Indentured Servitude

Chapter 3. Slytherin Encounters

Diagon Alley was not busy in June. It was actually relatively empty, shadowed by a cool, light breeze. The area grew noticeably colder, Ginny thought, upon Draco's arrival. She could barely keep up with him, his long legs taking easy, rhythmic strides as she hurried beside him. He ignored all the subtle pleas she sent and continued his pace, fast as ever.

"Could you slow down?" Ginny panted after a few minutes.

"I guess Weasleys are slow in more than one sense," he drawled, looking straight ahead.

"Malfoy!"

No response.

She tugged on his hand, forcing him to stop. Draco glared at her hand like the bubonic plague itself and landed on him, and withdrew his own sharply. A warm rush of blood seeped up Ginny's neck, and she stepped back quickly, trying not to show that for some peculiar reason, she was wounded. Stupid move, she told herself. "Malfoy, I can't keep up with you," Ginny pleaded.

"You're not the first girl to tell me that," he drawled suggestively.

"You know what I mean," Ginny snapped hotly.

He sighed like she was eight years old. "How about this," he said, "I go pick up my broom, and you wander around and hope that someone will drop you a few Knuts."

Ginny could feel the tips of her ears burn red with indignation. "You git," she seethed, "why would I bloody do that?"

He looked down at her through lowered lashes. "You didn't bring any money," he pointed out with a smirk.

He was right, Ginny realized. She opened her mouth to reply, but he had already disappeared.

"Great," Ginny muttered, tugging her thin sweater around her tighter as a breeze swept through the alley. For a few minutes, she stood, contemplating her options and realizing, truly, that there was nowhere to go. Candy, she thought, remembering her last trip to Diagon Alley with Harry. If Draco had been around, he would have seen her entire face light up. That's what she would do, Ginny decided, and headed off in search of the candy store.

~*~

"Is this the Firebolt I asked for?" Draco snarled.

The shopkeeper nodded, terrified by his presence, or maybe his name.

"Here." Draco counted out the galleons and slung them on the counter, striding out of the store.

"Come again!" The shopkeeper called after him meekly.

That was fairly quick, Draco thought, letting the breeze tickle his face for a moment before considering whether he should go look for Ginny. He settled on wandering for a few minutes, making the Weasley wait just for good measure. He was almost positive the redhead would be waiting patiently at the gate. Let's wait until she becomes impatient, he decided with a chuckle, almost smiling as he pictured how her fiery brown eyes sparked whenever provoked into anger, mostly, of course, by him.

Weasley. She was growing up, indeed.

"Draco!"

He turned, furrowed his brow. "Pansy?"

Pansy Parkinson beamed up into his face, the lines creasing her little upturned nose when she crinkled it into a smile. "It's you," she breathed.

"It is."

"Why are you here, so early in the summer?" she said flirtatiously, poking his chest. Draco shrugged, lifted up his new broom. "Oh wow," she whispered, "it's beautiful."

"And you're here because," Draco returned politely.

She tossed her headful of curls and smiled again. "I was bored," she said with a giggle. Draco winced inwardly. He had suffered through two weeks of that giggle when they had been paired in Potions, and had rejoiced when it was over. She was a Slytherin, that was true, but could also be accounted for as his least favorite Slytherin. Avoiding Pansy Parkinson was not an easy task, but it was, however, one Draco had thought himself good at until this moment. A hand latched onto his arm. "Are you here alone?" she asked throatily.

Draco grimaced. "Not exactly," he replied.

Her eyes widened, lips curling into an interested smile. "Oh really? And which lucky lady got to come with you here?"

He frowned. He couldn't exactly tell her the "lucky lady" was Ginny Weasley; she'd shriek before he even got a chance to explain about the servant business. "Nobody," he said with a smile that let his even teeth gleam in the light, turning on the Malfoy charm full power, hoping she'd drop the subject.

"You know," Pansy purred, stepping closer than Draco would've liked, "I did see another Hogwarts student here."

"And who would that be."

"You wouldn't care about her," Pansy giggled again, "she's a Gryffindor."

Draco snorted. "Let me guess," he said, "Ginny Weasley."

Her eyes grew even larger, two round discs of blue. "How did you know?"

He shrugged modestly, wanting to laugh at her denseness but ultimately holding it back in the sake of Slytherin peace. Not to say that Pansy Parkinson could have any effect over his reputation. "I guess I just know these things," he said mysteriously. "But listen, Pansy, I really do have to go."

"Owl me sometime, Draco, promise?"

"Sure," he promised half-heartedly, leaving her standing with a dreamy smile spread across her face. So glad was he to escape Pansy he nearly jogged to the entrance, ready to grab Ginny and leave. But there was one slight problem.

Ginny wasn't there.

Fury bubbled in his chest. How dare she, he thought. Now he'd have to actually go in search for her. I didn't tell her to wait for me, though, Draco realized. This was great, just great. Diagon Alley wasn't exactly a classroom; finding Ginny would actually take some effort.

Fortunately, the candy shop was within eyesight.

"Why are you in here," he roared, "when you knew bloody well I'd be out in a few minutes."

She gave him a saucy smile. "I was looking for money, remember?"

"I can see by your clothes that once again, you don't have any," he sneered.

"Sod off. Why did you take so bloody long, anyways?"

"I ran into Pansy Parkinson."

Ginny snorted. "Oh, Pansy," she cooed. "How is your wonderful girlfriend by the way? Still looking for her brain?"

"Unlike you, Weasley, her head isn't up her arse," Draco replied coolly, "and she's not my girlfriend." He grimaced at the idea of dating Pansy Parkinson.

"Ma'am?" the man behind the counter ventured. "Would you like these?"

"What are those," Draco demanded.

"Candy, sir," he replied. "The young lady's favorite."

"I'm sorry," Ginny apologized, "I was just looking. I don't have any money with me right now."

"Give me a bag."

She stopped, staring at Draco in surprise. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Buying candy," he answered nonchalantly, reaching into his robe for money.

They stepped outside the shop, candy in hand, and for a second Ginny thought he was being civil, that he had actually purchased the candy for her. "I'll pay you back," she said softly, the gratitude echoing in her voice.

He laughed rudely. "For what?"

"The candy."

His laugh grew louder, meaner, cruder. "Why? It's not for you." He opened the bag and popped one in his mouth immediately, making Ginny reprimand herself vehemently for even thinking such stupid thoughts, as if Draco Malfoy would even care about making her happy. "Mmmm, it is good. I can see why it's your favorite. A shame you can't afford any, isn't it?" Draco winked at her, hand digging back into the bag.

"I hate you, Malfoy."

"Coming from you, that's a compliment, Weasley."

"You know, I pity the woman who's going to marry you," Ginny said angrily, "given you even find one stupid enough."

He stopped, hand halfway to his mouth, and looked at her with both scorn and curiosity. "And why is that?"

"Because you're selfish, and horrible, and you're going to turn out exactly like your father," Ginny spat.

"Take that back." His voice was dangerously low.

"Fine. You're going to turn out worse than Lucius." Ginny glared at him, knowing full well she was skating on thin ice but refusing to back down anyways.

Anger flickered in his face. "Is that right?" he snarled.

"That's right," Ginny nearly shouted, "and you know it, you prat."

He started to sneer at her, he started to respond, but instead, he sat down.

And for some reason Ginny didn't even know, she stopped. Maybe it was his tone, or the fact that most of the rage was being displaced with an emotion she'd never seen on Draco Malfoy--hurt. And though it disappeared as quickly as it came, Ginny knew that she had seen it, she knew that for the first time in her life she had caused Draco pain. She should have been rejoicing, striking him while he was hurt, but she didn't because one realization stunned her.

It wasn't as satisfactory as she had expected.

"Malfoy," she whispered, "I'm sorry."

His head snapped up. "No, you're not," he said hoarsely.

"I am." Ginny sat down beside him. "I shouldn't have used your father against you," she swallowed, almost incredulous that she was explaining herself to Malfoy. After all he had done to her, she owed him no explanation, and certainly no apology. But she continued nevertheless. "It-It's not your fault, Malfoy. You're not your father."

He stared at her intently, watching his reflection in the pools of her brown eyes. A few moments elapsed in silence, probably not even a minute though it felt like hours to her, and Ginny began to wish she had never opened her mouth. Then, suddenly, he shoved the pouch of candy into her hands and stood up. "Take them," he said gruffly.

She watched his retreating figure with a slack jaw, then glanced down at the candy in her hands. And before she could stop herself, a small smile appeared at the corners of her lips. She sat smiling at the candy for a few seconds before it dawned on her that he was returning home. "Malfoy, wait!" She dashed after him, nearly running beside his fast steps. Once again, he ignored her.

And just when he'd started acting decent.

~*~

Alone in the solitude of her room but for the slight night breeze blowing in through the window, Ginny spread her fingers across a sheet of parchment. It had been quite a while since her conversation with Hermione, and she knew that as Hermione's friend, she should have written a letter to Harry.

Dear Harry, she began. Ginny stopped. What was she supposed to write? Part of her, the part that was Ron Weasley's sister wanted to accuse him, and yell at him for even daring to make a move on Hermione when he knew perfectly well that she was with Ron. And the other part wanted to understand his motives, his intense love for a girl he had once loved and lost. It was a dilemma, she thought, so she'd begin with simple cordialities. How are you? Ginny wrote. This is terrible, she thought, leaning back in her chair and eyeing the most definitely empty paper. There was no way she could ever express her true feelings but just writing. Thankfully, someone knocked on her door. Good, a distraction, Ginny thought giddily, rushing out of her chair to let Adrienne in.

Only it wasn't Adrienne. It was Draco.

"Evening, Weasley," he said coolly before striding past her into the room.

Ginny stared after him, feeling stupid and rather blind. She had to wonder, was Draco Malfoy actually in her room?

Apparently, she had wondered aloud because he replied lazily, "Yes, Draco Malfoy is actually in your room. Though technically, it still isn't your room."

She flushed. "What do you want," she said tightly.

He stretched out in her chair, long and lean. "I was just informing you that there's going to be a guest here for the next few days."

"Really. And who would that be."

He opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped, catching sight of the parchment on the desk. "Dear Harry," he read aloud, mimicking her voice, "how are you?"

Ginny turned even redder, if that was at all possible. "Give that back," she demanded.

"I'm sure Potter will be absolutely astounded by your insightful words," he snickered.

"You're just jealous," Ginny nearly yelled.

"Oh really? Care to enlighten me what I'm jealous about?" Draco arched an eyebrow, tilting his head and daring her to respond.

"You're jealous," Ginny spit out, "because I actually have friends, people that care whether I bloody go to hell or not."

"And are you?"

"Am I what?"

Draco smirked. "Are you going to hell?"

"I've seen enough of you in this lifetime, Malfoy," Ginny shot back darkly. He simply smiled, that wicked but charming smile of his, and walked past her out the door, parchment in hand. "Hey!" Ginny shouted after him. "Give that back!" He jogged down the stairs easily, not turning once to watch the frenzied redhead scamper after him until he reached the bottom.

Ready to attack him, Ginny stormed down the steps after him, meeting his amused gray gaze furiously. Her foot, however, missed a step as she neared the bottom and sent her tripping down the steps. Faintly, it registered that falling face-first into the marble would hurt, and Ginny prepared herself for the unavoidable crash.

But it never happened.

Two arms reached out, wrapped around her waist as her face fell into the softly scented robes of her savior. She looked up, intoxicated by the cologne, and into Draco. Ginny wanted so desperately to pull away, to slap him as the whole incident had been his fault, anyhow. But for some reason all she could do was stand limp in his arms, feeling his breath upon her face, and stare into those beautiful silver eyes.

She was so close he could count the freckles across the bridge of her nose. "Weasley," he murmured dimly, "Does Harry's letter really matter so much to you?"

She was speechless in his arms, and as he pulled back slightly her hands around him involuntarily increased their pressure, bringing her nose close to his. The moment was so quiet, so gentle, and so intense Ginny didn't even comprehend that sweet smell making her dizzy belonged to Draco Malfoy, the one and only who had devoted much of his 2^nd year to making her life miserable.

"Excuse me, Weasley," a sneering female voice interjected, "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Ginny froze. She'd recognize that voice anywhere. Collected, exotic, and hopelessly Slytherin, there was only one person who could ever rival Draco's attitude in contempt.

Blaise Zabini.

~End of Chapter 3