Revenge by mynewgenesis

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 4
Published: 25/07/2009
Last Updated: 05/01/2010
Status: In Progress

Hell hath no fury like a Ginny Weasley scorned. .In which Ginny gets a little revenge. D/G
Warning: Very little plot. Lots and lots of snogging. Intended to be silly. Enjoy!




1. Precedent
------------



Revenge

Chapter One: Precedent

Death was imminent.

The very thrum of it could be felt beating to the exact tempo of Ginevra Weasley's footsteps as
she marched down the hallway, raging fury emanating from her amber eyes like an unstoppable fire.
Her hair crackled and sparked with electricity and her robes billowed behind her in a fashion that
was usually associated with either a Slimy Potions Master, or the Headmaster. It was as if robes
were aware of who held power; they remained tepid and limp on everyone else. Ginny's robes
fairly flew.

The surrounding students all knew exactly why she was angry, of course. Secrets rarely, if ever,
lasted in Hogwarts. There were too many gossips, too many eyes and ears. Even the walls could be
traitors.

Ginny's boyfriend had cheated on her, with one, rightfully terrified, Daphne Greengrass.

Daphne was safely -or as safely as possible, when one was dealing with an angry Ginny- ensconced in
the Slytherin dungeons, protected by those of her friends who had not yet abandoned her out of
terror and the viable fear that they would be marked as enemies of the Weasley girl through their
association. But Ginny was not concerned with the whereabouts of Daphne for now. Right now, she
wanted revenge on *him.*

She snarled viciously as she stalked down the hallway, her hand fisted over her wand and her other
hand squeezed so tightly into a ball that her fingernails drew little crescent moons of blood from
her palm.

How *dare* he? Her nostrils flared, and she took on an uncanny resemblance to a wolf. Her eyes
narrowed into slits and she inhaled sharply through her nose, almost as if she was testing the air
for his scent. As she spun into the next corridor, her pace quickened and her feet started to slap
the floor loudly, like she was trying to call as much attention to herself as she could. She wanted
people to *see* this.

Finally, she ended up in the Great Hall, and found it scattered with students, all of whom looked
up anxiously at her entrance. She made her way to the Gryffindor table, shoving a petulant third
year out of her way as she zoned in on her quarry.

Ron, her traitorous brother, stood up with his hands held out in a motion of surrender. He moved
his hands through the air, towards her shoulders, like he wanted to restrain her. He wasn't
surrendering, he wanted to placate her.

“Ginny,” he began, using his most authoritative tone, “let's just calm down for a
minute-”

“Get out of the way.” she snapped, impatient. She made to move past him, but his hands found her
upper arms and he gripped her hard.

“Gin, listen,” he tried again, his voice sounding strained. She yanked her arms from his grip,
almost hitting him in the nose with her elbow.

“Get out of my way!”

Over his shoulder, she could see the black hair and the glint of glasses of the boy who had so
completely duped her. Harry Potter, the
Boy-Who-Was-About-To-Be-Killed-By-A-Seventeen-Year-Old-Female.

Hermione, equally traitorous in her act of protection, had her one hand resting firmly on Ron's
shoulder, and the other lightly reassuring Harry. Ginny began to see red.

She had only found out about his 'indescretion' all of seven minutes ago, and already it
seemed like the Harry Potter she had been in love with had never existed. The Trio she had never
truly been a part of had become, almost instantaneously, a cement wall against her. Impenetrable,
implacable, immovable. They were a separate entity that would never be a part of her, a single
being that was untouchable, and something that she didn't really want to explore any
longer.

She forced her way past Ron and found herself at last in front of Harry. He looked up at her with
an expression she knew all too well. The kind of patronizing regret she had always hated; the kind
of look she used to get from her older brothers when they would tell her that, no, she couldn't
come play quidditch, because, yes, she was too little. She was too young to understand.

It was the look that set her apart from them as the girl who was to be loved and coddled but never
included.

Well, she would show them. She would make them regret ever having excluded her. They would regret
treating her as though she was too dumb to understand.

They would rue the day that they had shunned Ginevra Molly Weasley.

She didn't even need her wand to send them the most powerful Bat Bogey Hex any of them had ever
seen. Had she used her wand, and spoken the incantation out loud, there would probably be no Trio
left. As it was, even without the incantation and the wand channel, they were buried so deeply
beneath a pile of slimy, fluttery bat bogeys that it would take at least a week for them to
recover.

She spat on the pile, as if it would make them any filthier, and turned on her heel. The entire way
back to her dorm room she was muttering under her breath, sending mutinous glares at any who dared
ask her if she was alright, or, heaven forbid, actually reach out a hand to stop her for any
unbeknown reason.



Once firmly locked in the dorm room, she began to seethe openly, flinging her robe across the room,
kicking her bed, pummeling her pillow with her fists, and sending such a vicious blow with her foot
to her trunk, the big box flipped over and the contents sprawled onto the floor. What had been the
at the bottom of the trunk was now near the top, and Ginny found herself face to face with a top
which had been severely grown out of, and a brilliant idea popped into her head.

It was time for a makeover.

She grinned manically. When her dorm mate, Sterling, came in a moment later, she stopped at the
door with an expression of pure shock.

“Ginny! What are you doing?”

Her clothes were now strew across the bed, and Ginny was taking her wand to them methodically,
shrinking and cutting and adjusting each article to be smaller and tighter. She transfigured
several skirts into sheath skirts and a blouse into a dress so formfitting that there would be
absolutely nothing left to the imagination when Ginny wore it.

Sterling sat dumbly on her bed. Perhaps she should get help?

Ginny had certainly never had a meltdown before, but she supposed there was a first time for
everything. Was this the end of Ginny Weasley? Was this foreign girl here to stay? A strip of
fabric flew across the air and the smell of burning cotton reached her nose.

This wasn't going to be pretty.




Sterling was wrong. It was going to be marvelous. It was going to be shocking.

When Ginny unveiled her first step in absolutely getting over the Golden Trio the next morning,
there was a feeling of jaw dropping awe throughout the Great Hall.

She looked amazing.

She had done her hair in big waves that fell well past her shoulder blades to the tucked in waist
which was now accentuated more than it had been before. Her crisp white blouse was tucked in to a
high waist skirt that sculpted its way around the soft flare of her hips and down to the narrowing
of her silhouette just below her mid thigh. She had somehow managed to get hold of a brilliant,
thick black belt with a shiny oversized buckle and it made her waist seem like it wasn't even
there. Her legs seemed to be miles long. Her neck was elegant and pretty, and her dewy skin was
pale and pinkened with the attention currently being sent her direction.

Somehow, no one had noticed just how slim and fit she was. Somehow, the male population had failed
to see just how tall and luxe and glamorous she was, when she had just been the hanger on to the
Trio, and under the protection of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. But now that she had been so
obviously shunned and cast aside, every single male had his eyes fixed firmly on Ginny
Weasley.

And the eyes which held the most interest, the most hunger, belonged to Draco Malfoy.




Just when had the little Weasley grown so- so *gorgeous?* He licked his lips. Suddenly his
mouth felt very dry.

He was attracted. He was *drawn,* like she was the only pool of water for miles and miles.
From her hesitant place near the door, she glanced towards his table, and saw him looking at her.
Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and her delectable mouth quirked into a half smile. He moved down
the bench and motioned to the room he had just made. She raised her eyebrow and he grinned
salaciously. She shrugged her delicate shoulders almost imperceptibly and made her way over to his
part of the table.

A hush fell over the room, and each of her footfalls were audible on the cold stone floor. She
seemed to grow more confident with the pressure of everyone watching her. Her shoulders drew back
and her spine straightened. She smirked.

“Hello, Malfoy,” she said when she reached him. She placed a fine boned hand on his shoulder and
used him to sit down. Her skirt was too tight to get her legs over the bench, so she didn't
try. She sat with her back to the table, and the rest of the school, and faced him, folding one
knee over the other.

Instantly, the hush dissipated and an excited murmur shot through the students.

“Hello, Weasley,” Draco said. He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, every inch
the aristocratic gentleman he was bred to be. Suave to the core.

She inclined her head, not out of submission, but out of mockery.

She leaned in, and he could hear her breaths, smell her perfume. “So,” she breathed. “Would you
like to make Harry Potter angry?”

“Are you part of the bargain?” said Draco, drawling his words just enough that he sounded more
seductive than he felt. She smiled, and her eyes sparked with humor and mischief.

“I might be.” she told him.

“Then definitely.” he put a hand on her thigh; low enough that she wouldn't feel uncomfortable,
but high enough that the rest of the people in the hall saw the possessiveness of his action. She
put a hand over his and squeezed it.

“Good.” She looked in his eyes. “Kiss me.”

And so, never one to refuse such a direct order from a lady, he did.



Death could wait. She had never felt this thrill of exhilaration before. She had never been this
brazen; this shameless. She could practically *hear* the condemning looks that she knew Harry
and Ron and Hermione were sending her. And she didn't care.

The freedom was intoxicating. His hands on her were intoxicating. His other hand ran in lazy
circles over her back and her neck and then to the side of her face, tangling in her hair and his
thumb brushing her jaw bone so softly that she had to arch her neck to feel any contact between
their skin. '

He was clearly a master at this. Draco Malfoy. Sex God. Sexy, sexy beast.

His eyes, when she had caught his gaze- they had sent shivers down her spine like someone had
dropped an ice cube down her shirt. Cold grey, molten steel illuminated by desire. Her belly had
tightened convulsively and she had had to squeeze her hands into fists again to retain a reasonable
train of thought.

His tongue slipped between her lips and traced the rim. He came up for air and breathed heavily
against her cheek, “Go to Hogsmeade with me?”

“Absolutely,” she breathed back. And then he was kissing her again, devouring her, tasting her
lips, her skin, her tongue. She could smell the fresh scent of mint and lemon on his skin,
invigorating.

Finally, they broke apart. Their lips were swollen and her hair was tangled and knotted. His shirt
was crinkled.

She wiped the back of her hand as nonchalantly as she was able across her mouth, dragging the now
nearly rubbed off lipstick she had applied so carefully that morning with it.

She gave him a saucy wink and snatched a piece of bacon from his plate. Standing, she turned to
look at him once more, and just before she bit into the meat, she said, “Hogsmeade. See you around,
Draco.”

And then she left.

One glance over the rest of the hall told her that her work here was finished. The Trio's
mouths were hanging open like a giant, collective fish, and Ron's dangerous shade of puce meant
that she had no more than ten minutes to escape and barricade herself in her bedroom. Harry was an
unusual shade of mottled pink that she had not seen him wear before, and she guessed that he would
be joining Ron in their attempted hassling. Hermione looked equal parts disgusted and
intrigued.

Ginny blew a kiss in their direction, and then left the hall.

Damn, she was good

-->



2. Dangerous
------------



**Revenge**

**Chapter Two: Dangerous**

He wandered the corridors for over an hour before he remembered that he was supposed to be in
Transfiguration. His lips still retained the almost painful feeling reminiscent of hot coals,
tingling and shooting off sparks when he thought of their kiss. Everywhere her hands had met his
skin - his neck, his back, his arms - cool shivers and goose bumps. It was a peculiar feeling. Even
after seventeen years, Draco had never before found anyone irresistible enough to feel so
needy.

Although her taint regarding making Potter angry had been the sole thought in his mind when he
had decided to kiss her, the instant their skin connected, his thoughts mercifully died a quick
death, and there had been no lingering thoughts of the Boy Who Sucked running rampant through his
brain. No, she had been like a drug, wiping him blank but for pure bliss and unadulterated joy.

Of course, when the other Slytherin's came asking, which they were sure to do, in about
twenty minutes, to be precise, making the Chosen Boy's life a little bit more awful by stealing
his girlfriend would be the first thing to escape his lips.

Lips.

Oh, God, her velvety soft lips, so sweet in their caress-

He sounded like a swot.

But her drug like effects seemed to be holding. For over an hour, not one memory of the war came
upon him unannounced, and for once, he was able to concentrate. On absolutely nothing at all. And
it was marvellous.

***

Ginny had rather shocked herself.

She had always recognized that there was a glimmer of the brazen in her; a light reminder of her
year with Tom. She had used to be afraid of that part of herself; had been for many years. Partly
because to some extent there was a war going on inside her, between the sweet little innocent part
of her, and the darker, more sinful side. But mostly because of her family- because as much as she
knew her family loved her, she wasn't sure just how they would take to having a daughter filled
with thoughts and ideas and desires inspired by the only very recently dead Lord Voldemort.

It wasn't as though she was going to become the next Dark Lord (or Lady, as it were) or
anything; of course not. But she couldn't deny that while before Tom she had been innocent,
subtle as a kettle, and dumb as a post, she was now in possession of the sly, intelligent qualities
that tom had taught her through misfortunate experience.

Simply put, Ginny, like Tom, was dangerous to any who crossed her, albeit in a slightly
different way. For example, Harry Potter and his dim-witted followers (perhaps Hermione was not so
dim-witted as the others, but she was far too `good' and `pure' to expect anything.) they
would do well to watch themselves, and not to underestimate Ginny.

So, to really test her newfound comfort with her `Dark Side', she was planning a little
exhibitionism in the Great Hall during dinner.

As it was Friday, uniforms were not necessary after the final class of the day. She had already
slightly broken the rule by wearing a muggle outfit to breakfast that morning, the school was
simply too shocked to call her on it. And when a prefect had come up afterwards to deduct points,
Ginny had run away before she'd had the chance.

The muggleborn students had been using the weekends as a letdown time and to wear their `muggle
clothes' for eons, often to the shock of the traditional pureblood families, who, before
integration with their fellow students, had never even heard of `trousers'.

With the help of Sterling and some of her less flashy fashion magazines, Ginny had managed to
throw together a sexy new wardrobe that based on his reaction to her earlier, more conservative
outfit, Draco would truly appreciate. This, of course, was her goal.

She had known Harry for six years, and she had known him well, through Ron's experience of
him as well as her own. She knew that he would never regret something lost unless it was lost to
someone he couldn't stand: Voldemort, Snape, Lucius, Draco…

And so, as she had decided that morning on a whim, she was going to make Harry regret his
actions, and even more, the loss of her friendship. And she was going to use Draco to do it. She
would win this war.

After all, it wasn't as if Draco would object.

***

Damn, he hoped she'd do it again, Draco thought idly, as he ran his fingers over his lips
for the seventy-ninth time that afternoon, as distracted as he had been all day.

***

For the second time that day, Sterling stood in the dormitory she shared with Ginny and watched
with equal parts fascination and concern as her friend rampaged around the room.

“I told you you should wear the green dress already,” Sterling pointed out as another outfit
flew across the room to land in a careless heap on her bed.

“I know, but-,” Ginny panted as she struggled to remove a pair of skin tight jeans, “-it
didn't feel dramatic enough!”

“Dramatic enough? What exactly are you hoping for? You're already going to Hogsmeade with
him tomorrow, isn't that Drama enough for the Trio? They won't know whether to strangle and
disown you or follow you!”

“I know, but the dress didn't feel like it was living up to the precedent of the skirt.”

“Ginny, you can't have a precedent already; it's only been eight hours!”

“Whatever,” Ginny said stubbornly.

“Fine,” Sterling sighed with aggravation, “wear this.”

She went to Ginny's closet and hauled out a pair of high waist pin trousers and a daring
little gold blouse with flared sleeves and a collar that dipped low enough to reveal the very tips
of Ginny's lacy black bra, without being overly trashy. She tossed out a pair of pumps and some
dangly earrings and scowled fiercely until Ginny put them on.

The overall effect was posh elegance, which Sterling privately thought Draco would appreciate
more than the trashy glam look Ginny seemed to be leaning towards. It was always better to ooze
class than easiness, as Sterling's mother had always said. At least, she had until she'd
run off with the bin man.

Perhaps it was better not to dwell on such things.

When Ginny finished her hair and Sterling pulled on her own clothes, they went to the common
room, intending only to pass through and continue down to the Great Hall. But Sterling ran smack
into the back of one rather large and imposing Harry Potter.

“Sorry,” she muttered quickly, trying to escape before he saw Ginny but it was too late. He
turned around to apologize but saw his ex-girlfriend standing a little bit behind her. Sterling
watched with light amusement as his eyes widened and his pupils dilated to the point that the
emerald of his eyes was largely disappeared. While she was waiting for the drool to start dripping
from his lips Ron noticed his friends gaze and turned to follow it, seeing Ginny.

Please don't make a scene, Sterling thought fervently, save it-.

“Ginny!” Ron exclaimed, anger flushing around his collar, “What the hell are you wearing?”

The common room, predictably, went quiet. Fights were a commonly watched and eagerly awaited
thing around Hogwarts, and Weasley fights were the best. Sterling would have rolled her eyes at the
predictability of the stupid Gryffindor's, but held in the urge.

“Nothing; shut up Ronald,” said Ginny, her voice clipped. She marched off in the direction of
the portrait hole, looking every inch the blithely unconcerned female, but Sterling could see the
girls tightly clenched fists at her side.

“I know it's nothing! Ginny, go change, or- or-; I'll write to mum!” Ron continued on,
gaining pomp as he went. “And about that Malfoy thing! That was just disgusting, I'll bet
she'd love to hear about that, now wouldn't she?”

Ginny slowly turned around, a tiny smile playing about her lips. “She already knows,” she said
simply, and then she continued her exit of the common room.

Ron gaped and deflated like a freshly popped balloon, recognizing that, if Mum already knew, he
had nothing left to use as leverage.

Sterling did roll her eyes, and then followed the youngest Weasley ever to snog a Malfoy to the
Great Hall.

***


“It was bound to happen sometime,” Sterling told her. “You share a common room, you can't just
not see him ever!”

“I can avoid them,” Ginny insisted, growing annoyed. She emphasized the word `them', lest
Sterling think she was hung up on Harry and a mess because of it. Because she wasn't.

Quite the opposite. Even in the space of a day, she had gone from being outraged and rightly
furious to highly annoyed, yet lightly amused.

It stung that he should think so lowly of her friendship to do such a thing as kiss Daphne
Greengrass (or at least, that's what she assumed they did, she wasn't quite sure quite how
far they got.), and then lie. It hurt that while she had been serious about their relationship, he
obviously hadn't shared her respect. It cut her that even when he was in the wrong, he still
patronized her.

But she didn't feel like killing him anymore. She just wanted to hurt him a little, like he
had hurt her. She wanted him to feel used and dirty. She wanted to make him sad.

But she would never be able to go through with it. She could thrust the knife in Harry's
chest, but when it came right down to it, she couldn't twist it. She couldn't make him
scream with agony.

Not because she loved him.

But because she didn't.

He never broke her heart, but she knew exactly how to crush his. She knew exactly what to say,
exactly what to tell him to make sure he would never be quite the same again. And a lesser, more
spiteful girl would do it. But Ginny wasn't spiteful, or hateful. She was vengeful, but she
wasn't cruel.

And so she would let him go, because he hadn't really damaged her. She would let him off
with just a little revenge.

“Ginny?” Sterling said, hesitancy in her voice. Ginny looked up and realized that Sterling had
been prodding her for some time now.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Daydreaming.” She looked around and realized that Sterling had hauled her
off into an old empty classroom near the Great Hall.

“What exactly is your plan?” Sterling said, rolling her eyes.

“Plan?”

“Yes, plan. Plan - what is your plan?” She snapped her fingers in front of Ginny's face.

“Oh. Well, I was just going to wing it.”

“Wing it?” Sterling demanded incredulously. “Don't you even have some sort of basic outline
down?”

“A bit. Go in, sit with Malfoy, snog him, renew plans for Hogsmeade,” Ginny said.

Sterling let out a strangled cough.

“You will never be any good at subterfuge. I don't think being an auror is the best career
choice for you.”

Ginny shrugged.

“At least make it look like the Trio made you do it,” she said, shaking her head.

“I can do that,” Ginny said, and then she giggled.

***

The effect of Ginny's entrance on the male population of Hogwarts was much the same as that
morning, except for the fact that this time they were somewhat more prepared to be shocked.

They had been used to skirts on girls, as they had essentially been wearing very long skirts
themselves over pants for centuries. Witches, however, at least from traditional Pureblood
families, had been living in a pre-WW1 muggle clothing era for centuries. Pants on a woman were
shocking.

Jeans, the students of Hogwarts had almost managed to handle on girls. Almost. A boy still
occasionally got hot `round the collar when a muggleborn girl strolled by, much to the
entertainment of the muggleborn boys, but, in general, the fainting spells had passed.

But never before had any of those boys who had been so shocked seen anything like Ginny Weasleys
legs sheathed by a pair of trousers like these.

Mile high slim legs.

Fantasies abounded.

One young Hufflepuff even brought back the fainting.

Ginny Weasley was in the building.

***

Harry had often thought about what life would feel like if he weren't himself; the savior of
the Wizarding World. Would it be better, or worse? Perhaps his relationships would go easier.

But, it was pointless to digress and try to fool himself into thinking that his status would be
changing any time soon. He was who he was, and he would never, short of a dangerous spell or two,
be anyone different. And as his life went on, he was finding that he was alright with it.

But when Ginny walked into the Great Hall that evening, he had a taste of what his life would be
like if he were someone lesser. Someone invisible.

She laughed her way over to the Gryffindor table, brushing off comments and lascivious attempts
at flirting from some of the braver boys, making her way to where the Trio sat. She did not glance
at Harry. Not even once.

“Hello, Hermione,” she said, her smile like a small sun in his line of vision. His heart
clenched and he was reminded why he had fallen for her to begin with. Why he had fallen in love
with her.

Hermione was confused, Harry could see, unsure what to do. Stay loyal to Ron and Harry and say
nothing, or give in to common courtesy's demands and say hello back? Her inherent genius had
not prepared her for this stupid feud.

And it was stupid.

Finally, Hermione gave in and smiled back, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. Ron looked
furious.

He interrupted, just as Hermione was about to say hello back and invite Ginny to sit with them.
Harry was glad he did.

“Go away, Ginny. You can't sit here until you apologize.” Ron said, his fists clenched on
the table.

“Oh?” Ginny said, her smile fading a little into one more bitter and annoyed. “And is this
opinion shared by the lot of you?” she asked, her voice light despite the tense words.

“Yes,” Ron said tightly. Hermione looked rather shocked at him, and Harry felt a little bit
annoyed himself with Ron, for an inexplicable reason. Which was ridiculous, because he had no claim
on Ginny anymore. He had given her up, hadn't he?

“Alright then.” Ginny smiled again. “It was nice chatting with you, Hermione.” She waved and
looked towards the Slytherin table, where Draco looked at her with welcoming lust in his eyes.
Harry found his own hands hardening into fists. Draco sodding Malfoy.

She waltzed down the hallway with very little care for what everyone around her was saying and
made her way to the far table, where Draco was again budging up to make room for her.

Unlike this morning she was not wearing overly restrictive clothing, and so instead of sitting
with her back to Harry and Ron and Hermione, she straddled the bench so the three of them could see
the side of her smiling face as she leaned in to receive a peck on her cheek by the Slytherin
Bugger.

Harry knew then exactly what it would be like to be treated as someone normal, someone mundane.
He had been thrown over, by the very girl he had cheated on to encourage interest.

His stupid plan had blown up in his face.

And, he thought with sickness churning in his belly as Ginny moved in for a good snog, Draco
Malfoy was reaping the benefits.

How could she?

Draco Sodding Malfoy.

Harry threw up in his Shepherds Pie.

How was that for mundane?

-->



3. Action
---------



**Revenge**

**Chapter Three: Action**

**“**I can *not* believe you just did that…” Hermione said, looking ill.

“Yeah,” Ron seconded, “That's even more disgusting than Ginny snogging the Greasy Slimeball
in front of the whole school.”

Harry swallowed down another of his stomachs attempts to embarrass him. As he slapped a hand
over his mouth Hermione whacked Ron on the arm with a monstrosity of a textbook that probably
weighed a good twenty pounds.

“What?!” Ron demanded.

She hit him again. “That's what made him sick in the first place, you dolt!”

Ron suddenly cottoned on. “OH!” he exclaimed. “So I shouldn't tell him that Draco has his
hands in my sister's -" Ron suddenly turned almost as green as Harry and spun in his seat
so that his back faced the entire scene. He buried his face in his hands and struggled, as Harry
was doing, not to return the contents of his stomach to the his plate. Hermione rolled her
eyes.

“Honestly.” She sniped. “Obviously she's just trying to get back at you Harry, by putting
her hands all over Malfo - er, well. Don't look, Ronald.”

“Obviously,” replied Harry, ignoring her last remark. “I think it might be working. I feel
awful.”

“No, you feel ill. If you felt awful, you would apologize.” Hermione corrected him primly. “And
it's just as well that you feel sick. Anyone would, if they were you. It was a very low thing
you did, Harry.”

Ron snorted. “As low as snogging Malfoy?”

“I would never snog Malfoy.” Harry said automatically.

“I should bloody well hope not!”

Harry turned pink.

“You have! Haven't you?!” Ron burst out, triumphant and disgusted at the same time.

“What? No!” Harry yelled, quite a bit louder than he had intended to. A friend of Ginny's
with long white blonde hair turned and looked at him with an expression of bewildered amusement.
Harry tried to sneer, but without the practice that Malfoy had, it looked more like he had smelled
something awful than anything frightening.


“Well, what did you blush for then?” Ron whispered fiercely, and then looked at Harry curiously,
taking on an uncanny resemblance to a detective, seeing him for the first time. “You aren't a
poofter, are you?”

“No, I am not a poofter!” Again, Harry had not intended to make his voice quite so loud. Ron
raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely convinced.

“If you're sure,” he said. And then he went back to eating the mountain of scrambled eggs he
still had on his plate.

Harry groaned and threw his head into his folded arms. This was definitely not his favourite
day.

***

“Is he watching?” Ginny whispered in Draco's ear, just before nibbling on his earlobe. As
soon as she caught his skin with her teeth he shivered violently. She tried not to giggle. It was
quite a power rush, making the Slytherin Sex God anything less than completely composed.

“Yes. He's watching. Wait, no- he's turned around. Oh my God that's revolting!” he
spat. She had just traced the outer ridge of his ear with the tip of her tongue, and a deep blush
crept over her collarbone. She had gone too far, too soon. Now what? What -

His hands pushed her back a little bit and he whispered into her ear. “Don't look now, but
the Boy Wonder just got sick all over the Gryffindor table. I think it's working.” He nipped
her ear like she had done his.

She shivered just as violently as he had, before his words registered and her head whipped
around before she could stop herself. “What did you say?”

Harry was sitting forlornly at the table, staring at his plate - and mess - while everyone in
the immediate area were leaping to their feet and trying to escape as fast as they could. Once
everyone was far enough to be out of scent range, Hermione crawled onto the table and cast a quick
*scourgify,* her nose held closed with her fingers for good measure. After deeming it safe,
the rest of them slowly crept back to their seats, throwing very dirty looks at Harry the whole
while.

Ginny couldn't help it. She tried valiantly not to laugh, but there was no stopping the
massive, diaphragm wracking urge that was creeping up her throat. She laughed until the beginnings
of tears formed in the corners of her eyes, resting her forehead against Draco's collarbone to
keep herself up. She could feel a light laugh emanating from his torso as well, but he didn't
find it nearly so amusing as she did. When her sides were hurting too much to laugh any more, she
sat up straight and looked at Draco again. His eyebrows were raised into a mocking gesture
reminiscent of arrogance, but he didn't look put off by her, which was a relief. She had feared
she had overdone it a little bit, but growing up with the twins had meant that her ability to laugh
loud and long was untainted and completely fresh.

She suspected that Draco didn't laugh enough.

“Sorry. Is he looking again” she asked.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye and nodded very slightly.

“Oh. Okay then.” She pushed herself closer to him on the bench and grabbed a fistful of his
hair, twining her fingers through it, overjoyed that it was long enough to do this, and pulled his
face closer to her own. His hands travelled slowly up her arms, one slipping beneath her elbow to
snake around her back and trace her spine and the other reaching her neck and rubbing small circles
lightly into her skin. When her lips caught his, a feverish burning began in the pit of her belly
and spread over her like she was being submersed in a river of floo fire and she loved it.

His tongue swept expertly around the outline of her mouth, darting closer and closer to the
crease and then finally his fingers left her neck and he used a thumb to prod her mouth open. She
had never had a boy do this before, and found that instead of finding it too much, she quite liked
it. She nipped at his thumb but let it stay, flicking it with her tongue when his own retreated for
a second.

Her hand other than the one in his hair came from the bench and grabbed at the hand he held to
her face, clenching it and placing it at the base of her throat, spreading his fingers until they
covered almost her whole shoulder and part of her chest. His hands were *huge!*

A few frenzied minutes later, she remembered that while she wanted Harry to be distraught, she
did not want to go at it with Draco Malfoy on the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Actually, she
was surprised that no teachers had noticed yet. She came up for another breath.

“Draco,” she said, shivering again when he moved his hungry mouth down her cheek to her jaw, and
from her jaw to the hollow just below her ear.

“Draco,” she said again, trying to push him away. He ignored her, moving down her neck to her
collar bone.

“Draco!” She said, a little bit louder. She slapped his hands away and grabbed a bunch of his
hair again to move his head back to her eyelevel.

“Draco, that's enough for one day, I think.” She told him sternly, smiling at his almost
crestfallen face.

“You think? There's always room to change your mind,” he smirked, leaning in again. One of
his hands traveled down her spine to the start of her waistband.

“No, Draco.” She swatted his hand away. “Besides, you get as much snogging as you want
tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Hogsmeade,” she reminded him.

“Oh. Right.” He grinned, the most lascivious grin she had ever seen, sending a chill from the
nape of her neck to the tips of her toes. “Good. Snogging.”

She held in the eye rolling. “Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Draco. And thanks.” She winked as
she swung her leg over the bench. As she was walking away she muttered to herself. *Oh my God, I
am such a hussy.*

But then she smiled. Being a hussy wasn't always a bad thing, was it?

***

**The next morning**

The first Hogsmeade morning of the year dawned as crisp and beautiful as it ever had, a cool
breeze gently blowing the autumn leaves to rest on the ground in a display of color rivalled only
by the brightly pigmented paint on an artist's palate. Ginny looked out of her dormitory window
and noticed none of this, seeing only the very tips of the Hogsmeade house spires in the distance
over the tops of the *un*forbidden forest across the lake, and feeling something vaguely
resembling nervousness somewhere in the region of her chest.

Of course, it was absolutely pointless to be nervous. Of course nothing was going to happen. Of
course, Ginny had never gone on a date with someone she hadn't been friends with for a good
long while first. Of course, what she and Draco were doing had absolutely nothing to do with
friendship, and so of course she was a bit nervous.

Anything could happen.

She shook her head to clear it. It was time to get ready.

While she had never been the sort of girl to care overly much about how she looked, she found
that she was slowly sinking into the stereotypical half of girls who lay awake the night before a
particular event agonizing over the perfect outfit for said event.

She had gotten almost no sleep, completely torn between jeans or a cute skirt. Looking out the
window helped none, because while it was perfectly warm enough to warrant showing a little bit more
skin, it was also cool enough to wear jeans.

A noise of disgust escaped her throat and she spun from the window in frustration.

“Jeans!” she said finally, making up her mind. She nodded to herself. “Jeans are good. Those
nice ones I made…” she turned towards the showers. “ But a skirt would be really cute. Especially
that little black one - with a nice sweater…” She balled her hands into fists in her hair. “But
what if we want to do some walking or something? Jeans!” She nodded again. “Especially as it's
Draco. Wouldn't trust him `round a skirt even if he were twenty feet away. Probably spell it
off or something,” she mumbled. “Jeans.”

“Are you alright, Ginny?” Sterling called groggily from her bed.

“Yeah, go back to sleep.”

She gathered her shower things and headed off to the sixth year showers, passing the sleeping
forms of the rest of her dorm mates.

As she showered she considered just what she had gotten herself into. A mess, obviously. But
truly, she thought, this mess contained lots and lots of really fantastic snogging.

She hadn't really thought about how important snogging was to a relationship. As Harry had
been awful at it, she supposed she hadn't missed anything. But after snogging Draco Malfoy, and
in front of the whole school, no less, she could understand how it would cement the attraction and
feelings of two people otherwise only halfway inclined. And how snogging could bring about
confusing feelings from a person who before said snogging had absolutely no inclination towards the
other person. Like her confusing thoughts of Draco Malfoy.

Which brought about another potential problem. If she had already snogged the best snogger
around, who was left to snog? She puzzled over that as she conditioned her hair.

If when she was with Harry, she simply hadn't known what she was missing, well that was one
thing. But if she now knew exactly what she had been missing because of snogging that to which all
other snogs would now be compared, how exactly would she ever be able to go through with another
relationship and not be completely dissatisfied everytime the poor bloke leaned in for a kiss? What
could she do?

Obliviation was one option. Once the whole debacle with Draco was finally over and Harry had
justly received his dues, she could memory charm away all memories of the absolutely delightful
snogs she had received via Draco Malfoy.

But memory charms were well known to be fragile and even at the best of times difficult. She
could end up like Gilderoy Lockhart and stuck inside a mind that she didn't recognize. No,
obliviation was best left to professionals. And she didn't think `the snogs were too good'
would be reason enough for a professional to lend his services.

She could search for a better snog. She could go around or set up a kissing booth or something
disguised as a charity thing and rope in the boy who had the best kisser. Or she could simply wear
a sign round her neck saying `free snogs!' and go with the boy who was the best.

But no, she was already getting labelled `easy' and `hussy', and if the best snogger out
there had any morals to speak of, he wouldn't be caught dating a bimbo. No, that wouldn't
work either.

She refused to live life knowing what the best felt like and not having it.

She turned off the shower.

No.

She would simply have to keep Malfoy.

***

An hour or so later a small eagle owl came to peck at Ginny's window, a small note in its
beak. After letting it in and giving it a treat, she tore open the note, which she found was from
Draco.

*Good morning, Miss Weasley.*

*What time should you like to meet at the Entrance? I await your pleasure.*

*And your mouth.*

*Draco Malfoy.*

She nearly choked but saved herself. Good Lord, he was a snarky bastard, wasn't he?

She folded the note over and pulled a quill from her school bag.

*Half nine, Mr. Malfoy.*

*I will see your snogging appendage at the stairs.*

She gave it to the owl and sent him off, before hurrying to haul on her jeans. They were
frightfully tight but they made her bum look good, and so she didn't mind overly much.

She had just finished her hair when the owl appeared at her window again, the same note in his
beak.

His reply was written underneath her own in his elegant scrawl.

*My* appendage *awaits.*

She snorted.

*Keep your pecker in your pants, Malfoy. Snogging only.*

She sent it back to him, and with a light spritz of some perfume she was ready. She grabbed her
purse and she made her way to the entrance. At the top of the stairs stood her `date', dressed
to be dashing and rakish in a pair of charcoal grey trousers and a cream coloured shirt, his hair
tousled and lightly curling over the collar of his black jacket.

“Miss Weasley,” he said, holding out his hand when he saw her.

“Mr. Malfoy.” She giggled. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, somehow managing to extract
the same amount of shivery goose bumps from the simple graze of his lips across her knuckles as he
did from snogging her senseless.

Oh yes, Draco Malfoy wasn't going *anywhere.*

-->



4. Rolling
----------



It was quickly evident that Draco's legs were much longer than Ginny's. It was also
discovered that he was the sort of odious person who, if going somewhere, sees no point in not
getting there as quickly as possible. Clearly, “strolling” was not in his vocabulary.

Ginny began to forsee the difficulties almost as soon as they left the steps of the castle
entrance, whereupon his long legs ate up the ground, his robes billowing around his legs and
flipiong past her own ankles as she struggled to keep up with him. She was forced to do a sort of
half jog just to match his stride, and even then, the whole ordeal was so awkward, she had to grab
his sleeve and haul him back to a normal speed after three minutes. He looked aggreived, but
relented.

The walk to Hogsmeade was not so very far - only a half hour with evenly paced steps, and twenty
minutes if one was in a hurry. The trail was wide and led around the Black Lake, through a small
corner of the Black Forest, and over a hill drenched with scottish grass, scraggly bushes and
clusters of grey rock. It appeared to Ginny, as one of the first of the school year to make use of
it, that the path had recently undergone a transformation. Someone had weeded the little road and
had spread a fine layer of wood chips over it, scenting the air with newly cut cedar and creating a
pleasant little area for students to walk safely beneath the boughs of trees, away from dangerous
plants, or the small twigs that liked to claw at children's feet as they walked through the
territory of the forest.

She found herself eminently glad that she had chosen to wear jeans, however, no matter how tight
they were, as the chill in the air was biting and not nearly so friendly as it had appeared from
her dormitory window. The sun did not quite strain all the way through the thickly entertwined
branches over their heads, and the shadows brought an instinctive chill which could not be spelled
away or chased off with more layers of clothing. Ginny found herself inching closer and closer to
Draco's arm, trying to steal some heat away from his body even though she was a foot away,
ignoring the fact that she knew very well the cold was all in her head, and that the actual
atmosphere was only a degree or so colder than it was in the sunshine. Oppressive, long endured
shadow, though, was hard to shake off, and Draco's arm looked more and more inviting as the
path wore on.

Finally, after many ill fated attempts at subtlety, Draco grumbled and reached over, hauling her
to his side and wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders, slowing his furious pace to her own
speed. “Are you warm now?” he demanded, ignoring the gross misplacement of his manners and glaring.
At her surprised eyes he softened his tone. “You could have just said that you were cold, you know.
You didn't have to try and be all sneaky and get closer and closer without actually
-”

He grumbled again and looked ahead, leaving Ginny to figure out what on earth he was talking
about. She shook her head and decided to leave his confusing statements behind, instead reaching
around and grabbing the length of his thick black cloak, pulling it around own body, over his arm,
so that it covered the both of them sufficiently. She stuck the end of the fabric in his empty hand
for him to hold and looked at him archly. “I'm cold.” she announced. He raised an eyebrow, but
said nothing.

Walking in such a way soon became awkward, as she was leaning into him when her arm was in the
way, so to remedy it, she saw no other option - short of getting cold again - but to wrap her arm
around his waist, so that their hips brushed as they went along and she was close enough to feel
his warmth radiate from his skin. He looked at her oddly again but, again, said nothing.

Eventually, they reached the village. They were among the first to arrive and the town was
almost entirely devoid of students, instead deriving the bustle of activity from villagers and
tourists from out of the area. Soon enough, a steady trickle of black cloaks would eclipse the hill
and the regular shoppers would take shelter in their homes, well used to the usual devastation upon
the collective psyche of the small town after the Hogwarts students traipsed through their usually
calm, collected streets.

“Where would you like to go first?” Draco asked, as they passed underneath the wrought iron sign
that proclaimed their official entry into the village.

“Well,” she said, “I could use a visit to Quality Quidditch. I need some new gloves. Mine are
ghastly.” She laughed under her breath - as if Draco would even know what she was talking about, he
hadn't owned an article of ratty clothing in his entire life. In fact, she was willing to bet
that, since the Malfoys had re-won their fortune, Draco had not worn any of his clothing more than
once. She would even go so far as to say that he burned it after wearing it, so as to prevent
anyone from copying or stealing his style ideas.

Ginny looked at her own transfigured clothes, refusing to feel embarassed that, underneath a
tightly woven layer of magic, she was in fact earing a ragged old pyjama top and a pair of ratty
shorts grown out of two years prior. She was quite proud of her handiwork, but was not very
endeared to Draco's state of monetary affluence and limitlessness, unless, of course, he was
prepared to ignore it and join her in her quest for quidditch gloves without a single mention of
money.

“I could use some seeker gloves, actually.” he said. “Let's go.” He held out his arm for her
and she took it, careful not to dwell on the fact that his bicep was bulging beneath her
fingertips, or that he now had a sort of strutting stride, holding his head up straight and his
spine stiff like he was a peacock. And, if he was the peacock, she was the feathers. She laughed
again under her breath.

They crossed the street, his grip unyielding but gentle. She could very well see why so many of
the other girls in her year found him so devastating - his firmnes was enough to make her feel
lightly presured but not in the usual, brusque way of so many boys her age. He was soft enough that
her stomach could flutter without her brain telling her to stop being an idiot.

They stepped over the cobblestones, to where the gleaming Quality Quidditch stood as a dark,
polished mahogony front amongst cheery, bright colored stores. The window was gleaming and the
store name was printed onto the window with gold leaf and again, smaller, over the door. A bell
rung when the entered, and instantly, a slimy looking shopkeeper made his presence known. They
tried to avoid him and just go straight to the glove shelf, but he followed them and cleared his
throat until they were forced to acknowledge him. They were the only customers in the store, and
Ginny began to regret not waiting for more people to go in with them, so that the shopkeepers
undivided attention would not be focussed entirely on the two of them.

“Madam,” he said, inclining his head. Draco had ducked somewhere behind the shelf and was busy
laughing silently at her from the ground. “Are you finding everything to your liking?”

“Quite,” Ginny drawled, in a pretty good impression of Draco.

“Do you require any assistance?” he enquired. Ginny didn't miss the slightly patronizing
tone.

“No,” she said, growing annoyed. She had always hated salespeople. And, usually, the feeling was
mutual, since she so very rarely had any money.

He bowed and clicked his heels together.

He was about to return to his desk when Draco straightened from where he had crouched behind the
shelf, looking at a pair of dragonhide seeker gloves with much more attention than they merited, as
they were outrageously overpriced - especially considering that they were fingerless.

“Oh! Mr. Malfoy! I had not noticed you!” Ginny snorted as the shopkeepers oily face brightened
with false effusiveness. “My dear sir, is there anything at all I might assist you with?”

Draco shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said, drawling his words.

“Yes sir, but, please - I beg of you to ask for help should you need it.” He smiled, somewhat
remeniscent of Percy, Ginny thought, and looked again to Ginny, noticing how close they stood
together and finally realizing they were together. “And you as well, madam.”

Ginny almost rolled her eyes. She inclined her head. Draco said nothing. Finally, the shopkeeper
turned and left them alone.

“I don't really think I need gloves that badly,” she told Draco when the man was well out of
hearing range.

“Why?”

“I don't like any of these.” She waved her hand at the assortment. The shop keeper
harrumphed softly across the store and Ginny wondered if he was evesdropping.

“Don't be stupid,” Draco said. “These are the best chaser gloves on the market.”

“Well - yes, but - “ Ginny suddenly got uncomfortable. “They're also rather overpriced.” she
said. “I could get these for four galleons in Diagon Alley, but here they're seven!”

“So?” he asked. Ginny sighed.

“*So,* I would rather just order from Diagon Alley. Or I could send my mum some of my pin
money and she could send me a pair.”

Draco snorted dismissively. “That'll take weeks. Your next game is saturday. Which pair do
you want?”

“None,” she said stubbornly.

“Seriously, Ginny. I can afford it. Which ones do you want?” At her stony face, he reminded her,
“This is supposed to be a date, you know. I *have* to buy you something.”

She stared at him. He grumbled something about “stubborn” and “bloody” and “just money”.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll even let you pay me back.”

She looked back at the rack of gloves. She still looked indecisive, so he added, touching her
arm lightly, “With interest.” In spite of herself, she giggled.

“Oh, alright,” she said finally. She picked the cheapest pair - even if she *was* paying
him back, she felt guilty about going for the most expensive pair. Draco grinned at her and brought
his own purchases up to the front with her gloves.

After the transaction, he asked her to wait for him outside for a moment, he had one more thing.
She shrugged but did so, and he joined her a moment later. He had no new packages, so she wondered
what he had been doing, but the prospect of warm butterbeer made her forget all about it.

They went to Honeydukes next.

.

They didn't run into Harry, Ron and Hermione until the afternoon. Ginny and Draco were
trying to get out of the cheese shop after a snack as the trio were trying to get in. Hermione
didn't say anything, only looking at them curiously - Ron looked immediately furious, and Harry
looked green.

“Oh, hello you three,” Ginny said brightly.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Harry mumbled. Hermione groaned behind him and rubbed her temples
through her pretty white gloves.

Ginny made a show of taking Draco's hand and twininghis fingers around her own,
googly-eyeing him the whole while. His grey eyes were amused and Ginny could feel her own humor
trying to escape her chest as loud raucous laughter.

However, with Harry refusing to speak and Ron too angry to remember how, the whole scene quickly
fell flat. Hermione took control of the situation, and cleared her throat loudly. Ginny reminded
herself to forgive the other girl for being friends with such dunderheads and be friends with her
again.

“Alright then, I could really use a drink.” She gave a little false laugh and gathered the boys
in her arms when the two of them didn't respond to her anvil sized hint. “Have a lovely rest of
the afternoon, Ginny, Draco! See you later!” She tugged on Harry's sleeve and shoved Ron into
the stoor as soon as Ginny and Draco were out of the way. Before disappearing into the shop
herself, she turned back to Ginny and winked. Ginny smiled back.

“Would you like to go for a butterbeer?” Draco asked her. He was behind her, his hands on her
shoulders, and his breath tickling her ear. He brushed his nose against her cheek as he bent to
graze her skin with a kiss, and her stomach dropped through her like the floor had just
disappeared.

Goodness. She really was going to have to keep him.

“Yes,” she managed to choke out. He came back beside her and rested his arm on her shoulders. It
was heavy and seemed to push her into the ground, even though she knew his arm wasn't really
that heavy at all. His mere presence seemed to weigh her down, while simultaneously causing her to
float like a bubble.

“Good,” he smirked. “Because I could really use something to drink right now.”

Ginny agreed. Her mouth was dry and sticky and she wanted to wash down the remnants of the
chocolate frog she'd eaten earlier from her tongue.

They went to the Hogs Head, and Aberforth was, as usual, cleaning his dirty mugs with an equally
dirty rag. It never failed to make Ginny feel exasperated, because now that she and Aberforth were
on good terms, she longed for him to put down the bloody rag and shoddy business practices and take
advantage of the new opportunity to make Hogs Head successul.

When they were seated, they neither of them had much to say, and they ended up discussing the
weather and their favorite Quidditch temas before running out of things to argue about. They both
wanted to speak, but neither had anything to say - or rather, neither of them knew the other well
enough to say what they wanted to say without being accidentally offensive.

“So, how much longer do you think it will take for Potter to pop completely off his head?” Draco
asked finally.

He was leaning back in his chair with his hands cradling his butterbeer on his belly. His hair
looekd silver in the dim light of the room and Ginny thought that if only he had some pointy ears
he might look like an elf.

“I don't know, perhaps a week? He isn't very used to containing his emotions - probably
not much longer.”

Draco smirked. “No, that's one thing he definitely did not learn to do - contain
himself.”

“I suppose he might have been better had we actually told him off when he did a bunk,” she
mused. “But then, we rather needed a *sane* savior of the wizarding world, and so we
*may* have let him off a little bit too lightly most of the time.”

“You think?” Draco intoned with a sardonic tint.

“Yes, I think,” Ginny sniped.

“Is that why you dated him in the first place? You must have known he'd go and-”

“Cheat on me? No, I did not know he would cheat on me,” she growled. “I never would have
willingly set myself up for failure...”

“No, I suppose not. Although dating him to begin with might have been a testament to the
contrary...”

Ginny began to giggle. She couldn't help it.

“You should have just told him to sod off when he came sniffing at your shorts,” he said. “It
would have saved *you* the trouble, and you could have saved *him* from getting a massive
head - the speccy git.”

“How exactly are you sure that I wasn't the one doing the sniffing?”

Draco suddenly looked rather green himself.

***

The rest of the day, they amused themselves by following the Trio around and snogging madly
everytime one of them turned around. Ginny was having a great deal of fun and she could tell that
Draco was enjoying himself as well.

They followed the Trio up and down Main Street, sat accross from them in the Three Broomsticks,
and giggled their way through various doorways and onto benches.

Hermione started to laugh every time she saw them, and she obviously had no problems with what
they were doing. Ginny was beginning to regret judging Hermione so hastily as she had for
protecting Harry from her wrath two days earlier. She was coming to realize that, just because
Hermione didn't want blood to spill in the Great Hall, didn't mean that Hermione approved
of Harry's actions any more than Ginny did. Ginny decided that she would make ammends with her
friend when they got back to the castle that night.

Harry, however, was looking more and more agitated as the day wore on, jerking his head over his
shoulder every few feet as if he were just waiting for a Dragon to pop out of nowhere and pluck him
from out of the sky.

***

Every time he turned around, there they she (they) was.

In the shops, in the windows, on the benches, in the doors, the reflections in the glass, and
the booth accross from him in the Three Broomsticks, where morbid curiosity eventually took over
and he watched them try to choke eachother with their tongues for about twenty minutes - without a
breathing break.

Were they using some sort of bubblehead charm?

It was like she was haunting him, only she wasn't dead, and she didn't have her
apparating license, so it wasn't as if she was just popping in front of him with Draco in tow
and then starting to snog the living daylights out of eachother before Harry could know what was
going on and avert his eyes.

No, it was much more likely that he was just losing his mind.

He hoped that going to Zonko's might have cheered him up a little bit, maybe make him feel
less like he was a lamb awaiting a very painful and very imminent slaughter at the hands of his own
conscience. However, it was not to be.

This experience would teach him never to not trust Hermione again. Hadn't she warned him
something like this would happen? Hadn't she *told* him that flying off the handle and
doing something rash like snogging Daphne Greeengrass in the sixth floor broom cupboard under the
watchful eye of the Troll of Golgormeth was a bad idea?

Harry groaned as Daphne herself wandered in front of him in the dungbombs aisle. She was
actually quite pretty, in an obvious, in-your-face sort of way, with butter blonde hair and cold
blue, icy eyes. She did have the most adorable mouth, a full pout, pink lips, and a red tongue that
darted out every so often to moisten her lips. Harry's gut tightened. Stop that, he told
himself.

“Oh, hello Harry,” she said. He noticed that she looked almost nervous, her eyes flicking behind
him and down the other side of the aisle before settling back on his face. “How have you been?”

“Oh, Great,” he said, trying to grin.

“Really?” Daphne asked. Harry didn't appreciate the utterly dubious tone. “I thought Ginny
was doing her best to make your life miserable.”

“Oh, that,” he said, trying to sound dismissive. “Piffle.” His bravado faltered when, over
Daphne's pretty, angular shoulder he caught sight of Draco and Ginny falling over eachother and
stumbling into the end of his aisle with a crash and a good deal of laughter.

Daphne looked over and Harry saw her eyes widen.

She hurriedly said goodbye and made excuses for leaving.

“See you later, Harry,” she muttered. Before she quite made it around the corner, Harry grabbed
her wrist.

“Wait, Daphne, I - um, I was wondering,” he choked in his rush to speak and sound smooth at the
same time. “Could I take you out sometime?”

She stared at him dumbly for a second before looking over his shoulder to Ginny. “So you can
throw me over for another girl in two weeks? No thanks,” she smiled maliciously before twisting out
of his grasp and walking away, her heels clicking smartly on the tiled floor and her hips swaying
in the enticing sort of way he had never quite been able to resist.

It took him a moment to realize that he'd just been turned down.

Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, turned down because of one little, teensy weensy,
itty-bitty mishap in a closet? It was preposterous. He snorted.

He'd never liked Daphne anyways.

He turned back to the Dungbombs, and was quite immersed for all of ten seconds until he heard a
feverish whispering and the unmistakable sound of smacking lips.

“Oi!” he yelled, annoyed, “Get a room!”

Ginny looked over.

“YOU get a room!” she yelled back.

“I've got one!” he yelled again. For some reason he could not decipher, Ginny was making him
very angry.

“Though apparently you haven't got anyone to share it with!” she shot at him.

He snapped.

He sent a tickling jinx at her, but she already had her wand out and sent the jinx flying
straight back at him. He doubled over, the feeling of a thousand fingers prodding his sides too
much to take like a man. To add insult to injury, she sent a tricky little jinx that made his legs
move in a high speed scottish dance all on their own. Before he could stop himself, he was dancing
and jerking into the shelves, knocking thousands of dungbombs onto the floor, where he stomped on
them, exploding them all over himself.

In the end, he lost a hundred galleons on the ruined merchandise, and he smelled embarassingly
of dung.

Hermione and Ron wouldn't even go near him.

And so, he was left to walk back to the castle alone. He would never snog anyone in the Troll
Cupboard again.

-->



5. Spin
-------



**Revenge**

**Chapter Five: Spin**

The moment she stepped inside her dormitory, bone-tired and hungry, longing only for rest and
the chance to silently reminisce about her relatively wonderful (but for a few snags) day, Sterling
pounced. Ginny sighed and waved away her dreams, wishing for a less curious friend, and got around
to the telling of the day's events. Ginny tried to remember everything, though pointedly
leaving out some of the more private details of the many, many amorous embraces she'd shared
with Draco throughout the day, and believed at the end of her recounting that she had more or less
shared everything pertinent that Sterling would be desirous of hearing. And when she was finally
able to relax on her bed without fear of Sterling becoming agitated and pouty, Sterling seemed to
be in a better mood, pleased at Ginny's day. Ginny resisted the urge to grumble into her
pillow. Sterling was her best friend, and she might as well have gotten used to her rather more
*pushy* tendencies, but somehow, whenever they arose for something to do with her own life,
her friend was a thousand times more difficult to deal with.

“So it went well then?” Sterling asked, for probably the fifth time that evening.

“Yes.” Ginny growled. Sterling remained unperturbed, well used to Ginny and her occasional
grumpy moods.

“So where are the gloves, then?” Sterling asked, turning her great, moon-like eyes on Ginny
expectantly. Ginny swore, only just remembering.

“Draco still has them, I forgot to get them back from him when we came in.” She pulled a sheet
of parchment from her desk, which was situated directly beside her four poster bed and littered
with vast amounts of incomplete homework and textbooks she never bothered to read. She flicked
papers in all directions and rummaged for her quill and ink but couldn't find either, only
succeeding in sending more and more garbage to the floor, where she stepped on it, wrinkled it, and
made it illegible. Sterling threw something at her.

“Here,” the blond said, and Ginny looked down in her lap to find the muggle pen Sterling always
offered to lend out but no one trusted enough to borrow. Ginny looked at it suspiciously.

“What do I have to do?” she asked, peering at it from as far a distance she could whilst still
keeping the thing in her hands.

Sterling just shook her head and sighed, as she always did when her classmates acted overly
doubtful.

“Just use it like a quill.”

“But where's the ink?”

“It's already inside the pen, see?” Sterling snatched it back out of Ginny's hands and
made a squiggle in the corner of the parchment.

Ginny glared at this new bit of equipment but set to writing the letter anyways, absolutely
convinced that the ink would need replenishing before her note was through. And when it did not,
she was doubly convinced that there was some sort of replenishing charm on the thing, and did not
believe Sterling when the girl swore on her grandmother's grave that it was not so - Ginny
wasn't sure that Sterling's grandmother was actually dead, after all.

*Draco,*

*Send me my gloves, I'll pay you back when I can. Sorry I forgot them, see you
tomorrow.*

*GW.*

Ginny borrowed Sterling's owl, Scruffy, and sent off the note. She hoped the bird would go
quickly. For all she knew, the muggle ink might disappear or slide off the page before the note
ever reached the recipient. She supposed she would have to wait and see.

***

“Oh, he *didn't*,” said Ginny in a mortified tone that rather confused Sterling, who
was peering over her friend's shoulder expectantly at the unveiling of Ginny's new gloves,
which had arrived by post not five minutes before.

“Did what?”

“These aren't the gloves he bought me,” the redhead said, staring down at the offending
items in her hands with abject loathing. They were sitting at the dinner table and Ginny's
brother Ron was growing curious, despite himself. Sterling whispered softly into Ginny's
ear.

“Put them away, your brother is looking.”

Ginny did as Sterling suggested and stuffed the gift inside her bag at her feet, leaving them
there until an hour later, when Sterling was waiting for Ginny to change into her Quidditch gear
and leave so that she might have the dormitory to herself and lie down for a nap. “So tell me again
what's wrong with these?” Sterling asked tiredly, wondering why in the matters of sports, she
was such a simpleton, not for the first time. Ginny glared at her from over the wrapping.

“Because these are the most expensive gloves on the market, that's why. I know for a fact
that these aren't the ones Draco bought me, because I was right there. I watched him put them
in the bag, and then, - Oh, that cheeky bastard!” Her face suddenly turned all sorts of interesting
shades of red and Sterling rather wondered how one person could look like so many breeds of tomato
at once. “He exchanged them when I wasn't looking!”

“And this is a problem, why?”

“Because I said I'd pay him back!”

“Maybe he intended the difference to be a gift,” Sterling suggested. Ginny didn't bite.

“No, he pities me, that's what. He's insinuating that - that I'm poor!” Ginny
slapped the gloves into the palm of her hand and began pacing around the room, only to stub her toe
on the fire grate and scream in frustration as she launched herself back onto her bed. Sterling
shook her head.

“Sweetheart, you *are* poor.”

“So? He doesn't have to remind me!”

“What if he's just being nice?”

Ginny shot her a baleful glare. “This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, Sterling. Not
Harry - never mind.”

Sterling winced. “Ginny, I know Harry hurt you, but-”

“He didn't hurt me!” Ginny growled fiercely, squeezing her fists around her new gloves
without seeming to realize it. Sterling got off her bed and crossed over to sit at Ginny's
feet, reaching out to lay a hand on the redhead's shin.

“Ginny, Draco and Harry aren't the same people. Who knows, Draco could be good for you!”

Ginny looked at her and Sterling could see the fierce determination in the other girl's
brown eyes, glittering with intensity. Sterling recognized that look. It was Ginny's obstinate,
determined, stubborn look. Nothing Sterling said tonight would make any difference. She sighed and
said softly, trying not to sound pushy, “Ginny, just let the gloves go. Think of them as an
investment.”

“How so?” Ginny said suspiciously.

“Well, Draco is on the opposing team, right?” Ginny nodded slowly. “So when Gryffindor wins, you
can say it's because the opposition financed your new gear. Draco Malfoy just gave you the
tools to beat him!” Ginny started to, reluctantly, grin, and Sterling knew the worst was over as
the brute obstinacy receded from her still glittering eyes. She got off the bed. “Now finish
getting dressed and go and try them out.”

Ginny grinned for real this time and hugged Sterling hard. Sterling hugged her back happily.

Sometimes, Ginny was a strong, mature, independent young woman. And other times, Ginny was like
a little child who wanted but couldn't have candy. Sterling quite frankly wondered how on earth
Ginny would ever survive without her there to calm and guide her along.

***

She had now been running for about an hour, with no warm-up, in the suddenly blisteringly cold
and windy weather, the threat of rain hanging heavy over the pitch. She could have stopped long
ago, probably fifty minutes ago, if she hadn't minded the smug grin of an idiot boy who knows
he's won - but she couldn't, and so was still running, jogging, limping, whatever. The rest
of the team was sludging along behind her, joining her in their suffering, but whereas she was
fueling her successive laps around the pitch with blinding determination and pride, her team was
following her now out of blind hatred and the burning desire that she trip in a hole and find
herself incapable of continuing.

The practice had not been a particularly foreboding one to start, but shortly after the boys
changed and exited their locker room, Ron had spotted his sisters new gloves, and recognized,
regrettably, the make, brand, and price. And as Ron very well knew the contents of his sister's
coffers, he also knew that there was no way Ginny could have afforded them on her own, and had
promptly begun yelling at her, demanding to know what 'services' she had exchanged to get
them, and then had quickly cottoned on that it had been Draco Malfoy who'd been her benefactor.
Harry had heard the heated argument, and wanting to get his practice started sooner rather than
later, had come over to break up the commotion. But upon seeing the source with his own eyes, Harry
had become so irrationally angry that he'd scrapped his original practice plan and assigned a
run around the pitch - to last as long as Ginny could run. Of course, Ginny had taken this as a
direct insult and challenge, because it had been issued as one, and was absolutely furious.

And so, she was still running.

Her inside hip was aching, her arms numb and cold in the wind, her cheeks frozen like her nose
and ears. Her hair was plastered to her neck, her shirt stuck to her back, and her legs, bare in
her running shorts, were beet red and refusing to work properly. But still, Ginny kept going, if
only to infuriate her brother (who was following at the back of the pack) and Harry (who was
growing ever more annoyed sitting on his broom, realizing that Ginny wasn't going to break as
fast as he thought she was, and that his practice was getting destroyed). And she was succeeding
too. She heard the team muttering behind her in laboured, panicked breaths about just jinxing her
already so they could stop, but all had left their wands on the benches to keep free of unnecessary
obstructions. None had expected to be without them this long.

Her chest burning with pain like the Cruciatus Curse, she doubled around through the middle of
the pitch to change direction to ease her aching inside hip, to give her left hip a chance to bear
the majority of the weight. She pushed on for another indeterminate amount of time. She slipped in
a corner and twisted her ankle, and it quickly began to swell, and so she limped in a sort of half
run, half skip. Her knee on the hopping leg bearing the weight felt like it would snap after
another three laps, and she realized that she was going slow enough that someone could easily walk
beside her at a leisurely pace and not strain himself. But she kept running, even when it started
to rain.

The wind was howling now, raking through her ears, whistling past her skin, chapping her dry,
parched lips and tongue, and she opened her mouth to catch even faint droplets of rain.

Finally, just as frustrated, angry tears began to release themselves from her eyelashes and burn
their way down her frozen cheeks, mixing with the drops of rain on her skin, Harry blew his
whistle. But stopping was almost as painful as running. As they turned into the center to get
dismissed, her chest felt like it was going to implode, and her insides, intestines, stomach, all
twisted together to form a giant, roiling knot, stuck fast and painfully, like her skin was being
pulled inside out. Her ankle was now the size of a grapefruit. She bent down to peel her sock over
the skin, off her foot, but she ended up wimpering with pain. She covered it back up, ignored the
sickly coloring, and dragged herself on her mostly good leg to hear Harry's condemnation.

But she wasn't there for long.

“Ginny, go back to the castle. You're done,” Harry spat at her, his words like venom and
refreshing lemonade at the same time. She nodded, not caring that he was furious, and passed the
stands on her way back to grab her wand, holstering it to her forearm as she limped away. The wind
snatched away the remnants of Harry's voice, and her only companion back to the castle was the
fearsome weather. She liked it better that way.

She was in no mood to speak with anyone.

By the time she reached the castle steps, she found that she could not raise her foot to step
up. She tried and tried, for what seemed like long, frustrating hours, to lift her good foot and
raise it to the next step. It was impossible to stand with her weight on her swollen ankle, and so
she tried to step with her bad ankle, and almost made it, but then found that when the time came to
hoist herself with the swollen joint, she couldn't do it. A sharp flash of pain jolted up her
leg to her spine, and she fell sideways, crashing her bones against the sharp stone steps. Finally,
she gave up. She refused to crawl.

She lay on her back in the cold, staring up at the dark, stormy sky, watching raindrops fall
from a certain height, always the same, above her head, only to see them disappear in the corners
of her vision. Heavy, pebble like droplets, light grey against the clouds, always avoiding her eyes
but not her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth. She opened her lips to catch some of the water, but as
soon as she did, it seemed the raindrops averted, falling everywhere but in her thirsty lips.

She didn't know how long she laid there. Surely the practice hadn't gone on that long
after she'd left. Everyone would be changing now, out of their running clothes and into their
warm cloaks. She wished she had thought to do that before leaving. She had been too intent on
getting away from Harry. How she longed for a hot shower, a bath, a hot drink!

She was so intent on imagining everything warm she would enjoy when she finally made it up the
steps, she didn't even notice when she fell asleep.

.

.

.

Like she didn't notice or remember falling asleep, she also could not precisely put a time
to the moment she woke. She didn't open her eyes at first. She first focused on becoming aware
of her surroundings; the scratchy sheets, the warm pillow beneath her right cheek and ear, her hair
tied on top of her head and out of the way of resting, her feet encased in warm, woollen socks. She
could feel the faint, aftereffects of the throbbing pain in her ankle, the memory of feeling. Her
bones felt warm and her blood was moving freely. She almost couldn't recall that she had been
freezing only a short time before.

When she opened her eyes, she realized she was in the Infirmary, with its high arched ceiling,
creaky iron beds, hospital bedclothes and blankets, and the ever-present scent of potions and
spilled fluids. She turned her head to the bedside table after another long period of undetermined
time, and noticed a note, folded into a triangular shape, so that it stood on its own, displaying
the message for her without the need for her to reach out and grab it. When she read it, the most
incredible jot of happiness coursed through her, starting in her belly and pulling the rest of her
gut with it to her throat.

*Ginny,*

*I don't know how much you remember, but I have permission from Madame Pomfrey, and I plan
to visit you in the morning, as she wouldn't let me stay with you tonight. It doesn't
really matter if you find this or not, I suppose, because I'm coming whether you're still
asleep or not. If I can, I shall bring you a snack from the Kitchens - Granger told me you like
chocolate. Expect some.*

*Anyways, get some sleep, Dear One, and I'll see you in the morning. Feel better,*

*Yours,*

*DM.*

And tucked beneath it, through the hole of the triangle, was a single, long-stemmed daisy.

***

He waited in the corridor between the Great Hall and the North West wing, which was the corridor
that all Gryffindor's needed to pass through in order to get to breakfast. He was hiding
inconspicuously behind the Statue of the Flying pig, with his hood pulled snugly over his head to
hide his bright hair. The corridor was almost silent, there having been only three or four students
passing through in the whole half hour he'd been there waiting, and he was beginning to doubt
himself and wonder whether his prey had not already snuck past him on his way to breakfast, or that
the person he was waiting for had not been in a different part of the castle to begin with and so
would not need to pass through this way. But Draco was a boy of determination and he trusted his
gut - as well as the information that had cost him a galleon which told him that Harry had indeed
gone straight to the Gryffindor boy's showers directly after returning from Hogsmeade - and so
Draco stuck to his plan, and remained crouched behind a giant, stone pig-gargoyle, his knees aching
painfully on the hard ground.

Ten minutes and seven rowdy students later, his grit paid off. Granger and the elder Weasely
marched resolutely down the corridor, unknowingly past Draco, with no third wheel in sight. They
were whispering feverishly to each other, brushing hands every few steps in their closeness, their
heads almost knocking together in their need to convey information over as short a distance as
possible. Any closer, Draco thought with disgust, and their lips would be touching, leaving them to
communicate in Morse code through their slimy, unclean tongues. Draco turned back to the corridor
as they passed by him.

And then, there, dawdling, absent-minded, and depressed, was his prey. Harry Potter. After
double checking that there was no one else around to hear any loud noises, Draco stepped out from
his hiding place and into the light.

“Potter,” he said, curling his lips over his teeth in a well-practiced sneer. Potter stopped
dead, startled, his eyes nearly as wide as the rims of his round glasses. After regaining his
bearings, Potter attempted his own snarl, but without the practice of a Slytherin, it fell flat,
like he had simply smelled something putrid (which, if Draco's sources were correct, the boy
probably had - himself) rather than forming an expression of malice. Draco sniggered.

“What do you want?” Potter gritted, clenching his fists. Draco tsk'd and stepped forwards,
lowering his hood with his left hand and then raking his fingers through his shaggy white-blond
hair.

“I wanted to speak with you,” he said, stepping closer still.

“About?” Potter snapped, striving for a tone of impatience.

“Ginny.” Draco pulled out his wand from his sleeve an inch or so under the pretense of
scratching his wrist. “And about your manners.”

“My manners? Go-” --he said a dirty, plebeian word-- “-yourself, Malfoy.”

“Yes. Your manners. And especially regarding your treatment of Miss Weasley.”

“What do you care, Malfoy? You might be snogging her, but you've got no claims. She's
got family, you know.”

“Yes, well, her family doesn't seem to be doing much in the way of protecting her innocence.
I'm stepping in.” He smirked a little before resuming in a clipped, emphatic tone. “To warn
you.”

“Warn me? Get lost, Malfoy.” Potter tried to laugh with casual uncaring, but his anger was
overtaking him slowly, probably like a poison, and getting the better of him.

“You did a very dirty thing, Potter,” Draco continued, blithely ignoring him. He began to slowly
make his way around Potter in a circle, large enough to easily avoid a stray fist. “And I'm
afraid that, since Weasley has his head too far up his arse in love with Granger to notice a thing
about what's going on around him, it's been left up to me to dole out the punishment. As
such, the self-appointed protector of Ginny's modesty, I must inform you of the charges brought
against you. Any particular order in which you'd care to hear them?” He paused for merely a
second before interrupting Potter as he opened his mouth to snap back. “Good. First, you cheated on
her. This alone would warrant castration, were you a Pureblood, but as you are not, I'm afraid
my honor code will not do. I've had to come up with something a little more - *creative,*
I suppose you could say*.* Secondly, you snubbed her at breakfast two days ago, leaving her
with no alternative but to sit with someone else. For that, would you be a Pureblood, even though
you were no longer dating at the time, you would be delivered to the Stocks for three days without
food. Again, I've come up with something better.” Draco continued on, secretly amused, as the
whites of Potter's eyes got progressively more visible as the boy grew more and more worried.
“Thirdly, whilst in the presence of your ex-girlfriend, one Ginny Weasley, you attempted to
re-kindle a romance with the admittedly beautiful, but incredibly silly Daphne Greengrass. This is
low class.”

“-But I didn't-”

“-Know that Ginny was nearby? No matter, as you cheated with her, you are honor-bound to leave
at least a third of the time you were involved with Ginny to lapse before attempting another
relationship. Again, you are not a Pureblood, and cannot be justly sentenced to forty-five lashes,
but as Ginny *is* a Pureblood, and I am, (*obviously*), I am entitled to do
*something.* And finally, and perhaps most despicable of all, the events of last night, during
your so-called 'Quidditch Practice'. Do you recall? I rather thought not. Let me tell you
what happened,” Draco said, openly sneering now. “You quite literally ran Ginny into the
ground.”

“I did not, she could have stopped any time-”

“Are you talking about the same Ginny I am? I think you might be stupid, Potter. You insulted
her and challenged her, what did you expect? That she would laugh it off and stop?” Draco laughed
hollowly. He was beginning to remind himself of his father, a thought that both thrilled and
terrified him.

“If you hadn't bought her those gloves -”

“The gloves? What about the gloves?”

Potter seemed to preen under the chance to finally speak for himself. “The gloves you bought for
her. What, don't remember, Malfoy?” he snarled, his voice just as ugly as Draco knew his could
be. “What, you think we don't know that you had to buy yourself a girlfriend, because you just
couldn't *get any* by yourself?”

Something within Draco tightened, like a heavily twisted cable, beginning to fray under too much
pressure. “Are you accusing Ginny of being bought?”

“I don't know,” Potter said obstinately, “Did you need to purchase her affections?”

“Are you calling Ginny a whore?”

Suddenly Potter looked confused. “No,” he said, frowning.

“Really? Because that's what it sounds like to me,” Draco said, his lips curling this time
of their own volition.

“No, I wasn't insulting Ginny, I was talking about you-”

“Well,” Draco said tightly, feeling another part of his inner chord snap with a final sounding
*ping*,

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you started throwing out insults.” Draco allowed
his lips to curve into a smile. “Too bad,” he said, and Potter raised an eyebrow, trying to return
to his badly affected nonchalance, “Wee little Potter just can't grow up and play with the
big-boys, can he?”

He stepped further around Potter, keeping the boy in his line of vision.

“But back to what I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted - I have come upon a
punishment which will nicely cover all of your offences. Any last words?” Draco pulled out his wand
the rest of the way from his sleeve, and extended his arm into the classic duelling position.
Potter, to his credit, did not piddle in his pants, but looked terrified, fumbling for his wand.
Draco snickered inwardly. How the swot had managed to defeat the Dark Lord was completely beyond
him.

“Good. *Recolitus Morbus!*” He straightened himself again and tucked his wand back into his
sleeve and started to walk away, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“I don't think it worked!” Potter called, his tone jubilant. Draco ducked when he heard a
retaliation curse heading his way and cast a shield just in time to avoid the graze of the
Petrificus jinx.

“Oh, it worked all right. You just wait.” And with a final laugh, Draco sprinted out of the
corridor and back to the Great Hall.

Just you wait, he thought to himself, happier than he'd been in weeks. Why he hadn't
thought of this years ago, he had no idea. Although, if he were now intending to see Ginny
regularly, it was probably better that he hadn't. Especially if Potter and Ginny had, well, he
wasn't going to think about that.

Too disturbing.

-->



6. Swing
--------



It was three hours later that he began to notice it. It was slight, at first, merely a
barely-there tingle, not entirely pleasant. It lasted for a moment, ebbed, and then receded,
leaving Harry unbothered and allowing him to continue about his business. He had forgotten all
about it when the feeling came back, more intense, but again, not enough of a bother to actually
worry, or pay it any attention. It fluttered with his pulse, a mild burning flare, and then it too
went away. It was the third time which finally brought Harry to the suspicion that something might
be wrong.

His nether regions were on fire.

Not literally, perhaps, but quite intensely, and for all intents and purposes, on fire. Burning.
Submerged in fiery hot water. Lava. There was a raging inferno in his trousers, and it wasn't
because Daphne Greengrass had rounded the corner with her little hip-jiggling sashay, which so
brightened his day. No, his - *parts* - were being tormented by some as of yet unidentified
acid.

He was sitting at the table in the Great Hall at lunch, at the time, and something must have
showed on his face, because Hermione and Ron were nudging each other and staring in his direction.
Harry swallowed feverishly and pretended not to notice, an intention short lived when Ron spoke up
and asked him directly, “What's the matter with you? Are you ill?” Hermione cocked her head to
the side and seconded Ron, her eyes all at once concerned and intrigued when Harry was unable to
speak properly. His hand moved slowly, pulled towards his thigh with a sort of gravitational drag.
He tucked his hand under his robe, and carefully prodded himself, attempting to maneuver himself
into a less painful position, and after a moment of intense concentration, the burning stopped, and
he could once again concentrate on something above the level of his waistband, like the concerned
faces on Ron and Hermione. Guiltily, he rose his hand again to the table and he cleared his
throat.

“Sorry, headache,” he said. This appeared to be the wrong thing to say. Hermione instantly
snapped her head up and began pelting him with questions.

“Headache? What sort of headache? Is it your scar? Visions? Burning? Fever? Are-”

“No, Hermione, just a headache.” He busied himself scooping heavy spoonfuls of mashed potatoes
on his plate.

“If you're sure,” she said, sounding like she didn't believe him. But as his lower end
started to tingle again, he found that he didn't much care.

****

He pulled a comfortable chair over to the empty place beside her bed and made himself at home,
sprawling his legs out so they hung over the padded arms, and set himself to waiting for her to
wake up. He had breakfast for her waiting on a tray under a heavy silver lid, and he had cast a
stasis charm and a cooling charm on it so that it would be cold and ready for her to eat as soon as
she woke. He had overheard Madame Pomfrey say she would need heavy fluids and easy to digest, light
foods when she woke, as she would be suffering from heavy dehydration and not much hunger. So he
had asked the elves to blend together some fruit and milk together into some substance he had heard
called a smoothie, by one of the healthier nuts wandering around in Slytherin. He had tried it, and
it had tasted a rather lot like ice cream and was, quite frankly, delicious. He might need to get
himself another one one day.

He had also brought her a pitcher of ice cold water and an apple, and a bar of dark belgium-made
chocolate.

Twenty minutes or so later, after he had quite intensely mapped out her face with his eyes,
examining every freckle, plane and shadow on her face, her eyelids fluttered open and she stared
glassily out at nothing in particular before focusing and honing in her gaze at him. He felt the
most delightful quiver in his gut when she smiled at him, upon realizing who he was.

“Draco,” she said croakily, and she cleared her throat. “I didn't expect you to be here this
early... What time is it?”

“Breakfast time,” he said cheerfully, and he levitated her tray over her lap as she readjusted
her position. He cranked the post on her bed to raise it into a half-sitting position, and got up
to fluff her pillows behind her head as she lifted the lid to the tray.

“What is this?” she asked, curiously.

“A smoothie,” he answered, as he trailed his fingers gently along her spine while she sat
forward so that he could reach the pillows under her back. She shivered, and Draco felt oddly
gratified in having elicited some sort of physical response. He restrained himself from making a
suave comment about it, wisely deciding that Ginny was not the sort of girl who would appreciate
it.

“I've never tried one.” She sipped a mouthful through a straw and she grinned widely.
“It's delicious! Wow, why haven't I ever had one of these before?!” She looked at him.
“Wherever did you get it?”

“I called in a favor with Dobby. He owed me for sending him along his stamp collection from the
Manor when he moved to Hogwarts.”

“Have you tried it?”

“Yeah, he made me one too. Better than pumpkin juice...” He shuddered.

She at in silence for a while, and Draco noticed that in her sleep she had kicked the covers off
her feet, and he saw her swollen, black and blue ankle again. His stomach tightened and he felt
another surge of hatred towards Potter. She noticed him looking.

“I fell,” she said.

“I know.” He looked at her seriously, and felt through the covers for her other ankle. Her eyes
widened as he started to massage it softly, but the glowing blush on her cheeks emboldened him to
continue.

“Do you remember much about last night?”

She shrugged her small shoulders and grinned. “I know I whooped Harry's arse,” she said.

“Harry wasn't running with you,” Draco pointed out.

“I know,” she said, “Lazy git. But now he knows not to challenge me to a foot race!”

“Do you remember passing out?”

“Not when, but yeah, I suppose. I fell asleep on the Castle steps. Do you know who found me?”
she asked.

“Your brother did. He punched Potter in the face.”

“Good.” Ginny said. Draco didn't think a punch in the nose was nearly enough to punish
Potter, but now that he had taken matters into his own hands, Draco was feeling much better about
the whole affair and was willing to give Weasley his due for taking *some*initiative, at
least. He moved his hands to Ginny's little toes and began smooshing them in his fingers and
rubbing some warmth back into them. She sighed, probably despite herself. Draco kept his smirk to
himself. “I would have kept running, you know,” she said quietly after a moment of silence, almost
sad. Like she was ashamed of herself - of her pride. “But he stopped the practice. I don't
think I would have stopped.”

“I know.” He put her foot down for the moment and scooted closer to her after covering the limb
back up with the blanket and tucking the edges under. He ignored her soft whimper of complaint at
his neglecting her feet and gathered up her hands. He began to play with her fingers whilst
studiously ignoring her eyes. “Ginny, I know I don't know you very well... But, the past few
days I've been getting to know you better, and not just the snogging...” --her fingers clenched
against his-- “But I think I know you well enough now to tell you that - that I'm proud of
you.” He kept not looking at her face and studied her lean, graceful hands. “Some people, your
family I'll bet, have probably told you that your stubbornness isn't a good trait, or that
you're too pig-headed and obstinate, but I just wanted to tell you something -” He cleared his
throat and her fingers spasmed against his again. “Your stubbornness, and your drive and your pride
are some of your best qualities. They're what I like best about you. Ginny, I've been
raised to believe I'm the best because of things I never did, and for reasons that don't
make any sense. I've got tons of pride for the both of us, but it's not the same as you.
Your pride is out of a strong will to prove yourself, to show yourself that you can be something
bigger than what your brothers have done, or what you've been told. You're going to make
something of yourself. Your stubbornness is out of a passion to stick to your beliefs, and its
probably what got you through the war.” He looked at her then, and realized her chin was clenched
and she was trying not to wobble. “Ginny, you're amazing. You're *strong.* I've
only known you a week and I can already tell you're one of the strongest people I know.
You're confident, and honest and determined and refreshing... And I like you Ginny. I know
you're going to be something *great.* Granger is brilliant, and Potter is famous... But
they aren't like you. They don't have the same inner strength as you. Granger will probably
discover tons of important scientific knowledge and make a name for herself... Potter will probably
do an incredibly successful Nude Calendar called The-Man-Who-Lives-For-Ladies-And-Tequila. But you
- you're something special. I can tell. Ginny, don't you *ever* change. And don't
you *dare* be ashamed of yourself.”

There was a flurry of bed covers and suddenly, his face was being squished between two clammy
hands while his own hands were left empty, and his lips were covered with Ginny's warm, banana
flavored mouth. He raised his left hand to cup her cheek while he joined her in the fevered
kissing, and while he nibbled on her lip, he realized that, instead of being embarrassed at having
spilled his thoughts about her like he had (he'd told her he *liked* her, which he had
never, ever told any girl, ever...) he was happy. He was happy that he'd made her happy. With
that thought, he abandoned all thought altogether and started exploring her mouth.

He felt her heart beating in the pulse of her neck, and he pressed his fingers to the hollow of
her throat so that he could feel her vibrant liveliness beat a tempo against his fingertips. He
buried his other hand in her hair and tried not to pull any of it out as he tangled it and reveled
in the silky texture of it. Her teeth were clacking against his, but he didn't much mind, and
the force of her lips mashing against his felt wonderful. Something about the sweet smell of her,
the dewy texture of her skin, the throbbing pulse of her heart... It was like coming home.

“I see the patient has awakened,” said an old voice in an amused, semi-delighted tone. The two
of them sprang apart and looked around guiltily until the both of them found, unerringly, the tall,
thin form of a twinkly-eyed Professor Dumbledore.

“Professor! We didn't see you -”

“No doubt,” he said, but he didn't sound angry.

“I'm very sorry, Professor, it won't happen again...” Draco said, lying through his
teeth. It was going to happen again, alright, just not in Dumbledore's presence.

“I don't expect you to quit your amorous adventures on my account, my dear boy,” he said,
chuckling to himself. “No, I have taught young people for far, far too many years to be quite so
naive. I merely wished to inquire as to the state of Miss Weasley's recovery.” He turned to
Ginny, who was a vibrant shade of red. “I trust you are feeling better?” Draco swore that behind
Dumbledore's twitching white beard, there was a grin.

“Much better, sir, thank you.”

“I am much relieved to hear it.” His eyes crinkled as the old man smiled. “But if I am not much
mistaken, which I rarely am, Mr. Malfoy, classes are starting in five minutes. So if you please, I
will allow you to say your goodbyes but I expect you to be on time and prepared for your first
class... Potions, I believe?”

“Yes, sir, I will.” Regretfully, but seeing no alternative other than suddenly coming down with
a very violent case of the flu, he squeezed Ginny's hand and leaned in for a quick peck on her
cheek, Dumbledore be damned. “See you later, Ginny.”

“Bye,” she said, too embarassed to say any more.

Draco hoisted his book bag onto his shoulder and exited the room, cursing Dumbledore all the
way.

***

Harry was anxious, there was no doubt about it. His nether regions had been growing
progressively worse all day, and he was close to chopping them off with frustration. He had tried
to urinate after dinner, but the pain had been so intense he'd had to forgo the idea. He had
briefly entertained the idea of telling Ron, but Ron would be no use at all, and that idea also had
been shut down.

No, he was going to have to go to Madame Pomfrey.

As embarrassing as the thought was, Madame Pomfrey, he was fairly sure, had seen him in his
entirety before, considering the numerous times he had been knocked out cold for days in her care.
He just hoped that she could wave her wand with a diagnostic spell and then there would be no need
for further embarassment.

“What seems to be the problem, Potter?” she asked him, after he had finally worked up the
courage to go down to the hospital wing. Ginny was nowhere to be seen, for which he was grateful,
and he supposed that she had been discharged earlier.

“Could I speak to you, in private, please?” he asked, his tone desperate. Her eyes widened and
she urged him into her office.

“Whats this all about then,” she asked, sitting behind her desk. Harry sat nervously in a
chair.

“I've been having some pain...” he began, his cheeks flaming. Out with it! he told himself
angrily.

“Down there,” he finished lamely.

“I see,” she said, her eyebrows raised to epic proportions. “On the bed, then, if you
please.”

Harry gulped. He sat on the black doctors bed which was covered with tissue paper. He laid down
and folded his arms over his stomach, staring very awkwardly at the ceiling while she pelted him
with questions and busied herself with her wand, waving it like one of those censors one had be
checked with in airports.

“What sort of pain?”

“Burning.”

“When did it start?”

“This morning.”

“Is it constant or does it come and go?”

“It comes and goes.”

“Has it gotten progressively more intense or always the same.”

“More intense.”

“And are you having problems urinating?”

“Yes.”

She muttered a spell and muttered to herself, before telling him he could sit up again.

“Sit in the chair, Potter.”

He sat.

“So tell me, Potter, how long you've been sexually active,” she said in a disapproving
tone.

“WHAT?!” he spat, choked, and had a mild heart attack all in the same instant. “Whatdoyoumean,
sexually active!”

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

“None!”

She huffed. “Don't lie to me, Potter. I need to know.”

“None! None!”

“I know you aren't being truthful, Potter. I don't need to know their names, yet. Just
tell me how many!”

“None! I swear!”

“Potter, you have a venereal disease, so I know you're lying. I need to know if there's
possibility of spread, so I can administer the proper antidotes!”

“Whats a venereal disease?” Harry whimpered.

“A sexually transmitted infection. So obviously, you've had sex. Don't be ashamed,
Potter. You came to me with a problem, and now I'm fixing it!”

A sexually transmitted infection...

Oh, God.

“Draco,” he growled furiously, cottoning on.

“Malfoy was your partner? Oh dear...”

And so it was that Harry, for the second time that week, threw up his dinner.

Madame Pomfrey was less than pleased.

.

.

.

**A/N: As you can see, Dear Readers, Draco is quite vindictive. :) I hope you enjoyed the
chapter, please review! And I told you there would be snogging, didn't I!?**

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