Our Winter

~

Chapter 6: Any Given Quidditch Match

~

The mornings before big Quidditch games, Ginny thought, were almost always colder than any other day of the year.

There was such a chill in the air that she could see her breath as she hurried along the massive grounds at Hogwarts. She thought about doing some sort of warmth charm, but Professor Dumbledore frowned upon that sort of thing. He always encouraged the students to be as self-sufficient as they possibly could without using magic. It built character, he claimed.

Albus Dumbledore cared about each and every student at Hogwarts and it showed in the little things. He came to every Quidditch match, bundled in his heavy velvet robes and overcoat to combat the frigid temperature.

Ginny buried her face further into the collar of her own coat, hurriedly making her way down to the lake where she was supposed to meet Draco. His Majesty, as she'd begun to think of him sarcastically, had summoned her via the owl his mother had bought him for Christmas last year. It was an odd note, as though he'd gone through some trouble to make sure no one but her would understand it:

Only Draco, she sighed, could make her catch her breath with his first sentence, and cause her to scowl with his last. Of course she had no intention of being late, because she'd already ticked him off enough this week as it was. She hoped her penance for the sweaters wouldn't be too humiliating.

Hoped, that is, but wasn't holding her visible breath.

Just before a person reached the lake, there was a small hill you had to climb; one that, if you were to lay on top of it, flat to the ground, you could observe the whole of the lake below without being easily observed by anyone near the water. And so, even though it was blindingly cold, when Ginny saw Draco down by the water, his back to her, she was seized by an uncontrollable urge to catch him unaware, just for a little while.

Flattening her body to the ground, she rested her head against her folded arms and allowed herself the guilty pleasure of observing Draco Malfoy.

He seemed alert in a lazy sort of way, like he always did. It took her a moment to realize why he was facing the way that he was, and when she did, she wondered what it meant. His posture was facing toward the school, toward the path she normally took to the lake. Today, because she'd wanted to wish Harry luck before the match, she'd detoured to the Quidditch field long enough to do so, then crossed around to the lake.

A look of intense concentration etched itself on his face, as though he were willing Ginny to come into view. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of the pants he wore beneath his Quidditch robes (God he looks so good in green, even if it is Slytherin green) and his shoulders were slouched slightly as though carrying a heavy burden.

Draco looked tired, she realized. The arrogance that normally clung to him like a second skin seemed totally eradicated in the face of his fatigue. Hasn't he been sleeping properly? Ginny shook her head. This whole being in love with Draco Malfoy business had certainly played havoc with her priorities. Whether or not Draco Malfoy was getting the required eight hours a night should not have been foremost in her mind, yet, as she watched him, it was nearly the only thing she could think of, save the irrational desire she had to crawl into bed with him and gently rub his back until he fell asleep.

Glancing down at the watch Harry and Hermione had given her for Christmas the year before, Ginny sighed. One minute after eleven. She knew she should approach this meeting today with some degree of contrition, but all she seemed able to muster was the perverse need to push a few more of his buttons. When he was angry with her, it made her feel awful in a way that had nothing to do with fear, but it was still better than when he looked at her as if she wasn't there at all. She would never be the girl he loved, but at least if she became the girl he hated, he would not remain indifferent to her. Surely being something -- even something bad -- was better than being nothing at all.

Picking herself up, Ginny made her way down to the lake. He was leaning against the giant tree near the water now, staring out at the stillness, but he didn't fool her. He'd no doubt heard the leaves crunching beneath her feet, signaling her arrival. He hadn't wanted to be caught waiting for her with anything other than bored detachment, and Ginny hid a grin.

"You're late," he noted crisply.

"Surprised you noticed," she pointed out. "Only a minute, after all. Desperate to see me?"

"Hardly," he scoffed, "just miserably cold and ready to get out to the Quidditch field."

The easy, obvious way he said it wiped any mirth right out of Ginny's head. She was curious whether or not he'd bring up what had happened between them in the library; she wondered if she'd have the courage to. Somehow, she doubted it.

"Well, get on with it, then," Ginny muttered. "You're not the only one freezing his bum off."

"And a lovely bum it is," he murmured appreciatively, casting his gaze over her rear end.

"Shut up," she mumbled, casting her eyes downward, her cheeks flushing. What she really wanted to chastise him for was saying things he didn't really mean. "What's my punishment to be, then?" she asked crisply after a moment of silence. "A thousand lashes with your Firebolt Deluxe? Confinement in the Malfoy family dungeons? Sponge bathing Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Not even I'm that cruel," he declared, sounding offended. "Besides, you know I don't see much of Crabbe and Goyle anymore."

"Right. I'd forgotten." She hadn't forgotten, of course. It was one of those things she'd noticed about him when she'd started really paying attention to the little details of his life. In truth (and she would be truthful with herself, at least) she hadn't been nearly as upset by the Order's mandate as she'd convinced herself of at the time. Draco Malfoy had been at times a source of great humiliation and endless fascination.

"You seem to forget a great many things," he said, and his eyes had grown cold again. It suited him, she thought numbly; the cold complemented his features, removing the humanity from the man, leaving only icy, painful beauty. The expression on her face must have telegraphed her confusion to him, because he moved closer to her, his countenance darkening. "Part of our agreement clearly stated that you would be mine exclusively."

"Your servant," she corrected quickly. It caused her physical pain to think that he could refer to her as his and feel no more affection for her than he did his broomstick, or any other of his possessions.

"Regardless," he ground out, "your being my servant implies that your personal time is no longer your own -- it belongs to me. Everything you are belongs to me--"

"For another week!" she cried.

"More like ten days," he rejoined childishly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fine. Ten days, then. After those ten days have expired, however--"

"It's of no concern to me how you conduct yourself after our bargain has been fulfilled," Draco interrupted icily. "I am only troubled with my own interests."

"What are you getting at?" Ginny wondered, thinking this couldn't possibly be all about the sweaters.

"This is about you fawning over a Hufflepuff sixth year when you were supposed to be working on your Potions homework with me," Draco snapped.

Her brows drew together in consternation. "But Potions homework is just a cover. It doesn't matter who I study with and Kyle needed the help--"

"What in bloody hell could you possibly see in a useless git like Kyle McGraw, anyway?" Draco ranted. "He follows you around like a trained puppy, hoping you'll pat his head and give him a treat."

"It's not like that," Ginny insisted. "We're just friends."

"I don't make a habit of snogging my friends in the library," Draco said firmly.

"No, just your servants!" she snapped before she could stop herself. No four words had ever felt so freeing and so humiliating at the same time. Part of her wished she could take them back, and part of her wished she'd said more before coming to her senses.

He moved even closer to her then until their robes touched and she had to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep from touching him.

"I don't understand," he whispered, his voice low and even, "how you can respond to me the way you do, how you can burn like steel to flint, then cozy up to that idiot McGraw as though he's got even the foggiest notion of how to please you."

"Well," she mumbled, having trouble catching her breath, her brain short circuiting, "there's the fingering."

His eyes narrowed unpleasantly and Ginny quickly checked her memory to find out what she'd just said. Her mouth opened wide in shock when she did.

"I mean -- that is, I hear he's, um, quite . . . adept! -- in certain areas and, erm--"

"You certainly seem to know an awful lot about your friend," Draco noted, sneering in distaste. "I don't know half as many interesting things about my friends."

"Perhaps that's because you haven't got any!" she muttered, pulling away from him. Hot, desperate humiliation coursed through her nervous system, forcing the harshest words she could imagine from her lips. "I realize it's hard for you to imagine, Malfoy, but not all of us can simply turn our emotions on and off. We can't pretend we don't feel things for others simply because it's inconvenient." Tears were pricking her eyes. It was beginning to hurt to be around him. This was why denial had been such a dear, dear friend to her -- denial meant she could fulfill their bargain at no expense to her heart.

"I forbid you to see him -- or any other boy --"

"Fine. For the next week, I won't see him. And the very second our arrangement is over, I promise you, I'll head over to Kyle McGraw straightaway and spread--"

His hands closed around her arms like bands of steel and he shook her once, sharply. "You shouldn't promise things you're incapable of delivering on, you stupid little girl," he hissed, shaking her again.

"What do you know about what I'm capable of?!" she shouted back.

"You're biting off a sight lot more than you can chew, I know that. You use the way you look, the way I'm attracted to you as a weapon -- have done from the beginning, I realize now."

"What are you on about?" she asked, genuinely confused.

He released his grip on her arms so quickly that she nearly tumbled to the ground. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he turned away from her.

"You should have more respect for yourself than you do," he muttered, and it seemed to Ginny that he wasn't even talking to her anymore, was instead ranting to himself like a crazy person. "More respect for your body and, so long as our arrangement is in place, for me."

"Good God, he kissed me! And it was just a harmless little kiss at that! It didn't mean anything!" Ginny wasn't sure why it was so imperative that she make this abundantly clear, but it was.

"Right," he chuckled humorlessly. "That's why you've been spending all that time with McGraw, walking to and from classes, snuggling up in the halls like a pair of besotted wombats."

"Wombats?" Ginny repeated absently.

"I know how hard this week's been for you," Draco continued, "having finals and all. I was trying to be nice and not give you any additional work on top of your normal duties."

"Oh, yes, very generous of you to let up on the slave labor," Ginny noted sarcastically.

"And how do you thank me?" Draco continued, ignoring her. "By spending every free moment I've given you, not studying, as I'd intended, but mooning over Kyle McBleedin'Graw!"

"We take most of the same classes!" Ginny burst out. "And he's nice--"

"I don't want to hear it," Draco said obstinately.

"Oh, you silly git," Ginny muttered, "just let me--"

"I said I don't want to hear you going on about him!" Draco yelled.

"So you won't even let me explain," Ginny said, disbelief coloring her voice.

"I have no interest in your explanation," Draco said coolly. "I don't care why you did what you did, it only matters to me that you did it." Then, he moved toward the large tree by the water and extracted a garment bag from behind it. "This is your punishment."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "My punishment is a garment bag? Am I to climb inside and let it suffocate me?"

He actually rolled his eyes at her, which gave her a little jolt of amusement -- Draco Malfoy did not take to rolling his eyes. Sneering was about the only outward display of disgust he ever demonstrated, and an eye-roll from the guy that usually played things cool as a cucumber made Ginny feel at least a little smug.

"No, idiot," Draco said lazily, "you're supposed to wear what's inside it."

She didn't see what was so bad about that.

"At today's match."

Ah. Still, not as horrible as it could--

"And you're going to have to think of something to, oh, cheer while you're wearing it."

"I hate you."

"Oddly enough, I'm prepared to live with that."

Then, Draco unzipped the bag and pulled out her new outfit. Ginny wished, more than anything, that the earth would open wide and swallow her whole.

"I . . . that's not -- I mean, I can't -- I wouldn't -- I'll freeze to death!"

"No you won't," Draco argued calmly. "I've already put a warmth charm on it. You'll be exuding gentle warmth a centimeter away from your skin. A frostbitten slave is a useless slave, after all."

For a moment, she actually contemplated arguing with him. Surely if she begged enough he'd let up on this punishment. One look into his serpent's eyes sealed her mouth shut. There would be no bartering, no pleading -- he wasn't likely to find either amusing and she sensed she'd tested his patience enough for the day.

If only he loved her back, she thought, she could experiment with all the different ways she could test his patience.

Shaking herself a little, Ginny snatched the garment bag from Draco's hand, and, with an undignified 'hmph' of outrage, she disappeared behind the tree to change. A few moments later, she re-emerged and couldn't stop herself from folding her arms across her chest self-consciously.

It was a lovely costume, certainly, if she'd been a dancer. Drawn in flowing shades of Slytherin silver and green, it seemed tailor made for her. The bodice was little more than a bikini top, thin spaghetti straps holding up the pure silver velvet with a sheer, loose green scarf that covered -- but did not obscure -- her midriff, leaving her back almost completely bare. Even worse was the skirt, a long silk number done in Slytherin green, perfectly molded to her hips that, seeming so elegant on first glance, proved to be less than ladylike. When she walked, twin slits up the side of both her legs, nearly to her nonexistent panty-line (Draco had left a note inside the bag, instructing her that all undergarments were to be discarded) asserted themselves with gusto. On her feet, she wore flat silver slippers.

Dimly, Ginny thought it might make a lovely costume for a masquerade, that is, of course, if she decided to go out dressed as a whore.

"I cannot wear this in public," she said in a choked voice, tears springing to her eyes.

"But you will," Draco said, his voice like steel. He walked toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently tracing her clavicles. "You'll wear this little outfit and you'll be perfectly aware of your body all day. And hopefully you'll learn not to betray me as you cheer me on to victory."

"I didn't--"

"And remember," he interrupted, "if I lose this match, Ginny, I'll need to be consoled. So root extra hard."

Her eyes widened, grasping the full extent of his meaning, "But . . . but we had a--"

"A bargain? I believe I already mentioned how unsatisfactory I found our bargain. Besides -- I am, after all, but a spoilt rich brat who can't keep a promise."

"I hate you," she whispered again, tears gently spilling over onto her cheeks. Oh, how she wanted to hate him, wanted this -- humiliation -- to hurt less. "You can't . . . I told you before, you can't ask me to--"

"Ginny," he murmured gently, brushing her tears away, "you beautiful, silly girl." Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his hands skimming over her bare back. She caught her breath a little at the contact and was so busy trying not to tremble, she barely heard what he whispered into her ear.

"I'm not asking."

~

The game was a blur. It didn't help matters that it seemed to be over almost as soon as it began.

Ginny sat in the Gryffindor stands, as Draco had instructed, wearing her little costume that caused Hermione to do a double-take, Ezra to give her a 'What the hell is wrong with you?' eyebrow lift (Ginny, of course, responded with a patented 'Leave it alone, I'll explain later' head shimmy) and Seamus Finnigan to leave his place by Ezra's side and rush over with his overcoat, attempting to cover her up. She shoved him away, gave him a warning glance, and, once he was firmly entrenched next to Ezra, heaved a great sigh.

Draco's meaning had been clear -- either he won this match, or she would be required to sleep with him. What made the situation so impossible was how much she wanted to sleep with him, but only if he wanted to sleep with her. Having angry, meaningless sex wasn't exactly her top priority, especially considering it would only be meaningless to one of them.

Both teams began flying out, Ron and Blaise fighting over their microphone as they introduced each player to the crowd. When Blaise energetically called out, "And the Seeker for Slytherin, Draco Malfoy!", Ginny put her hands on her hips and, in the most cheerful voice she could muster, chanted:

"Draco, Draco, he's my man

If he can't do it
Some other bloody twit probably can!"

From the air, Draco made a point to clip by the Gryffindor stands, glaring at Ginny. The look he gave her made her squirm a little and, remembering the consequences should Draco feel uninspired to win the match, she sighed deeply again and, in a much less upbeat voice than before, tried to make up a better cheer:

"Draco, Draco

He's my hero

He'll beat Gryffindor

He's no weirdo!"

"It doesn't seem she's put an awful lot of thought behind that cheer," Blaise noted from the commentator box.

"Shut up," Ron snapped, and Ginny could feel him glaring at her.

"You shut up, you great annoying git," Blaise snapped back.

"Children, we are not here to bicker," Professor McGonagall scolded them.

"Sorry," they mumbled in unison, not sounding the slightest bit sorry at all.

After a bit more posturing, the teams took to the air. The same tension that always existed during Gryffindor/Slytherin matches was present, but there was an undercurrent of additional excitement to the game, as if everyone was perfectly aware more than just the Quidditch Cup was riding on the outcome.

Which was ridiculous, Ginny knew, as her virtue couldn't be of any importance to anyone outside her family. Perhaps it was the slightly hysterical edge that entered Ron's voice as soon as he got his first good look at what his sister was wearing. Maybe it was the dialogue Harry and Draco seemed to be sharing mid-air, an almost comical bickering session that made it look as though they'd both forgotten they were supposed to be looking for the Snitch.

Blaise was the one who finally called them on it, and, looking sheepish, both Seekers flew away from one another and resumed their job scanning the sky. Ginny had never been particularly adept at flying. She could get by, certainly, but never had she been able to achieve even a tenth of the speed and precision Harry and Draco demonstrated during a game. What freedom it must offer them, she thought as she watched them swoop and fly; what peace.

It was barely an hour into things when it happened.

Harry pulled his trusty Firebolt into a nosedive and started heading straight for the ground. Draco, realizing Harry's intent, brought his broom around. He glanced in Ginny's direction, and that's when she saw it: the Snitch was hovering near the Gryffindor stands, a few feet from her. Draco was closer. It didn't matter how fast Harry flew -- Draco was closer.

His gaze on Ginny's the entire time, Draco flew toward her, toward the Snitch, then when he was a few feet away, stopped. He was totally still, hovering in mid-air, watching her with such intensity that heat flooded her body, and she was positive it had nothing to do with the warmth charm.

There was riotous applause all around and still, Ginny stared at Draco. Harry must have caught the Snitch. Blaise was yelling something about the Slytherin Seeker being under some sort of spell and Ginny wanted to laugh out loud, because if anyone had been put under a spell here, it was her. She was about to willingly be dragged off to Draco Malfoy's bed; was, in fact, half looking forward to it. And she was blindingly, stupidly in love. Surely such desperately foolish thoughts were the result of an enchantment. It was the only rational explanation.

Slowly, Draco sank to the ground. Ginny looked down on him from the stands. He tilted his head to the side and she nodded, almost trance-like, in response. He wanted her to meet him where he'd left her, by the entrance to the grandstands.

She barely remembered making the trip down. Her heart was pounding almost painfully inside her chest and she couldn't decide if she was terrified or excited. Perhaps a bit of both. It was everything she could have dreamed of, being so totally in love with the first boy she would ever sleep with; and it was her worst nightmare, being manipulated into bed with a boy who didn't care about her at all.

"What was all that, Malfoy?" she heard Harry say as she approached the spot Draco had left her at. The two Seekers were standing close to each other, Harry gesturing emphatically. "You intentionally lost!" he was saying. "Are you daft?"

Draco seemed almost amused by the conversation until he caught her approaching out of the corner of his eye. Then, his expression changed; darkened. Harry turned his head to see what Draco was looking at and nearly had a heart attack, as far as Ginny could see, when he got a look at her.

"Gin?" he mumbled helplessly.

"You think I lost, Potter?" Draco murmured, reaching a hand out to Ginny. Against all the logic in her head she took it and let him pull her to his side. "I've got the bloody golden ring."

Then, he tugged her along after him as he stomped off toward the castle. Ginny looked back over her shoulder at Harry, who was staring after them totally dumbfounded.

'Don't tell Ron!' she mouthed at him over her shoulder, and hoped with every fiber of her being that he understood.

~

"Where's Ron?"

"Hello to you, too," Hermione said dryly as Harry began pacing the floor of the Gryffindor common room like a confused, enraged tiger. "He's in Dumbledore's office. Seems he was in such a big hurry to get out of the commentator's box after the match that he flailed his arm about like a loon and accidentally broke Blaise Zabini's nose. He's getting a lecture on the importance of being aware of one´s own actions, even in times of crisis." She watched the humor flit across Harry's face and couldn't help but grin a little. "This has something to do with Ginny, I take it."

"Do you have any idea where she is at this moment?" Harry asked, flailing his arms about, no doubt exactly as Ron had when Blaise had her unfortunate accident.

"Down in Draco Malfoy's lair, I'd imagine," Hermione guessed with a grin.

"She just left with him!" Harry exploded. "She didn't even try to resist! And she was wearing -- it was . . ."

"I thought she looked gorgeous," Hermione noted absently. "A bit underdressed for a game, but lovely nevertheless."

"Herm, you wear more clothing to bed during the summer," Harry muttered.

Hermione bit her lip and tossed a saucy look in Harry's direction. "No, I really don't, do I?"

Harry moved toward her for a moment, then shook his head. "No, no, I can't get distracted. Ginny's . . . she's . . ."

Sighing, Hermione set down the quill she'd been writing with and stood up from the desk. "Exactly where she wants to be," she said sadly.

"But she's with Malfoy," Harry spat.

"I didn't say she was sane," Hermione muttered.

"What do I do?" Harry asked after a moment of silence. "How do I . . ."

"You can't fix it, love," Hermione said gently. She took his hand and led him to the couch by the roaring fire. The common room was empty, every Gryffindor who'd been at the game earlier heartily celebrating their win.

"But . . . what do I tell Ron?"

"Nothing," Hermione said firmly. "It's not his business, anyway."

"But he's my best friend! And his sister is off doing God knows what with a boy Ron's hated his whole life!"

"It doesn't matter if Ron hates Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, "it only matters that Ginny doesn't."

"She's not . . ." Harry gulped. "She's not . . . in love with him," he whispered the last part of the sentence, as though fearful of saying such a thing at a normal volume.

Hermione made a little face. "Do you want me to lie to you?"

"Yes," Harry said immediately.

"She's not in love with him," Hermione said easily. "It's a bad boy phase, and once she's got it out of her system, she'll marry a nice young boy we'll be more than happy to have over for holidays."

"Good," Harry said, nodding his head. Hermione brought her hands up to his hair and gently began sifting through the thick dark locks. She did love his hair. His eyes shut and she smiled as she watched some of the tension ease out of his body. "But," he said, almost sleepily.

"Leave it alone," Hermione suggested softly. "It's Ginny's mess and it's up to her to get out of it. She's a big girl now." She brought her other hand up to gently trace his features, removing his glasses as she did so. "Besides," she added, a touch of affront in her voice, "you and Ron don't spend nearly this much time worrying over me."

"Herm, you know you've got your head on a lot straighter than Ginny does," Harry pointed out, his words slurred due to her ministrations. "You're the one always bailing us out."

"Hmm," Hermione said noncommittally.

Harry forced one of his closed eyes open. "Problem, Herm?"

"Sometimes a girl likes being fussed over," Hermione said quietly. "Sometimes she even likes being reminded that she isn't infallible, and is as capable as the next girl of making foolish choices with her heart."

Though he was probably exhausted, Harry wrapped both his arms around Hermione and hauled her protesting form onto his lap so that she sat sideways against him, cradled securely to his chest. He pushed the curly dark hair back from her face, took her cheeks between his palms, and kissed her once, soundly.

"Herm, you've already made one foolish choice with your heart: you're with me, aren't you?" He grinned a little. "I'm always getting myself into trouble and you're always tagging along after me so I don't get my idiot self killed. Being friends with Ron and me is the rashest thing you've ever done and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"That's a good point," Hermione said seriously.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, and they both lost it at the same time, exchanging giggles for kisses until the common room filled up with noisy, chattering Gryffindors.

Then, they retired to Hermione's room. Because, as Harry whispered into her ear as they climbed the stairs toward the Head Girl's private quarters, her fastidious, responsible nature afforded them the luxury of being as wicked and rash as they liked without fear of being caught.

Hermione genuinely hoped that, for Ginny's sake, Draco was different once you got to know him. Because she'd seen the other girl's eyes when she'd confessed how much she'd loved him; Hermione recognized that look. It was the one she saw in the mirror every morning when she thought of Harry still snoring softly in the bed behind her.

~

"I can't sleep here!" Ginny hissed. "What happens when all the other boys come to bed? They'll see me and call Professor Snape and I'll be thrown into the dungeon with a thousand points taken from Gryffindor!"

"Don't be stupid," Draco said lightly, "the curtains come down." Ginny was about to point out that he wasn't refuting her fear about Snape, but before she could get a word out, Draco picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. Too stunned to speak, she merely watched as he climbed in after her and muttered an incantation under his breath.

The dark green velvet curtains fell around the large four-poster bed instantly, cocooning them inside.

"There," Draco declared, "that's cozy."

Ginny had no idea what she was supposed to say or do, so she said and did . . . nothing. She remained flat on her back where she had landed, stiff as a board, her mind racing. It was obvious, of course, that she didn't really have to be here -- all she had to do was say no, walk out, and he couldn't stop her. She knew he wouldn't stop her. Word would get back to the Order that she'd failed her test, of course, but that was the only consequence if she simply got up and walked out now.

Really, her big problem was how much she didn't want to leave.

Her mind and her heart were all jumbled up, bickering back and forth with one another. She couldn't even say that her heart was one hundred percent sure she should stay, because her stupid heart only wanted to stay if Draco loved her back, which he clearly did not and never would. Was he even capable of it?

On their way back up to the castle, Ginny noted that it had started to rain softly. Her warmth charm had kept her body dry, but not her hair, which was damp. Draco had gotten fairly soaked and, if she wasn't mistaken, was at this very moment taking off his shirt--

Averting her eyes, Ginny's breath caught in her chest. More rustling and she could imagine him there beside her completely naked, like pale marble. She wanted to turn around and drink her fill of him and at the same time, wanted to bury her head beneath the covers. The candelabra above Draco's bed was lit, casting a soft glow off the sides of the curtains. Turning onto her side, Ginny hid her face behind her hair and peeked at Draco.

His skin was like marble, but looked infinitely softer. His damp hair had fallen into his face, making him, for once, look like the seventeen year-old-boy that he was. Her gaze traveled lower and settled upon his abdomen, which bore a precise, awful looking scar from just below his ribs to the jut of his hip bone. For some reason, she was unable to look away from it, fascinated, horrified by where he might have gotten it and why he hadn't had a doctor remove it. There were any one of a dozen spells that could--

He was staring at her. He couldn't see her eyes through her hair, she knew, but it was as though he felt her gaze on him. Glancing lower, she saw that he'd put a pair of pajama bottoms on, green silk, a serpent through and through. Burying her face in the pillow, she wondered if it were possible to feign sleep, if there was any chance that he might leave her be.

Somehow, she doubted it.

The bed shifted and she tensed. His hand moved to her back and began gently stroking over her skin, his touch almost soothing. His hair tickled the back of her neck a second before she felt his lips press to the very tip of her shoulder blade. His mouth was the softest thing she'd ever felt and now he was brushing it against her skin, over her shoulder, her arm, the center of her spine just above the thin strap of her bodice.

It felt so incredible, how tender he was being with her, so perfectly seductive that it brought tears to her eyes. His hands prodded her hip gently until she turned onto her back, making no move to remove the hair from her eyes. He pulled the loose silk scarf free of her bodice, gently running it over her shoulders. The cool, silky material evoked a shiver. Then his hands were at her face, pushing her hair back, and she shivered again and again, until she realized she wasn't shivering but crying softly, the effort of remaining quiet with it causing her body to shake.

She might be able to survive this night if he were demanding, but this gentleness, this caring he was showing her would shatter her like glass.

"Shh," she realized he was whispering, brushing her hair back, his touch soothing and gentle. This only made her cry harder.

"I can't . . . I can't," she began hiccuping.

"You don't . . . I thought you . . . I really thought that . . ." He seemed unable to decide what he wanted to say, which was odd, she knew, but couldn't seem to really care about. He was holding her like she mattered to him and it was comforting her as much as it was killing her. "I would never force you to do something you really didn't want," he said finally, his voice hushed and rough.

Again, she tried to speak, and again she could only seem to cry harder. Why couldn't he just be awful and make her hate him?

"Do you think me a monster?" he whispered into her ear after a long bead of silence. Try as she might, she could not quiet her tears.

"No," she whimpered.

"Don't lie to me," he muttered harshly.

"Draco, I don't," she insisted. He didn't understand why she was crying, she knew, and there was no way she could explain it to him without leaving her own fragile heart vulnerable to his derision and scorn. How strange that she should fear his hurting her so much, and yet she was equally desperate to keep from hurting him. Why should her opinion of him matter to him, one way or another? So what if she believed him a monster?

And yet, it did matter. It mattered to Ginny that Draco believe her.

"I don't think you're a monster," she whispered firmly, and it was then that she realized her hands were fisted against his bare chest.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice harsh again. "You should go."

Nodding, Ginny began to pull away from him, then froze. It sounded like a door opening . . .

"Bloody stupid wanker," a voice was saying. "Can't believe Malfoy let Potter snake the Snitch from him like that."

"Did you see the way he was looking at that stupid Gryffindor girl?" another voice wondered.

"That's the girl who's been following him around lately, cutting up his meat and the like," yet another voice added. "She must be in love with him."

Ginny tensed and heard Draco chuckle mirthlessly. "It stuns me how stupid they are sometimes," she thought she heard him mutter.

There was a chorus of 'G'night's from the boys outside, then all was quiet again.

"What do I do now?" Ginny whispered, her face pressed close to Draco's. It made sense, she tried to reason with herself; the closer they were, the easier it was to hear each other. It certainly had nothing to do with how much she enjoyed feeling his breath against her cheek.

"Settle in for a good night's sleep?" Draco offered.

"I can't sleep here in this," she hissed, indicating the harem-girl costume she was wearing.

"Wear this, then," he murmured, reaching around her to where he'd left a sweater he must have gotten out when he put on his pajama pants.

It was one of the sweaters she'd personally monogrammed. 'Ignorant Brat' it read, and she flushed a little. Draco seemed amused.

"Appropriate for you, isn't it?" he murmured, his mouth tilted up at one corner.

Ginny held the sweater to her chest and stared at Draco. "Do you mind?" she asked after a moment, gesturing between her body and the sweater.

"Not even a little bit," he assured her, making no move to turn his back.

Sighing deeply, Ginny turned her back to him then reached behind her to undo the clasp on her bodice. No matter which way she pulled and tugged, it just wouldn't come undone. The bed shifted and she felt Draco against her back, his breath hot against her neck.

"Sorry," he murmured, whispering yet another incantation. His fingers undid the clasp easily, the very tips of them trailing over her skin a bit longer than necessary. "A charm. Didn't want some other bloke being able to get you out of this."

Having no idea what to say to that, Ginny let the bodice fall to the bed, hyper-aware of Draco still behind her, his bare chest a hair's breadth away from brushing against her back. Such a large part of her wanted to lean back against him, to let him draw her to his warmth. She would bring his hands up around her, would be able to feel them cupped around her bare breasts . . .

"Planning on covering up any time soon?" his taunting voice whispered into her ear.

Startled, Ginny pulled the sweater over her head hurriedly, then shimmied out of the skirt once it was in place. She was intensely aware of the fact that she wasn't wearing any underwear. When she turned back around, she found Draco snug under the covers, his arms folded behind his head, lazily watching her from beneath eyelids that were barely half open. The lazy serpent, she thought, just waiting for its prey. He pulled back the covers invitingly, and with a sigh, she crawled beneath them.

The rain had started coming harder and the castle got frightfully cold when it rained. Her body managed to be even stiffer than it had been when he´d first tossed her onto the bed. Turning over, she displayed her back to him again, hoping that she might be able to forget he was there long enough to fall asleep if she didn't have to look at him.

As though he could sense her thoughts and sought to unnerve her, Draco turned onto his side and all but coiled around her, his arms snugly fitting her torso to his, his legs scissoring with hers, the silk of his pajama pants sliding against her calves. His face, he buried in the crook of her neck and it seemed to Ginny that he fell almost instantly asleep, if his deep, peaceful breathing was any indication. She felt totally absorbed in him and it was just as she'd imagined it would be -- equal parts frustration and comfort, want and pain.

Just for tonight she planned to enjoy his embrace. She would pretend he loved her desperately and was holding her so tightly because he couldn't bear the thought of ever letting her go. His heart beating against her back was soothing, and she soon found herself drifting off.

~