Sinners

Author's Notes : Thanks to everyone for the warm comments. I do have to say that I am enjoying writing this story. Yes, even if it takes me forever to update. By the bye, sorry about that. I'm a university student since... this year. The past three have been crazy, and I have a feeling that the next two and a half years will be even nuttier. Pray for me, guys.

SINNERS: one million

January thirtieth, 2007

Ginny Weasley rubbed her fatigued eyes and glanced outside. Everything was plunged in pitch darkness. She stretched her long freckled legs underneath her desk and yawned. It surely must be midnight by now, the redhead thought with a long groan, thinking of the long day tomorrow.

"Ginny! Merlin's beard, what are you still doing here?" cried the tall blonde responsible for the fashion column and advertisements in the Delphys magazine.

Ginny sighed and mumbled weakly, "I'm wondering myself."

The other waved in amused dismissal - as if Ginny's staying way overtime was anything to be amused about! "No matter," she said excitedly. "Listen, we've just received the prints for the Saffran advertisement in this month's issue," she continued, brandishing a folder full of photographs, no doubt, with a grand flourish of her hand.

"Saffran?" Ginny asked with a perplexed frown. The Saffran clothesline had refused time and again to donate money for the magazine when it had just started issuing its first exemplary. "They actually want to advertise? Wow, I'm..." Shocked would be an understatement. Furious as well. Why the hell were they agreeing now? Oh, because we've gone world-wide in less than three years, her internal cynic retorted, crossing her invisible arms in a huff. "I'm shocked," she finally said, a little between clenched teeth. "How did you work this one out? Do you have contacts that I never knew about?" Oh, wouldn't that be grand?

Surreptitiously, Ginny inspected the blonde belle for any signs of an evening tryst.

No such luck.

The blonde belle took the liberty of sitting down dramatically on Ginny's desk. "No, it's funny actually. I called them months ago and they just now accepted to promote. But - I've to tell you, these photos are -" She paused thoughtfully, fanning herself theatrically. "They're absolutely vibrant. Like, you could actually reach out and touch the models. And, Merlin, they have some of the best models in the industry. The stance, the looks, the..."

"Body?" Ginny offered patiently. She was used to these sudden outbursts of passion. She smirked crookedly at the girl before standing up and shrugging into her yellow robes, a gift from her mother when she had learned about Ginny's wish to create a modern day magazine for the modern twenty-some witch - her grand dream, Delphys. Grabbing her tote bag by its thin string, Ginny stared back at the young nineteen year-old witch and waited for the girl to say something else. There was always something she needed to say when she came into Ginny's office sans appointment.

"Could I ask you something?" the fashionista finally asked in a tiny voice, finally, before Ginny could just shrug and walk out of her office. As it was, she stayed rooted to her spot in the doorway and faced a very pleading advertiser. "See, I've been leafing through these all night and I can't find the perfect advertisement because, honest to goodness, they're all absolutely fantastic and gorgeous and... and perfect. Gods, really perfect. And could I please ask you to -"

Ginny snatched the folder from the youngster's hands and continued the other's line of thoughts, "Check them out so I can use my veto? Sure thing," she assured. "As uber editor-in-chief, it is my duty to help fashion columnists in need. Although, I must say, I've never read that anywhere," she added with a little leer.

The girl batted her eyelashes and broke out into a grateful smile. "I love and worship the ground you walk on, Ginny Weasley." Yep. Complete with the whole bowing repeatedly.

Ginny clucked her tongue and shook her head at the young woman before exiting the building that had taken months to completely own. She Apparated in the corridor just outside her flat, folder tucked neatly under her armpit and tote bag hanging on her shoulder. Not for the first time, she wondered just how it was that Claire Trent had fallen into her employment without causing her a number of headaches due to her bubbly personality... but then again she supposed she needed people working on the magazine that weren't totally anti-social and incapable of having fun. She supposed that was why she'd kept Claire so long.

Ginny hung her robes on the peg near the door once inside her flat, and marched toward the earthly green living room, Summoning a coffee mug before dropping down onto her couch. Cuddling comfortably in her makeshift nook under a warm afghan, she opened the folder to the first photograph.

Whuh! She hadn't seen that one coming!

Draco Malfoy had been a Saffran model for almost two years now and was famous worldwide for his mysteriously infatuating looks. Graceful yet deceivingly so, she'd learned firsthand what his body was made of. Warm, liquid-solid steel, soft to the touch and powerful to the feel. His skin would make gods pale in envy; his eyes, depthless and made of mist, could make one succumb to the unknown; his lips, chiseled and generous, drew fire and need in their midst.

She honestly didn't want to remember.

Ten pictures showed both of them together. Draco Malfoy and some luscious female model carved to perfection down to her toes:

Snuggled spoon-like on a little white bed, him overlooking her in Saffran WizWear Jeans and her in snug little low-cut Saffran WitchWear, his arm hiding the bits of skin that were bare;

Standing on a high cliff with a visible flimsy white drop behind them over the blue skies, no emotion showcased on either of their pale, perfect faces;

Plastered to a wooden door, his arms extended to grasp the door top, him dressed in faded blue jeans and her in a short white skirt with a rim of country-looking flowers and a white laced-up top that let her ample bosom spill out;

Sitting down on a simple brass bench, her sitting sluggishly (and sluttily!) atop him, facing him in faded low waisted bootcut jeans and a sheer lacy pink bra, him wearing a white shirt and boxer shorts;

Ginny threw the damn photos to the floor.

In all of her years of magazine editing, Ginny Weasley had never been so thoroughly thrown off her guard. But these were beautiful. Real. Human. Fleshy. Everything she wasn't. Sexy. Luscious. Wanted.

Draco Malfoy was teasing her from behind the glossy film sheets. And he probably knew it. Bastard.

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June second, 2007

The gown was literally killing her, slowly, excruciatingly. Every single step taken with it threatened to make her lose her breath like a swooning primadonna, let alone sitting, which was out of the question. A deep, rich material of forest green and golden accessories adorned the ivory of her skin and her neck. The frock may be thin, but she believed she was this close to not believing she was thin anymore.

The room was stuffy despite its rich grandeur. Celebrities around the world had set foot in the Hôtel Vasseaux in London, a hotel built by French wizards for the magical elite. The magazine Delphys was holding a ball there tonight in honour of its sixth year in circulation. Ginny supposed she could whoop a little more heartily.

Ginny stopped a maître d'honneur and glumly took two hors d'œuvres, hurriedly walking away from the crowd as a hip song began playing - Les Argonautes, she reckoned, was the band's name. Normally she liked them.

There were so many people here tonight, it was utterly astonishing. Ginny had never hoped, six years ago, that the magazine would sell over one million copies a month just like Honeyduke's merchandise with Hogwarts's students.

So she sipped some fizzy champagne, looking over at the numerous guests. Editors, financiers, photographers, columnists, marketers, models from past issues... She just couldn't avoid them, really, when she was essentially the one throwing the party.

The ambience was very kitsch - it couldn't have been otherwise, what with her clientele - however Ginny could tell that everyone was having a blast on the dance floor, lest they deny it. The place smelled like sweat and joy, and for a change Ginny felt disgusted.

The fact that she'd had to put Draco bugger-fucking Malfoy and Viviane Nündschnuk on the front cover after so many demands from their avid readers after the publicity stunt had made her blood boil very dangerously. Even more photographs had come in from Saffran, as well as a nod for a special interview. Saffran, who couldn't say no to another bout of publicity. Sure. Ginny had been this close to saying No. Bloody. Way.

Snorting to herself, Ginny smoothed down her frock over her hips and grabbed another glass of champagne after discovering with a startle that she'd been oblivious to everything else. More than a little bit dismayed, she set out toward the dais where the band leader recognised her and smirked before speaking in a loud baritone. "M'zelle Ginevra Weasley would like a word with her audience tonight."

Ginny snorted a little chuckle and picked up her dress as she stepped onto the dais, at once captivating every present soul's attention to her dazzling chic. Yes, she'd dressed to impress. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," she started, her brilliant noir de jais lined eyes capturing several men's eyes. Impress, she did.

"It is my pleasure to welcome you to this cocktail to celebrate the six years of pleasure we at Delphys have had in keeping it fresh and intelligent for those of us who feel that the modern witch and wizard should expect more from the world. More ink spilled in honour of those who've made a change, more photographic evidence that the modern wizarding world has indeed matured well despite the few disputes and often quite horrifying acts of violence, more humanitarian love, more of all that we want and need to read and see."

Ginny took a refreshing breath, her eyes sweeping over the dizzying masses. "When I created Delphys... I'll be quite frank when I say I did not expect the flood of money and letters and... oh my, I thought when it became positively overwhelming, what do I do now?" She smiled to herself, remembering those early days of madness and feeling like it needed a pause to emphasise the kind of stress and insane fun she'd had to endure those first years. "Well, I said, let's just keep doing it."

Suddenly she worried her bottom lip, knowing it had come to the part that she dreaded most. In her mind's eye, she was rolling her eyes like she did when she knew exactly what her mum was going to reprimand her with. "Without you - without the editors, the gorgeous models, the marketers, and everyone working behind the scenes - Delphys wouldn't have happened. Without you, Delphys would be a crumbled dream. So here, tonight -" Her voice carried off as she looked at her crowd and felt her eyes widen, almost pop out of their sockets. What was Draco Malfoy doing at her party? Who the hell had invited him?

Her interruption had caused quite a confusion, she realised as her eyes swept once more over her audience. Some patrons had narrowed their little raven eyes in obvious delight at her stumble - the opposition, she reckoned. Others were clucking their glasses against their fingernails, apparently bored out of their skulls now that she'd choked on her words. And then she saw Malfoy, smirking amusedly at the scene as he handed the maître d'honneur his rich dark cloak and expensive gloves. She felt the irrepressible urge to vomit when Viviane Nündschnuk - ah, that was the model's name - wrapped herself sinuously around his elbow, smiling that exotic vixen smile, all the while succeeding in looking thoroughly annoyed to be here of all earthly places. If only Ginny wasn't up here on the dais, she knew exactly what she'd like to do to her pretty neck...

Casually shaking herself up before she lost her audience entirely, Ginny smiled at the remainder of her respectful attendance and finished her speech without too much of a tangle. "So here, tonight, I pay heed to you, kind people, who believed in this small project of mine that took years to build and solidify. Thank you from the bottom of a dreamer's heart." That, she meant to those dears who still listened to her.

And with that, she promptly stepped off and paid no attention to the polite applause that followed her address. And walked off outside on the grand hanging balcony to work some steam out of her system. And certainly him out of her system.

It was a quiet July night. The London sky was dark and clouded, the only light provided by the nearby street lamps on the quiet road and the fireflies making a visit to her corner of the darkness to radiate softly with a quietening quality. The air smelt of mist and the fragrant bed of flowers nearby. It felt peaceful. Serene. Tranquil. Qualities that often lacked in Ginny's quick-on-the-loop life. A dreamer, she'd called herself inside. It had been a while since she'd last indulged.

She breathed in deeply, filling her senses with the invigorating magic the herbs and plants provided. She felt her skin tingle, her heart hum with the night's soft thrumming, beginning to feel all of her aches move past. Her eyes had begun to droop when softly, out of nowhere, a man's voice called out to her: "I guess you were not too keen on throwing a cocktail after all."

Ginny jumped and whirled around, caught mid-breath. And then, then, her eyes hardened and she frowned. "What do you want?" Specifically, why wasn't his pet slut around him?

Draco laughed and slowly leaned backward onto the exquisite Victorian-inspired railing, perfect with flowers twined around the bannister. He drew in a deep breath, staring out at the sky. "It was stuffy in there," he replied softly for an excuse, then gazed back at her, elliciting all kinds of unwanted responses. "You look lovely tonight."

For a moment she couldn't find her voice. Then her eyes narrowed. "You digress, Malfoy. What do you want?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "I was invited here by your fashion columnist. Trent... Claire Trent, I think?" Ginny would of course fire Claire ASAP. "She called my agent and specifically wanted Viviane and me to make an appearance, however small it could be, so that she'd, er, 'die happily' I believe were her words."

Ginny groaned inwardly. "That'd just be Claire. I hope she hasn't been too bothersome. She can be quite a handful sometimes," she added knowingly in a sour tone. Die happily. Of all things to say to a male model... to Draco Malfoy. What a fangirl...

"Oh, no, she's quite lovely in fact." He trailed off and breathed in deeply again, and she noticed that he didn't really carry that aura of 'star arrogance', as she liked to call it, that so many people in his position assumed or lived by. After several moments of slightly companionable silence, he started again. "Congratulations with this dream come true, by the way. It must be quite an achievement at such a young age."

She snorted. "Malfoy, I'm not a child, I'll have you know. I'm only a year younger than you."

"I didn't mean it that way."

Sure you didn't. Time decidedly did not change people, despite whatever... thing they'd shared that unspeakable night years ago when she was young and stupid and... decidedly stupid. What had she hoped to accomplish? She'd met with some weird, completely un-Malfoy Malfoy and made love to him on a whim and - okay, liked it. Or rather, never felt anything like it. And so what... that made her utterly sick! Unnerved by her internal wackos going nuts and wanting turns saying noyesno, Ginny picked up her skirt and started down the steps leading to the hotel's French gardens. There, she hesitated a moment, just enough to turn back slightly. Watching him thoughtfully - she was thrown by the way he regarded her with an intense gaze - she threw pointedly over her shoulder, "Malfoys don't mean a lot of things." She tried to add a lot of contempt to the word 'Malfoys', but failed somewhat.

She was losing nerve, that's what was happening to her. Her voice lodged in her throat - she'd never been looked at like that - and she started turning, getting away, before she lost her mind and did something she'd really regret - Merlin knew what. She had thought he'd take the hint, maybe leave her well enough alone - Jesus, she was a mess - but before she could reach the Borgia roses near the imposing French doors, Malfoy was at her tail, grasping her wrist and yanking her neatly around. There was some kind of fury behind his gaze, something that truly frightened-aroused her. She groaned. He growled, "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

She swallowed thickly, remembering for the first time in many years that Draco had a nature about him that could very well be destructive. He knew how to use it. She stared blankly - what should she do? She tried wringing her hand out of his grasp, but it was vice-tight. Ginny suddenly tasted fear in her throat. "Please, just..." She worried her lip, biting back the tears from the pain he was causing her.

He looked down at their hands and released her quite suddenly, as though burnt by a blazing fire. "Sorry."

Ginny retrieved her hand and nursed it. Gods, she'd undermined his strength. But, determined not to let his... his arrogance touch her, she strode off to another corner of the garden. Once again he caught up, brows furrowed worriedly.

"I didn't mean it at all. Sometimes it just... it happens. After the war, I -" He interrupted himself, as though not quite sure he wanted to go there. "I do things, sometimes. It's not me, or rather, it's more an old version of me, and sometimes I expect people to react the same way they did back then. But it's not me, Ginny, I wouldn't -"

"Don't call me Ginny."

He truly sounded and looked baffled. "Excuse me?"

She looked him dead in the eye for the first time that night, she noted rather triumphantly. "You think you're so clever, Malfoy. You could have all the girls you want, and yet you always come for the same? What is wrong with you? Can't you see that you - oh, bother, forget it."

If possible, Malfoy looked even more confused. Possibly provoked even further by her flushing face. "What on Earth are you on about?"

Ginny groaned frustratingly - at herself - before turning away and staring resolutely at the rosebed. Several names of potentially harmful hexes went flying through her brain, each so much the better than the other, yet she refused categorically to play into his manipulative hand. And yet, all at once, she burst - hard. "I could easily break your reputation, Malfoy. I know some nasty things about you, and you may not like me to tell."

He chuckled amusedly. "What? That I was in Slytherin and made everyone's life a living hell?" he guffawed. "Go ahead, see if I care..."

And that, Ginny decided, was why she hated the stupid git. No, you great oaf, she fumed. You're a bloody Polyjuice pervert, that's what you are.

There was a great, sharp intake of breath. She realised it was his.

Oh. Circe. She couldn't have said that out loud, could she?

Sweet mother of Merlin, she did.

Well, the cat was out of the cauldron, or however that phrase went.

Draco... took it better than she'd expected, in retrospect. He could have bashed her in; he could have screamed 'til high Hell on; he could have killed her. Yet, he didn't. He didn't take it all in stride, though. Everything became quiet around them - or was it just Ginny? There might have been a chill in the air, too. Or maybe it was hot; she couldn't feel her face. And she might have whimpered and kicked herself many times in her mind's eye. No, that she did do for certain.

But Draco? Oh, he sure as hell went rigid. His face blanched; his voice went pale, low, hoarse. Merlin's beard, the man had feelings... "H - how did... What - Who told...?"

Ginny felt weak as the memory of that one time she'd bared her whole being to a man who likely never cared came flooding back to her, clear as crystal. How sick of her, to fling that back into his face when he'd been more than she'd expected - perhaps ultimately uncaring of her or any of those girls, but feeling. She replied, her voice cracking with apprehension, "I know you came for me... every time."

He stepped away as though slapped and cursed at once. "H - how..." Suddenly he didn't look the glorious supermodel part anymore. He looked more like an older version of that miserable young man who'd paid whores to wear her skin and shape because he probably didn't know any better. She should have been disgusted then; she should have been disgusted now. She wasn't.

Ginny trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, knowing full well that she'd reached risky ground. Suddenly her face felt far too hot for description. She swatted at a flyaway lock all the while swallowing thickly. He ought to know, she rationalised with herself. Now, perhaps, was the time. "I was there once."

She heard a sound and looked up through thick eyelashes, preparing for the insults. Instead, he seemed frozen in place. "You - but - how did..." She realised he was racking his memory for a piece to fall into the puzzle. Suddenly the memory clicked into place and his eyes locked onto hers. "Oh, Merlin, that was you..."

Her heart sank. Instead of feeling mischievous at how she'd triumphantly pinned him, she felt vile, more disgusted with herself for wanting to feel so victorious.

"I thought... I thought it was... one of the... whores," he finished lamely. "If I'd known... I wouldn't..."

She looked up, remembering how kind and humane a young man he had been, and felt her heart wrench once more. Shivering, she asked softly, "Why me?"

He exhaled loudly, wringing his perfect hands. And suddenly it didn't matter anymore. He was the same young man who had sought her out of a million other girls he could have had, for reasons as yet unknown.

"I don't know," he said lamely, leaning heavily on the low railing. "It was really just an accident at first. I wanted her to be Parkinson at first, shake her up a bit because she'd be on my arse day and night trying to weave her way into my robes. You're not really supposed to harm the whores, but everyone makes exceptions. My father was the owner; I had every right. I wanted to use them to the maximum of their extent." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Parkinson had been fighting with you that day, it seems."

Oh, right. "I was working with her at the Prophet two years ago," Ginny added. "We did always fight about our artistic differences."

Draco nodded absently. "She harried me off. Kept trying to force her way into my affairs. Mother approved of her, of course, she was good blood." He snorted. "One day I plucked some hairs off her robes and didn't really check the colour because I expected them to be hers. Turned out they were yours," he said finally, turning a melancholy eye toward her.

Ginny bit her cheek. "But why did you keep doing it?"

He stared a little longer, making Ginny self-conscious in her little gown, then shook his head. "Honestly, I still wonder," he whispered to himself, then sighed wearily. "I never did - I mean, I only touched them."

She furrowed her brows, still uncomprehending. "Why did you go further with me?"

That was when his gaze went to the marble floor. "You were... different... better."

Ginny had never expected this straightforward answer. Perhaps you amused me or I despised you. Regarding him with a new air, she started, "You seem... better, too."

But before he could respond, a new exotic voice drifted to them. From above on the balcony, the sexy Brazilian vixen who'd been attached to Draco's arm during Ginny's speech called out his name, two glasses of champagne tinkling in her long manicured fingers. "Draco! Come, Bernardo is speaking of a new contract."

Draco groaned, his shoulder blades working. Finally he turned to Ginny exasperatedly, though apologetically.

"If you must go..." she said noncommittally, not quite sure in fact if she wanted him gone or not. Perhaps gone was better, she tried to reason.

"No..." he whispered with a grimace.

"No?"

"I don't have to renew that bloody contract. Anyone would take me."

"How arrogant," she remarked coldly.

He looked up and smiled as if she'd given him a compliment. She honestly did not understand the man. "The deal was one year. With Viviane. One year of some of the most atrocious womanly whinging I've ever heard. And the damn rumours... Did you know we're having twins?" He snorted. "It's such a farce! Bloody hell, I don't want to have to work with her again."

She pursed her lips. "Now you know what Harry had to go through everyday. Has to go through," she corrected herself.

"Ah, yes, Saint Potter," he said dryly. "I reckon I owe him some respect, don't I? For saving the world?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes owlishly, one eyebrow raised in surprise. "You really are different."

He shook his head, then lifted his hands in a look-at-me manner. "Better."

She chose to ignore him. "I didn't want to believe it, when we..." She flushed, frustrated that she wasn't able to speak of sex with him, of all people. How was she able to talk about it to anyone and everyone but not to him? Heaven knew she was no saint of the matter. Bravely, she ploughed through. "I thought it was a plan, some kind of scheme."

"I was insane," he said simply, not the least embarrassed it seemed. Then he winced. "All right, I was a little unbalanced. I never would have hurt you, though," he added softly.

She nodded her agreement. "I know that." And damn, but she was beginning to like Malfoy.

He raised his brows in surprise. "You do?" he said, pushing himself off the railing and stepping out of the shadows he'd been playing in.

She flushed, again, cursing herself for her foolishness. It wasn't as if making love to him had left her broken - no, it had left her feeling... Oh, she would rather not go there. "I can believe that. You were... you were a gentleman, Malfoy. A girl doesn't forget that," she said softly.

A new light seemed to play in the depth of his irises. They lit up as he smirked obligingly. "Was I really?" he asked huskily, drawing nearer until he was just in front of her, invading her breathing space. How did he get there, she wondered idly, then realised she'd just have to quit thinking as she stared at the lips that had, almost seven years ago, ruled her body and soul. At once she felt a strange longing, a ghost of that long-ago discovery and need. Words couldn't form in her head. Tumbling and rolling around they went. Mostly in mush.

His hands whispered over her forearms, as chills, like sparks of bonfire, shot through her veins. And then she was pressed against his hard chest, her lips a breath away from his.

"Ginny, I -" Draco suddenly interrupted himself. His eyebrows drew together as he licked his lips.

"Why did you go there?" he asked quietly. She closed her eyes. Oh God, it had come to this... the part she dreaded the most. Why, indeed, had she gone there? Thinking back, she tried to reason that she'd wanted to investigate what she'd heard suggested by a few people. Why don't you quit your day job? ... You make such nice company... especially without your clothes on ... and worse yet, her brother's insult, Selling your body to whomever you please. That had thrown her into motion. And she'd found. And found him.

No, she couldn't explain.

Ginny brushed her nose lightly against his and gently captured his lip, willing his query to silence.

The pressure of his hips on hers increased the slightest, his hands splaying like the wings of a new butterfly. Like a man drowning and needing air to survive, he breached her sealed mouth, caressing and demanding at once, drinking her in. She tasted of cherries and ginger, so... her. In his arms, she mewled softly, pushing him away and grasping on for dear life. He was harsh, he was tender, he was everything she remembered.

Finally Ginny pushed him away with the flat of her palms, allowing enough space between them as she panted for breath. Their kiss had left her breathless. She touched her lips with shaking fingers.

Draco's fingers tingled, as if he itched to touch her there himself. Tearing his gaze away, he looked up at her, searching her eyes. "Ginny..." he started again hoarsely. She studiously averted her eyes as he closed in, pulling her chin up. Unable to resist, he dipped in and grazed her lips very quickly before brushing a thumb across the smooth, plumped skin of her lips. "Why did you go?" he asked again, softly.

Author's Notes: Well, that's that. I multiple-edited this, but this latest has been edited with various authors in mind to help me along in my writer's block. For a while during my last year in college, I was having serious writing withdrawal, but had a writer's block at the same time, so... it did not mesh well. I ended up wanting to read nonstop instead, and... I guess it helped me along just a couple of months ago. I've been taking baby steps writing fic again since. So thanks to my favourite authors!

To those of you celebrating Christmas, a very warm Happy Holidays. We had a snow storm yesterday and today here in Montreal, and it was very pretty out there. Not great going to school (late bus, etc.) but I still enjoy the scenery while I'm at it :) Enjoy, guys!

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