Invalid Intentions

Invalid Intentions

Ginny Weasley was trying to Floo.

It wasn't unusual for a sixteen-year-old girl to be growing up. Not at all. It wasn't unusual if she got a bit too attached to her gorgeous boyfriend, Dean Thomas. It wasn't unusual that she ached for him physically and emotionally during the summer.

It was unusual, however, that she wanted to wait until three in the morning, go inside her fireplace, and use some dust to get to his house.

Ginny Weasley was a very, very, desperate girl at the moment. Stricken by her loneliness at the Burrow, without even Hermione's usual visiting (her family and her had taken a trip) to console her, she wanted someone to talk to, someone to be with, just for one small little night.

After all, there were was one and a half months left in the summer, and she needn't find out how to have fun with her brother, Ron. The idea seemed very unappealing. So one night or early morning as you would call it, Ginny packed half of her clothes, makeup, necessities, blankets and pillows into one small duffel bag, and managed to heave it across her shoulder as she tiptoed down the stairs, grumbling a bit as her steps made creaks. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice as she tucked the bag under her arm and picked up the pot of floo powder, and wavered it into her palm as she stepped into the fire. Unable to restrain her coughs, she choked for a bit as the flames licked at her sides. She felt dizzy, heated, and strangely exhilarated. Nervousness began to pour into her as she held the floo powder above her head, and tripped over a bit, one of her shoes flying out into the living room.

Scowling herself, she set the floo power above her head and sprayed it, coughing, "Thomas -cough- Resi-cough-dence!"

The fire began to twist around her as her body shook in relief. She tucked her elbows in, allowing the heated pillars to surround her. Swirls of black and white turned around her, and she felt her bare foot shaking in fright of the flames, and her occupied foot in a shoe trying to comfort it. It was at last that she toppled over, her clothes in black soot, ashen, still coughing, that she fell into the floor from a fireplace.

She looked up, expecting to see a living room, maybe Dean's mother, or perhaps Dean himself.

What she had not expected to see was Draco Malfoy,(looking exceedingly handsome as he always did; wearing a black bathrobe, and looking as if he had just taken a shower, his silver-blonde locks wet and deranged over his forehead) who was sitting in an armchair, his eyes peering over the words of a book. Her coughing urged him to confusedly look over to his right, and the book immediately dropped out of his hands. It rolled off in the carpet. He stood up, gaping at her in silence, glancing at the ashes, then at her noticeable flaming hair before his eyes widened in realization of her true identity. Then, he cleared his throat, still gazing at her intently with a frown and furrowed eyebrows.

“God damnit Weasley, what the hell are you doing here at this time, and where the hell is your other shoe?”

***

It's ten minutes until midnight and I am crazy. Enough of an excuse for writing this fic.

Invalid Intentions

Draco Malfoy had been trying to read.

The summer assignment that was due at the end was quite a hassle. He needn't wait until the end to dwindle on homework. He wanted to do it beforehand, and have the rest of his time to dwell on other things. Other, important things. Except, he had no other important things. Oh hell, he scoffed to himself. I just want to sleep all summer.

So that night, he settled into the warmth of his usual armchair, picking up the thick book and forcing himself to drown into the words.

'This sucks' kept frequently going through his mind, but he managed to block this thoughts out. The progress of reading a book about famous witches that he could care less about was turning dull and dead-prone. He felt himself almost doze off, his eyes stuck on the same sentence it had been for quite a while.

Come on, come on, his mind snapped at him. Stay awake. He blinked his eyes, sighing exasperatedly.

He widened his eyes to keep them from closing, and with a look of concentration and determination, his eyes began to wander some of the words. This is interesting, he tried to convince himself, even though all he wanted to do with the book right then was slit his throat with the spine of it, if it was possible.

Then something happened that made him pay attention to his surroundings. A sound of splatter, something dripping reached his eardrums - he ignored it. He heard several creaks at once. He ignored it.

He heard a shriek of resepetion. He ignored it, dismissing it as something from their basement. Perhaps one of the ghosts, or the house-elves. He absorbed himself in the book.

He heard something crumble out from his fireplace. He ignored it for moments.

He heard a girl cough. He turned to his right, and found the book he was reading had fallen out of his hands. Numbing surprise and startleness had mingled inside him. It was a small, thin girl, about the age of fourteen, fifteen or sixteen. She was covered in a mass of soot and ashes, coughing as if she would throw up any moment. She looked up and her coughing turned into a gasp.

Draco collected himself, urging a faint smirk into his lips, almost invisible but still present, and shoved away a strand of his wet locks of silver-blonde, and looked down in recgonization.

It was Ginny Weasley. With a duffel bag that hung over her neck.

And only one shoe.

"God damnit, Weasley, what the hell are you doing here at this time, and where the hell is your other shoe?"

***

It was a peculiar question to Ginny until she looked down and saw that her bare foot was stained with both blood and ashes. She whimpered, struggling to stand up. Draco looked at her, slightly more than miffed.

"I must've gotten off the wrong fireplace!" she said, groaning.

"Weasley, you idiot! Why would you try to use floo powder at this hour?" Draco spat at her statistically.

"None of your business," Ginny quickly answered. "Will you at least help me up, you bastard?"

"That's a polite way to ask, what's the magic word?" Draco drawled sarcastically.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak - but then Draco jerked his head to his left, and that's when she heard it - footsteps.

"Draco?" a voice barked from the top of the stairs, which was proceeding down.

"Oh God," Draco moaned in agony, glancing at Ginny and back to the stairs, then grabbing hold of her arm tightly.

"What the hell - mmmfg!" Ginny's mouth was concealed by Draco's hand. The sudden sensation of his hot palm made her grimace. He motioned her to go forward, and she did, her duffel bag falling out of her grasp and onto the floor. She looked at it, but Draco pushed her aside into a door, in which she smashed into and fell inside the room with a large thump, in which she was almost accurately sure that she had broken her ribs.

Lucius Malfoy came slowly down the stairs, smiling grimly at the duffel bag.

***

A/N: This fic is posted on portkey.org too, so if ff.net goes haywire (ah, how often it happens), it’s under the pen name Devilzzz.