Allstar

Malfoys don't fall in love.

This was a proven fact; Draco had seen the evidence every day of his life. In the contempt Lucius showed his wife and in the indifference she felt for him, in his father's obsessive need to keep the bloodline pure and in the family records of arranged marriages dating back over 600 years, in the assumption that Draco himself would marry whom his parents chose and in the unspoken threats of what might happen if he did not, Draco had seen the proof. Love was a weak emotion, and not suited to one of his high rank.

Over the past year, however, Draco had begun to form his own opinion. Perhaps it was not that Malfoys were too good for love. Rather, he thought that love was too good for Malfoys. There was evidence for this too; mostly, it was the same as the proof of its opposite. His family had, for centuries, been refused love as surely as they had repudiated it in turn.

This was as it should be, of course. He had only to look at the Weasleys to see what happened when wizards, even of pure blood, allowed love to rule their lives. Poverty, multiplied by overabundant children and salted with a loss of dignity. All in all, not Draco's cup of tea. Still, one did have to wonder if there couldn't be a middle ground. An image of Virginia Weasley flashed into his mind. It was just how she'd looked this afternoon, almost doubled up with laughter, hair and tears streaming. Draco groaned and buried his head in his hands.

Malfoys did not fall in love.

* * *

It was quite a while before Draco moved again. In the end, it was his memory of promising to finish his conversation with Weasley 'later' that bolstered him into action. He certainly wasn't going to break his word to her, of all people. First, though, he wanted to decide just what he was going to say to her.

Draco had come to the conclusion that it was his lack of preparation that had led to the embarrassing incident of the afternoon. He hadn't meant to lose his temper; indeed, he'd been quite as surprised as Weasley when he'd grabbed her shoulder. It had been the realisation that he was about to laugh with her that snapped his control. In retrospect, that didn't seem so terrible. At the time, however, he had been shocked by the implications. Draco had never before been comfortable enough with another person to freely laugh with them. That this first, incredible person was a Weasley was an irony not lost on the blond boy. Nevertheless, he couldn't find it in himself to regret the event.

What was he to say, then? He supposed he should apologise for his behaviour, but he'd tried that before and it hadn't worked out. He did want to finish the conversation, though, if perhaps in a more controlled manner. What was she doing to him, to make him want to see her laugh again? Why did he always forget how he ought to be acting when she was near? These were questions that Draco wanted - or needed - answered right away. Before he fell even farther.

Draco stood decisively and winced. How long had he been sitting in the damp anyway? Obviously much too long, he thought as he tried to work out the kinks in his shoulders. People like Weasley simply did not deserve to have Malfoys getting stiff for their sakes. They certainly didn't merit having Malfoys agonise over them for Merlin-only-knows how long. Really, Draco reflected, she ought to be contemplating him, not the other way around. It must be his task, then, to see that this came about. He would toy with the Weasley girl - string her along for a while - and when the moment was right, drop her. That ought to satisfy this morbid curiosity of his. Draco smiled, knowing he'd be back to normal in no time.

* * *

Draco stepped into the library and hesitated, suddenly feeling out of place. The slender red-head was deep in conversation with Granger in a far-flung corner of the musty room. Draco bit his lip. Perhaps he had better come back later. He turned to go, but in doing so caught Granger's eye. She arched an eyebrow at him and Ginny turned around. Too damn late. Draco shrugged and walked towards them, smirking as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"'Lo Granger, Weasley," he said coolly. Ginny, for some reason, was tugging at the collar of her moth-eaten robe. A part of Draco's mind noted her flushed cheeks and stored the information away. The greater part, though, was taken up in noticing little things like the wisps of hair that had bravely escaped her ponytail and now framed her face, or the incongruity of the uneven nails that graced her slim hands. Ginny finally met his eyes, her gaze challenging in spite of her evident embarrassment. Draco realised he was staring and blushed in return. Looking for some reprise, he turned to Granger. This was a mistake. Her sardonic smile completely ruined any coherency of thought he might have retained. At a loss for words, he turned back to Ginny and motioned for her to follow. He left the library without even trying to gather the shards of his dignity.

* * *

Led by Draco, the ill-matched pair made their way to the shore of the lake without saying a word. The Slytherin knew of a spot on the east shore that gave a very pretty view of the sunset and had thought it appropriate--the perfect place for Ginny to tell him to go to hell. Draco had no doubt that this would be the eventual outcome of the conversation. His main hope was that his unpredictable companion would give him a fair chance to explain himself before she incinerated him. Steeling himself, he let out a long, slow breath.

"So... Ginny."

"Oh, so we're back to first names, are we?" Her voice cut the stillness of the twilit scene. Draco judged it better to wait than respond. "Are we?" Impatience now coloured her tone. "Dr--Mal--Oh hell. Will you just tell me what your game is already?" Ah. That, he could deal with.

"I mean to, Ginny." Very deliberate, that. "If, that is, you'll allow me?" Flustered, Ginny visibly backed down. Draco smiled. "In simplest terms, my "game' is you." Ginny stepped back a pace. They dying light reflected prettily in her hair. This was a Ginny Draco could predict, could control. His confidence surged. "You really are too pretty to waste on the likes of Potter," he continued, noting her uncertainty with satisfaction.

"You didn't..." She frowned. "You couldn't have. What are you implying, Malfoy? I broke up with Harry all by myself."

"Of course you did," he smiled, letting contempt show plainly on his face. He needed her off-balance. "You know your worth as well as I do, don't you?" A suggestively-raised eyebrow had the desired effect of making her blush and glance down. He couldn't see her eyes anymore, though. They had seemed to glow in the half-light. Draco stepped forward and tilted her chin up with a single finger. Their eyes met. A shiver crept up his spine. Ginny evidently was not as unnerved as she had seemed. In fact, he noted absently as she opened her mouth, to speak or to bite him he wasn't sure, she actually looked quite angry with him.

Suddenly, Draco decided he didn't want to be either yelled at or bitten. He took option C, closing the remaining distance between them and covering her mouth with his.

Well...it probably had been too much for him to expect to escape the confrontation without being bitten at least once.

Ginny, having removed herself to a safe distance, glared at him. Draco returned her gaze reproachfully.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked with as much dignity as he could muster. She lifted her chin.

"Of course it was. If you don't warn people before you do things like that, you certainly can't complain about how they react." Draco sighed.

"I suppose so." Ginny regarded him warily. "I mean to say," he continued, "you're perfectly right." Her gaze turned downright suspicious at that. "You don't trust me, do you?" Ginny stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. This time, he let himself join her.