Heat Wave

Ginny walked by his door again. Closed, as usual.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were off saving the world, while she was left alone, at home, with the silent visitor.

"Pity the boy," her mom had said. "He has sacrificed everything- he is left with nothing."

So maybe he risked his life by leaving the Death Eaters and was now forced to live under hundreds of protective spells cast upon him by the Order of Phoenix- but that didn't mean he wasn't a git. Not that it mattered anyway, he hadn't left his room- Fred and George's uninhabited room- all summer, despite the record breaking heat that not even the coldest temperature altering spell could cool. She was sticky with sweat in only a tank top and shorts- and she had just taken a shower ten minutes ago.

She placed her hand on the doorknob and stood in silence. Not a sound came from his room.

She turned the knob slightly. Still, no sound... Slowly, she opened the door. She was surprised to find him in his robe under the covers.

He turned as he heard the door open. They just looked at each other. She gazed at his overgrown, messy blond hair and his water stained cheeks- though from sweat or from tears she could not tell. She would never forget how he looked at that moment. He was weathered and broken- but he was beautiful.

Feeling stupid for opening the door with no reason, she thought quickly for an excuse to be there.

"Do y-you want water?" she asked, stuttering slightly. She was, for once, thankful for the sweltering heat as her blush was disguised by the redness of face it caused.

Completely unresponsive, he just stared at her.

"If I wanted water, wouldn't I just have conjured it on my own?" he finally responded after an awkward moment- laying his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes.

"Right," she mumbled. "Of course." She leaned into the doorpost, uncertain whether to stay or leave.

She watched him for a bit. She just couldn't bring herself to leave. It was like he was this cracked toy that she felt an insane urge to glue back together.

"Well then," she said warily. "Do you want company?"

His eyes opened but he said nothing.

She walked towards the bed cautiously- finally working up the nerve to sit on the edge of the bed. His face was covered with a thin layer of sweat; she had to resist the impulse to wipe his brow. His eyes pierced hers with sadness. Once again she felt that urge to nurse his wounds- to make him whole again.

"Aren't you warm?" she asked, feeling incredibly stupid after doing so.

"No," he replied simply. This time however, he did not close his eyes. His eyes never left hers and this made her nervous, nervous but at the same time- safe.

His response was something she couldn't comprehend. The window was closed and there was no air flow in the room. It was humid and hot and she could barely speak much less breathe. Yet he was under a flannel blanket wearing what looked like his winter robes.

His eyes penetrated her own. His intense gray eyes, once fierce and cruel, were now dead- as though they had surrendered long ago. Still, they took her breath away.

Slowly she raised her hand to his forehead, pushing his damp bangs off his sticky face. She allowed her hand to trace his jaw line while searching his eyes for some sign of life. Emboldened by his lack of protest, she removed the heavy blanket from his body. Suddenly his broad, muscular frame appeared fragile in the bed. She rested her hand on his wool covered chest and watched it rise and fall as he breathed.

She had never done something like this before but she had never felt this way before. She couldn't even identify the feeling. For a second she paused, thinking maybe she was taking advantage of him.

But she told herself it was what was good for him as she began to take off his robe. His limbs were limp, like a doll. So, she slipped each arm from the sleeve. Slightly bashful, she found he was wearing only shorts under his robe. Still, she peeled the robe off his sweaty chest.

She broke eye contact briefly to look at his chest. She felt slightly dirty doing so, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. His six-pack glistened under sweat and a thin line of blond hair ran from under his navel into his shorts. She swallowed- heavily.

She shook her head to clear her unwelcome thoughts.

"This is Malfoy!" she told herself. "He is a creep!"

And yet, she really really wanted to kiss him.

As she leaned over to fully remove the robe, she saw his eyes glance down her shirt. Instead of the rage she expected, she felt excited, very excited.

Her eyes met his once again. His gaze did not waver as his hand left the bed and found a home on her cheek. He lifted his head from the pillow and began to sit up approaching her, slowly.

The attraction was unbearable. Lightly, his lips brushed her own. Then again, and then once more. His kisses became rougher and more passionate as he wrapped his arms around her and held her. Together they fell back onto the bed.

His kisses were deep and haunting. As they kissed, she felt tears stream down his face. She detached her lips from his to kiss them away. As he cried, she held him, whispering in his ear, caressing his neck and rubbing his back. As he kissed her, she ran her hands up and down his chest enjoying the shivers it induced. She lifted her mouth from his. His blond hair fell on the pillow, surrounding his perfect face like a halo.

"You are no longer Potter's girl, huh?" Draco whispered hungrily, his voice raspy.

"No," Ginny sighed. "No. I'm all yours."

They kissed for minutes, hours, maybe days. She couldn't keep track of time. But she could remember how many times he touched her chest, how many times he groaned with pleasure, and how many times he said her name.

"How do you feel?" she asked as he lifted her onto the windowsill in front of the now open window.

"Hot..." he said before proceeding to kiss her thoroughly once again.