Walk Like An Egyptian

moogle

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 4
Published: 27/09/2009
Last Updated: 27/09/2009
Status: completed

“What’s the matter, love? Can’t stand on your own two feet?” He eyed her from head to foot, and then back again. “Then again, I’m not surprised with that outfit. It’s a wonder you even manage to walk at all.”

Chapters

1. Walk Like An Egyptian

1. Walk Like An Egyptian

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn’t mine.

A/N: The idea for this story actually originated from a conversation about ‘Mystery Majors’ and archaeology at The DG Forum. Of course, that just naturally turned into a discussion about Ginny wearing a tweed outfit and heels in the desert, while Draco, the sun-kissed archaeologist, amuses himself at her expense. Right.

In any case, the plot bunnies have attacked, and here I am writing the story. Aerileigh and MemoriesFade will also be writing their own versions, so I definitely recommend you check out their fics too. (And, yes, I am writing this to bind them to their word, lol.) Also, the title of this fic comes from a song by The Bangles, which I just happened to be listening to while writing this story.

Anyway, enough of my ramblings. To the desert we go!

Walk Like An Egyptian

Ginny Weasley had always been a rather impulsive girl. She liked to think it was because she was naturally spontaneous and needed constant excitement in her life. Jobs, after all, were so tedious and restricting. How could her boss possibly expect her to work everyday? It was ridiculous. Didn’t he understand that she had a life outside of work? Not everything revolved around him and his precious café. And, really, those uniforms he made her wear simply could not be tolerated. She had red hair. She could not possibly wear an orange dress. It was just too tacky, and whatever Ginny Weasley may be, she was most definitely not tacky.

And that was why she had quit the next day. Her mother had hysterics when she found out, as anyone who knew Ginny could state quite honestly that the girl would never be able to get another job with her track record, but the redhead in question didn’t seem to be too fazed by her now jobless state. She had always thought she was destined to marry a rich man (or at least she hoped so), so it didn’t even occur to her that there might be a problem with having no vocational prospects. Besides, the last thing she was going to do after quitting her job was to look for a new one. In Ginny’s world, quitting a job meant it was time to have a holiday.

Which brings us back to Ginny Weasley being a rather impulsive woman. You see, taking a ‘holiday’ may be all very well for a person to do after quitting a job, but the redhead’s idea of a nice holiday was not taking a few weeks off to laze about the house until she felt energised enough to look for a new job. No, her idea of a having a holiday was to use the rest of her ‘college fund’ to buy a portkey to Egypt and give a surprise visit to her brother Bill.

Well, he was most certainly going to get a surprise when he received his penniless (and now jobless) sister on his doorstep. Or would that be camp-step? Ginny didn’t really know, but she did know that she needed new clothes. After all, how could she possibly go to Egypt in the old rags she was wearing now?

It was unfortunate that no one accompanied her on that shopping expedition. Ginny’s brain didn’t function on ‘practical’. She only saw the image of herself wearing the cutest tweed skirt and matching jacket (in her mind, it was suitable for an archaeological dig site simply because it was made of tweed), with a white parasol to protect her from the sun. And that was exactly what she had found, and also happened to be what she was wearing when she finally made it to the dig site where her brother was working. However, she had gone further than just buying the tweed outfit and parasol. Ginny had also chosen to wear a silk blouse (cream-coloured to complement the tweed, of course) under the jacket, and, as if that wasn’t enough, she then chose to wear stiletto heels on her feet. But they really were so adorable, and how could she not wear them when they matched her outfit perfectly? Plus, they were only twenty sickles. It would have been a crime not to buy them.

Still, Ginny did wish that maybe she hadn’t chosen to wear the heels. Bill had certainly said nothing about how difficult it was to walk on sand while wearing heels in any of his letters. Nor had he mentioned that wearing a skirt more suitable for an office secretary would make things awkward for her. She thought he could have at least mentioned how unbearably hot it was in Egypt, but he had omitted that one too. It was really quite thoughtless of him.

And where was Bill anyway? The man she had spoken to had told her that she would find him at the dig site, but she had yet to see him.

Ginny huffily scanned the dusty landscape for a trace of her brother, ignoring the lobster-coloured men who stared at her in some perplexity and admiration, though some did just laugh at the odd appearance she made. Some of them were even daring enough to whistle at her, but after Ginny gave them her best basilisk glare, they soon went back to doing whatever they were doing in their big holes.

Idiots. Did they really think she would even consider them? Not one of them had a whit of fashion sense. And why would she want to date a grubby man who spent his time digging holes in this godforsaken place? She wanted a suave businessman. Someone who would take her to fancy restaurants and spoil her something terrible. She wanted—

Ginny let out a shriek as her heel twisted in the sand, sending her flailing into one of those same grubby men she had just been turning her nose up at. The impact forced them both to the ground, Ginny landing on top of the man in a position that would have been very questionable indeed had they been wearing a little less clothing.

She groaned, trying to get her bearings again, when she suddenly found herself faced with a pair of glaring, grey eyes. Half of the man’s face was obscured by a blue bandana—no doubt to stop him from breathing in all the sand and dust that seemed to infest this horrible place—so she couldn’t gauge much more of his appearance than that, but his hair was blond (or, at least, she assumed so, as it was looking rather dirty right now) and his body was certainly nothing to scoff at. Not that she cared. It was just difficult not to notice how well formed he was when she was lying on top of him. Then again, all brutes usually did have nice bodies from all the physical work they did. That was all they were good for, after all.

“Do you mind getting off me?” snapped the man in a brusque voice. “And move that ridiculous parasol while you’re at it before you stab my eye out.”

Ginny clutched her wounded parasol closer to her chest, but obliged him in his wishes all the same. It wasn’t like she wanted to sit on him anyway. He was in desperate need of a shower, not to mention stunk horribly like sweat.

She inwardly snorted to herself. What did Ron call it again? Ah, yes. Essence of Man. Well, she would quite happily pass on that smell. Give her a man smelling of expensive cologne any day.

The brusque man stood up from the ground and brushed the sand off his pants. Not that it made any difference. His clothes, which were loose and designed to keep the wearer cool, were covered in grime. He probably thought he was so clever in his practical clothes. Well, she may have trouble walking even the smallest distance in hers, but at least she looked damn good doing it. These people wouldn’t understand good fashion sense even if it danced naked in front of them wearing one of their hideous helmets.

Ginny threw a lofty look his way and then made to stand up from her position on the ground. This proved rather difficult. Not only was she wearing very high and finicky heels, but she was also wearing a tight-fitting skirt that didn’t allow much room for leg movement.

A low chuckle soon had her eyes snapping back to the man standing next to her. She may have not been able to see his face, but she could tell by the amusement glinting in his eyes that he was laughing at her. And how dare he laugh at her anyway? Stupid grey-eyed man with his stupid, nice body. She noticed that he didn’t seem to be cursed with lobster-pink skin like all the other fair-skinned males she had seen. No, his skin was a lovely golden colour that made his eyes stand out all the more spectacularly. Still, he was nothing but a brute who dug holes. He didn’t do the actual curse breaking like her brother. And he stunk. And he was laughing at her.

Ginny scowled at him. “If you have any gentlemanly decency in you, which I highly doubt, would you please give me a hand?”

The man laughed again and pulled the bandana down from his face. Ginny’s jaw dropped. She had never thought he would be so handsome under the grubby blue thing, for handsome he indeed was. There was something incredibly masculine about his striking features, and yet there was something elegant about him at the same time. One could hardly consider him pretty, his features were far too harsh for that, but he was definitely beautiful in all his male glory.

It was odd, but for some strange reason his eau de cologne, that universal Essence of Man, didn’t seem so terrible to her now. In fact, it only added to his masculine charm.

Ginny blinked. She did not just think that.

Letting out an indignant huff, more at her own weakness in even considering the brute before her attractive, she glared up at him again. “Well? Are you going to help me up or not?”

The man smirked at her. “What’s the matter, love? Can’t stand on your own two feet?” He eyed her from head to foot, and then back again. “Then again, I’m not surprised with that outfit. It’s a wonder you even manage to walk at all.”

Ginny flushed. “I’ll have you know that these are very good clothes. They’re certainly a lot more fashionable than the horrible things you’re wearing.”

“I’m sure they are,” he responded with some amusement, “but they’re not exactly suitable for a dig site in Egypt, now are they?”

She knew this was true, but she was hardly going to admit it.

He smirked at her again, and then, much to her dismay, he started to walk away.

“Hey!” shouted Ginny, glaring at his retreating figure. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just leave me here!”

“I don’t take orders from little girls trying to start fashion parades in the middle of a desert,” he said bluntly. “If you can’t stand up by yourself, then that’s your own damn fault for dressing so ridiculously.”

And without a further word, he turned his back on her and headed off in the direction of the campsite. Ginny could only stare after him in indignation. How dare he just leave her like that?

Well, she was certainly right about one thing. He was no gentleman, and he was certainly not worth thinking about. Even if he was very attractive.

No. She would not think about him. He was horrible, and mean, and he had left her in a very annoying predicament.

Ginny muttered a few curses under her breath and then tried to push herself to her feet with her parasol. It was far from graceful, but it did get the job done. She brushed the dust and sand off her backside, throwing another scowl at the men now watching her with amused expressions on their faces. Then she opened her parasol with all the haughtiness she could muster, and stalked off with her head held high towards the campsite.

By the time Ginny made it back to the tent that she had been told belonged to her brother, she was very hot and sticky with perspiration (she did not sweat; she only perspired, or so she claimed), not to mention she was quite certain that it would take her months to get all the sand out of her hair. Needless to say, she was beginning to wonder if she had made the right choice in coming to Egypt, but Ginny was far too stubborn to turn back now. She had come here for a holiday, and so here she would stay.

She thrust the tent door open and stomped inside, only to find herself facing the same blond man from earlier.

“You!” she exclaimed in a voice filled with the deepest loathing.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “I wondered when you would get here.”

Ginny glowered at him. He had obviously showered from the last time she had seen him, for his skin was not so dark and grubby, and he had changed into clean clothes. It was ironic, really, for now she was the one covered in dust and grime, and she knew she must look a fright with her red hair falling out of its stylish bun and going all static. But even more frustrating was the niggling feeling that she had seen this man somewhere before, and it had definitely not been in Egypt. There was just something so familiar about him, now that she could actually observe him properly, but she just couldn’t place what.

It was in that moment that certain things fell into place. Blond hair, grey eyes, striking features, and an arrogant little smirk. She was staring at none other than Draco Malfoy, the same git that had been the self-proclaimed ruler of the school back in her Hogwarts days. It seemed that he was now the self-proclaimed ruler of her brother’s dig site. She had forgotten that he had taken up curse breaking. Obviously he was not afraid to get his hands dirty by helping to dig with the labourers either.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. No doubt he thought it was just so amusing that she had not recognised him earlier.

“What are you doing in here?” demanded Ginny. “I was told this is my brother’s tent.”

“This was your brother’s tent,” admitted the blond, “but I’m taking over until he gets back.”

“Until he gets back? From where?”

“That’s really none of your concern. Now what you can concern yourself with is a portkey back to England.”

“Excuse me?” exclaimed Ginny, highly affronted. “I came here to visit my brother. If he’s currently somewhere else, then I will wait right here until he gets back.”

“You can’t stay here. Just look at yourself.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” demanded the redhead, placing her hands on her hips.

“You’re wearing heels in a desert. I think that says it all.”

“You can’t send me home because of my shoes!” spluttered Ginny indignantly. “Besides, who says you get to dictate anything? You’re not my father!”

“Thank Merlin for that.”

Ginny folded her arms stubbornly. “You can’t make me leave.”

“Oh, can’t I?”

Ginny didn’t even have time to get her wits together before she found herself being swept quite literally off her feet (“How dare you!” shrieked the redhead) and was carried bridal-style out of the tent in the blond’s arms. She tried to get to her wand from her jacket pocket to hex him, but he was making that rather difficult by holding her very closely to his body, and no amount of shouting on her part would make him relent.

The other men at the camp started laughing as soon as they spotted Draco carrying the indignant redhead towards the exit. Ginny felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment, but she was more furious than anything else. How dare he treat her like this! She wasn’t one of his trollops that he could just throw around as he willed, and she knew all about those trollops. She did read the gossip magazines, after all.

“Put me down!” cried Ginny, squirming all the while in an effort to try get out of his arms.

“If you keep me moving like that, I’m going to drop you,” said Draco warningly.

“Good!”

He smirked. “Very well, then.”

Ginny felt his arms release her. There was a large splash, and then a very bedraggled redhead spat water out of her mouth and turned a pair of infuriated brown eyes on the blond now chuckling at her. He had dropped her in the shallow well only the animals dared to use as a water supply. It didn’t take her long to realise how slimy and dirty it actually was.

The chorus of laughter that started up around her had Ginny’s cheeks flaming a splotchy red and her chest heaving with suppressed rage. She would have liked very much to kill the smirking blond before her right now.

“Now, love, there’s no need for you to look at me like that,” scolded Draco in a patronising voice. “You did tell me to put you down, after all. I was only doing as you asked.”

“Oh, shut up,” snapped Ginny.

She really hated him right now. Especially when she could see the silent laughter gleaming in his eyes, for they both knew that she now had to go through the whole awkward procedure of trying to stand up in her heels and too-tight skirt all over again, except this time she had to get out of a well, and she didn’t have her parasol to help her.

“Need a hand?” asked Draco in an amused voice.

“I do not need or want anything from you,” declared the redhead haughtily, and though it was indeed a struggle, she did finally manage to get back on her feet.

Ginny wiped the slimy residue off her jacket and then brought herself up to her full height as she faced the blond, which wasn’t all that intimidating when compared with the man before her, even in her ridiculous heels, as she realised with a disgruntled scowl that she only came up to his chin.

“Well, Mr Malfoy,” said Ginny in her loftiest voice, “I see that you’ve proven yourself just as immature as I remember you, but your little tricks won’t get rid of me that easily. I am staying, and you can be sure that my brother will hear about this when he gets back.”

She gave him one last withering glare and then flounced off towards the tent they had just left.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Weasley?” Draco called out.

Ginny swung back around on her heel to face him. “What?”

“You don’t have a tent, and you certainly can’t stay in mine.”

The redhead looked just about ready to explode at that, but one of the men who had been watching the whole drama decided to take pity on her and offered her his own tent. Ginny thanked him gratefully, threw another dark look at the arrogant blond still standing by the well, and then stalked off with all the dignity she could muster towards her newly acquired tent.

An appreciative smile tugged at Draco’s lips as he watched the redhead’s retreating figure; more specifically, the very nicely formed derriere that was certainly put off to advantage when combined with a tightly fitting, and now wet, tweed skirt.

“That’s quite the woman,” observed a burly man from next to the blond.

Draco made a noncommittal noise, still absorbed with watching the redhead’s entrancing progress. When he spotted his companion’s knowing grin, a scowl quickly formed on his face.

“Get back to work, Ethan,” snapped Draco.

“Yes, sir.”

Draco turned back to the redhead, scowl still in place. Yes, she was indeed quite the woman, and he was quite certain that she was going to become a damn nuisance for his camp, if not for her high-and-mighty ways, then at least for the taunting little temptation she presented in those ridiculous outfit of hers.

OOOO

Several hours later, after Ginny had cleaned all the grime and slime off her body and changed into new clothes (a white, flowing sundress that came just below her knees and accentuated the womanly curves of her body), she finally left her tent to discover what she could about her brother. She was no longer wearing the stiletto heels, but her wood-wedge sandals could hardly be considered ideal either. However, she did look very feminine and enticing, so the men could hardly complain.

Draco glanced up from where he was working and barely managed to repress rolling his eyes. Ginny was not blind to this reaction, but she held her head up high all the same and walked calmly towards him.

“When is my brother coming back?” she demanded by way of greeting.

The blond placed his notes down on the table and considered her through half amused, half exasperated, grey eyes. “Tell me, does your brother even know that you’re here?”

Ginny’s cheeks blossomed with pink. “That’s not what we’re discussing here. I asked you when he would be coming back. You can’t just change the subject.”

He smirked. “Well, the last time I heard from your brother, he had been called in to help with a newly discovered tomb that desperately needed a curse breaker after their own got himself petrified, so I’d say he won’t be back here for another week at least.”

“Another week?” moaned the redhead, looking quite put out by this knowledge. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

“I don’t know, Weasley, and frankly I don’t care. This isn’t a holiday resort. This is an archaeological dig site. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us actually have work to do.”

Ginny could only scowl as he returned to his papers, effectively dismissing her from his presence. She waited a few seconds to see if he would relent (which he didn’t) and then turned to leave, throwing one last look back at him to see if her movement had caused any change in his demeanour. She was doomed to disappointment. He was still busy with his papers and showed no sign of paying attention to her again anytime soon.

An irritable huff escaped her lips. Fine, if that was the way he was going to be then she would just have to find a way to amuse herself until her brother got back. It wasn’t as if she actually wanted to talk to the blond-haired pillock anyway.

The blond in question allowed himself a small smile as he watched the irate redhead stomp away back to her tent. He was not smiling, however, when he next saw her sunbathing a few hours later, while the rest of the men at the campsite practically fell over themselves as they drooled over her and catered to her every whim. He was even more annoyed when he realised that Ethan, the same burly man who was known to be such a charmer with the ladies, was sitting next to her, and, by the looks of things, keeping her thoroughly entertained.

“Ethan,” barked the blond. “Get over here!”

The dark-haired man stood up and jogged lightly to where Draco stood. “What is it, boss?” he asked, obnoxious grin still hovering at his lips.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was just telling Ginny some stories about our past expeditions.”

“Just telling Ginny some stories,” repeated Draco mockingly. “Have you forgotten that we are supposed to be looking for the tomb of Isis? It seems like everyone has decided this is a holiday resort ever since little miss princess turned up.”

“Sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” exclaimed Draco, quite surprised. “What do I have to be jealous of?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t like that ‘little miss princess’, as you called her, is taking over the camp, or maybe” – and here he grinned – “you’re just bothered because she’s not paying any attention to you.”

Draco scowled. “You’re grasping at straws, Ethan. Now get back to work. And tell those idiots to get back to work, too. I’m not paying you all to flirt with Weasley’s sister. I’m paying you to dig, and I expect to see some real progress.”

Ethan sighed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘slavedriver’ under his breath, but he went and rounded up the other men all the same, where they all grudgingly headed back to the dig site.

Draco, meanwhile, was heading in the direction of a certain redhead. She was reclining on a sunbathing chair, (he wasn’t even surprised to learn that she had packed one) her eyes closed, with one leg propped up to allow him a glimpse of a smooth, shapely thigh from where her sundress had ridden up.

“You’re blocking my sun,” commented the redhead, not opening her eyes.

“Oh, am I?” mused the blond, and planted himself even more in the way, so that his frame cast a looming shadow over her body.

She sighed in resignation and then sat up to face him. The expression on her face could only be described as bored. Somehow this annoyed him more than all the ridiculous things she had done that day.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” asked Ginny, and she even had the nerve to glance down at her nails instead of him. “I thought you were busy with your work.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. So that was the game she wanted to play, was it? Well, her feminine tricks may work all very well on those other idiots that had been fawning all over her, but he was not an idiot, and he was certainly not going to let himself be wrapped around her dainty little finger.

“Listen here, Weasley,” he said bluntly, “I will not have you coming here and ruining things for us. In case you haven’t noticed, we actually have a job to do here, and you are only getting in the way of that.”

“Don’t you think you’re overacting just a little bit? I hardly think my sitting here is going to stop your team of merry men from doing their job.”

“Weasley, your very presence distracts men from doing their job.”

Ginny unfolded her legs and stood up from the sunbathing chair, a slow smile curling her lips. “And do I distract you?”

Draco knew by the smug glint in her eyes that she thought she had him in her little claws, but he was certainly no unsuspecting bird, and he was a far more experienced at these games of sparring than she was.

“You’re attractive,” he allowed, and he was amused to see her smile grow. “But you’re not my type.”

Ginny’s smile froze on her lips. “Not your type?”

“That is what I said.”

She glared at him. “And why not?”

He laughed. “I only go for the best of gems, love, and I’m afraid you just don’t cut it.”

“Don’t cut it,” she repeated to herself, as if the very concept was foreign to her, and no, that was not because he had decided to use an analogy to do with archaeology.

“What’s the matter, love?” he taunted with a smirk. “Hopes all crushed?”

Ginny’s eyes flashed. Any of the redhead’s friends could have told the blond that this was a sure danger sign that the woman in question was about to do something very impulsive indeed, for let it be remembered that Ginny Weasley was a very impulsive woman, but there were none of those nameless friends here to warn him.

And so it came as a complete surprise to Draco when the redhead gripped him by his collar and pulled him down to her lips for a reckless kiss. It was only natural that he should respond to the warm pressure on his lips, only natural that he should wrap his arms around her and deepen the kiss. It was only natural, but he knew it had been the wrong thing to do when the redhead pulled away and looked at him with triumph gleaming in her eyes.

“Not your type, huh?” she said with a satisfied smile.

Draco struggled to think of a suitable retort to this, but the redhead did not wait for his response. She simply turned on her heel and walked back towards her tent, her smile growing with each step.

Perhaps this holiday in Egypt wouldn’t be so bad, after all?