and take and not put out a little."
Her previous annoyance blossomed into a dull anger, and when his hand, for the enth time, came looking for her wrist, it blew into full grown rage. She could feel her cheeks starting to glow with the heat of her blood boiling under the surface of her skin, could hear the beating thrum of her heart in her ribs and in her throat, could taste the dry texture of her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
"Take and take," she repeated, her words clipped and low.
"I paid for all our dates." his tone was proud, like he was like a little boy, saying 'See? See? I'm a big boy now!'
"Perhaps, Nicolas," she paused, giving a half laugh, "next time you think you deserve sex from a woman you hardly know, you should explain your expectations in the beginning- before you waste all of your time and money." She looked him up and down and then leaned in so close that he had a nearly unobstructed view of her chest over the top of her flowy blouse. "Although," she said, making her voice breathy and full of promise, "even if you had explained it to me," and she ran her fingers up his arm, raking her nails lightly over his skin, "I probably wouldn't have slept with you anyways."
She stood. "Goodbye, Nicolas," she called over her shoulder, and she turned to walk away.
Nicolas, though, had slightly more brains than she had given him credit for. He stood from their table sharply, knocking over the chair and sending it clattering to the ground in a mess of cocophonic noise, and strode stiffly over to her, grabbing her arm and yanking her to face him. Ginny gasped, with anger and astonishment. Would he really make a scene in public?
She could see that he was angry. Furious even. His skin was mottled and red and the veins in his neck were standing out and throbbing.
"Don't you dare insult me." he snarled. His lips curled over his teeth and his eyes were narrowed. Ginny had thought him handsome to begin with, with his black hair and light eyes and olive complexion, but now, with what she presumed to be his true nature coming to the foreground, she realized that he was quite ugly.
"Or what?" she taunted. "You'll uninvite me to the dance?"
He squeezed her arm tighter. She tried not to grimace. "Let go of my arm."
"You will regret this," he told her dangerously. "When I'm through with you-"
"What? No more bastards will come knocking on my door? Good!" she spat. "That takes care of that problem!" His eyes narrowed to slits.
"Never," he jerked her shoulders and her teeth clacked shut painfully over her tongue, "call me a bastard again." He enunciated each word with another jerk and she tried to stiffen her spine to keep her head from being whipped around like she was a little doll. She scrambled in her pockets and found her wand. She jabbed the tip into his stomach.
"Let go of me," she said, and then he was blown backwards into the table. He flipped over the table, taking the tablecloth, the remnants of their lunch, and the bottle of very expenisve wine he had ordered to impress her with him. The waiter rushed to his side and tried to help him up, but Nicolas batted him away angrily, intent on wringing Ginny's neck. She was sure that no woman had ever treated him like this before. He was Nicolas Dessin, heir to the largest Wizarding shipping company in Europe. Women flocked to him. Well, Ginny thought, not this one.
She looked at him with contempt once more before spinning away and apparating back to her flat with a final sounding pop.
***
Draco Malfoy was watching from a tiny patio cafe across the street. Nicolas Dessin was a particularily annoying competitor in his field of buisness, and he had been spying covertly from underneath the great umbrella that spun lazily in the wind over his head, its stem piercing the table he shared with Blaise Zabini, for over an hour.
He couldn't quite place the woman. She was stunning, with scarlet hair and porcelein skin, and a fit, lithe body enveloped by a cute little black dress, but she wasn't Nicolas's usual type-buxom and blonde and dumb-and Draco couldn't figure out why they were together.
Blaise had been good naturedly trying to win him back into conversation for over twenty minutes; but Draco just kept watching the strange woman. Finally, after a one sided conversation about the current state of the Nimbus market, Blaise demanded to know who he was staring at.
"That girl with the red hair. Sitting with Dessin."
"Ginny Weasley?" Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Why are you watching her?"
"Weasley?" his own brows rose. "No, that can't-"
"It's Ginny." he nodded confidently. "Shall I call her over? Looks like she's leaving."
And sure enough, when Draco looked back, she had turned away and was fishing for her wand in her dress pockets. Dessin rose and followed, grabbing her and hauling her roughly back. Draco started to rise in his seat, his gentlemanly instincts kicking in, but arrested himself mid motion when he remembered who she was.
Sure enough, within seconds, Dessin was blown backwards with a reflector hex. He couldn't help it, Draco had to smile. Obviously, Ginny Weasley hadn't changed much.
"You only smile like that when you're interested."
"Interested? Don't be absurd."
Blaise grinned. "It's true. You see a girl, you decide she's attractive, you smile, like that, and then you relentlessly pursue her until you get bored -usually within the month- and then you dump her. And then you see a different girl, and-"
"I get the point,"Draco said, his lips quirking into a good humored smile despite himself. "But I do think you're docking some credit. I have most certainly stayed with one girl for longer than a month."
"Really? Who?" Blaise asked mockingly.
"Well," he struggled, "Rachel?"
"Three weeks."
"Jenise?"
"One week."
"Annabelle?"
"Three weeks," he raised an eyebrow, "and a half."
"Are you sure," he refuted, but Blaise leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed behind his head, a position of triumph.
"Yes. You will never ever last with one girl long enough to get heirs."
"You mean get married?"
"Well, if the heirs are to be legitimate, you'd have to be, wouldn't you," he said, as though he were explaining something to a small child.
"I could get married some day," Draco said.
"I bet you won't," Blaise leaned back into the table.
"I bet I will."
"I bet you a thousand pounds that you will never, in this lifetime, get married."
"That's a stupid bet." He looked back over to Weasley, only to notice that she had gone. Blaise noticed his direction, and smiled.
"Fine." his smile turned lethal. "I bet, a thousand pounds, that you will never in this lifetime, get Ginny Weasley to marry you." Draco nearly lost all composure and fell off his chair.
"Weasley?" he coughed. "Are you crazy?"
"No."
"But, my father, -she's a blood traitor!"
"But she's still a pureblood. He can have no objections there."
That was true, at least, Draco agreed regretfully.
"You can't let this bet slide, Draco." he held his hand out, waiting. "Your mother would love her."
That was also true. Narcissa had always been fond of the more headstrong girls Draco brought home. She had no use for simpletons. He shot his hand out and shook Blaise's hand before he could change his mind. "Done," he said.
Blaise looked surprised, but hid it well. He started to grin like a cat.
***
Ginny sat alone in her flat, staring morosely at the dregs of her tea, wondering why the only men she seemed to be capable of attracting were idiotic dunderheads. Was there something wrong with her? Did she have some sort of sign above her head which was visible only to men that screamed, in flashing letters, 'Easy Woman Here!!'
It wasn't as if she looked for them. She didn't go to sleazy bars, she didn't party. She didn't really even drink that often; only on special occasions. Where did they all come from? They always seemed so wonderful, right up until the first date. Then they would get a little bit less suave, less interested in appearing gentlemanly. More interested in sex.
Perhaps it was Harry's fault. Since his death, she had gone, subconsciously, maybe, for men like him. Tall, dark, handsome, polite, caring- and, apparently, jackasses.
Well, that would have to stop. Starting now. She set her cup down on the table with a clang. No more looking for Harry.
She was going to look for the complete opposite.
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