Shades of Grey

Shades of Grey

Chapter Thirteen: One Last Dance

"I said to myself 'this affair never will go so well'. But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well. I've got you under my skin." - Frank Sinatra's version of Cole Porter's I've Got You Under My Skin.

"Weasley!"

She could hear him bellow her name, and she could imagine him tilting his head back and resting it against the rim of the tub. She paid him no mind though. She just sat on her chair outside the bathroom door and smiled, looking down at the book that she gripped tightly in her hand.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife ..."

"Weasley, I swear on everything that is holy and sacred that if you dare read one more word of that rubbish to me, I will come out there and throttle your skinny little neck!"

Idle threats, she thought to herself and leafed through the pages towards the back of the book and continued to read aloud.

"For what do we live but to make sport for our neighbours and laugh at them in turn?"

"La la la la la!" he yelled, and she tried, desperately, to keep it together and not break down and laugh as she imagined the blond clamping his hands over his ears like a three-year-old child pitching a fit.

"I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though, not in principle."

"Weasley--Ginevra, please?" he begged. "This is absolute torture. I'm sorry, okay. I'm sooooooorry!"

"Sorry for what, Draco?" she asked pointedly, trying to sound stern when, in fact, she was having a merry old time.

"Fortryingtopushyouintoapuddleofmud," he answered hurriedly, mumbling rather petulantly.

"For what?" she asked again, a wry grin plastered on her pale, freckled face.

"I'm sorry I tried to push you into a mud puddle!" he shouted back, sounding even more sullen than before.

Ginevra had taken Draco outside earlier for a supervised walk on the grounds. What had started out as an innocent and playful game of football had quickly escalated into a mud-slinging match when Ginevra had, inadvertently mind you, tripped Draco, causing him to dive face-first into the wet grass. The grey-eyed Slytherin had chosen to retaliate by trying to push her into a mud puddle. The operative word being 'try'.

When the fool of a boy had attempted such a feat, she had caught wind of it straight away. The silly blond didn't understand that Ginevra Weasley had grown up in a household of boys, boys who liked to prank, particularly the twins. She could smell mischief and deception a kilometre away, especially when such devilry was directed towards her. She had put a quick end to his plans and flipped him over her back, rocketing the slender yet toned blond into the murky, shallow waters below.

And now here they both were: she reading Pride and Prejudice to him while he sat in a tub of his own filth, forced to listen to her recite Jane Austen's prose. Revenge was as amusing as it was sweet.

Ginevra closed the book and smiled smugly to herself. She would have to utilise Jane Austen more often if she wanted to keep a short leash on Draco Malfoy. She should have thought of this much sooner; it might have made their situation in the months preceding August to have run a lot smoother. After a moment she could hear him whisper 'Oh, thank Merlin' like a fevered and thankful prayer, and she laughed softly, shaking her head.

A light tapping noise sounded on a window nearby, and she frowned, standing up. She placed the book on her chair and walked into her room, wand in hand. She heard the noise once more and figured it to be a branch propelled by the strong winds outside when she noted a snowy-white owl tapping its beak against the pane glass. Startled, she drew her head back. The owl bore a striking resemblance to Hedwig. She went over to the window and opened it. The large, regal-looking bird stepped inside and obediently offered her its leg that held a rolled up piece of parchment.

She took the paper and patted the owl's head softly. She had no treats upstairs as Errol often visited the window on the first floor, near the front door. She told the bird to wait and walked back out to her chair where she had a plate of crackers on the floor. She picked up the plate and went back to the owl, offering him the meagre salty treat. He (or she) accepted it with good grace and began to delicately devour the cracker.

Ginevra set down the plate and took a seat at the small desk near the window and began to unfurl the parchment. Her eyes widened slightly, and her lips pursed into a small frown as she noted the sloppy yet legible handwriting (thereby striking Ron from the list of authors as his cursive script had never been legible). It was a letter from Harry.

Ginny,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to write back to you. I have been dreadfully busy as you know, but that is no excuse. I should have taken the time to write back, no matter how short or uninteresting of a letter I might have written. My behaviour has been inexcusable, and for that I am truly sorry. You know that I would never intentionally hurt you or ignore you.

I regret even more than you have been out there for so long, all alone with Malfoy. I want you to know that I have put a rush on the matter and will be returning you home shortly. Everyone misses you, especially me. I cannot wait to see you again and hold you in my arms.

I hope to see you very soon.

All my love,

Harry

Ginevra absently grabbed a cracker and bit down, almost choking. Her throat had gone dry. She spit out the cracker and began to cough wildly, causing Harry's owl to glance at her wearily and flap its wings, taking off out the window and into the night. She laughed at its skittishness, but this only aggravated her cough even more. She desperately needed a drink of water.

"Weasley--Ginevra, are you okay?"

She could hear Draco asking about her health from inside the bathroom. He sounded genuinely concerned. She quickly grabbed an empty glass on her bedside cabinet and uttered a replenishing water spell and gulped it down as quickly as she could magically produce it.

"Y-Yeah," she yelled out, still coughing. "I'm fine."

She cleared her throat and set down the glass of water. Ginevra then shoved the letter inside the drawer of her bedside cabinet and shook her head, trying to shake off the mixed feelings that she felt at that moment. For some odd reason she almost felt guilty, guilty for not missing Harry and for not caring about the wonderful words of love he wrote. Did this make her a bad person, a bad girlfriend? She loved Harry, but she wondered if that was enough.

"I'm turning into a prune here, Red. You wanna let me out?" Draco asked impatiently, and Ginevra laughed, forgetting her worries almost entirely.

"Yeah, yeah, just hold on to your towel, Blondie!"

~*~

She had finally let him out of the bathroom (changed, of course) and took him downstairs to his cell. He went to his bed and sat down, expecting her to close the door, but she lingered there, waiting.

"Is there something you'd like?" he asked, wondering if she wanted to talk.

He didn't dare breach that subject and directly ask her that. He may have tolerated the girl (okay, maybe he liked her), but he was still a man and not an idiot. Asking a girl if she wanted to talk was like opening up the floodgates of Hell. He wasn't going to open Pandora's Box and have his arse summarily kicked for no good reason.

"Actually, there is," she answered softly yet confidently with a small smile on her face.

He was somewhat taken aback by her steady and self-assured reply. He turned his right palm outward in an offering gesture, suggesting for her to continue. She grinned at this, and he couldn't help but grin back.

"Remember that I.O.U you gave me for my birthday?" she asked, leaning against the door frame.

He nodded his head, somewhat nonplussed that she would mention it after all this time. She smiled at his expression and appeared to almost be blushing. He furrowed his brow, wondering what had caused this sudden change in mood and what favour, exactly, was she going to call in.

"I was wondering if you could teach me how to dance," she asked less confidently, drawing her arms in front of her torso as she clasped her hand in shyness.

This is the favour? he asked himself and smiled, nodding his head. "Of course," he replied as he appraised her form in the doorway.

She certainly had the legs for dancing, he noted. She was wearing a long, layered skirt that reached just below her knees. The top half of the dress was slightly shorter, dark brown in colour, while the bottom half was white and cut longer, flaring out beneath the top half of the skirt. She wore a thick, knitted turtle-neck jumper, white in colour. It hung low to the top part of her hips, hugging every curve of the upper half of her body, from the swell of her breasts to the cut of her slender waist.

He turned his head sharply and tried hard not to blush or curse aloud. He had just checked the Weasley girl out. "When would you like to begin?" he asked, thinking she would want to start tomorrow.

"Now, if you'd like?" she asked somewhat nervously and turned, opening the door even wider.

He nodded once more and stood up, following her into the sitting room. "What kind of dance would you like to learn?" he asked as she walked over to the record player and rifled through her sparse collection to select a record, slipping it on the cover and setting the needle to the vinyl.

"Any kind, really," she replied as a the music began to play a relaxing tempo. "A waltz, perhaps?"

He swallowed hard, trying not to show his nervousness as he gently took her left hand and placed it on his hip while he slid her right hand in his. Her palm felt clammy, and he wondered if she, too, was nervous for she merely offered him a strained smile and failed to meet his eyes.

The music was soft and enchanting. A man was singing about a woman who had got under his skin, and, try as he might to not let her affect him, he could not prevent the inevitable.

Why does she pick these songs? he asked himself with a wry grin and shook his head as she began to lead him in the dance, getting lost in the rhythm and in the feel of his arms.

"Weasley." She turned her head to give him a look, a look that said 'Stop calling me Weasley'. "Ginevra," he corrected himself, and her mouth twisted into a satisfied and impish grin. "You need to let me lead."

Her mouth formed into the shape of an 'O', and she blushed, looking down, mumbling an apology.

He lead her around the room, instructing her on how to count in step, and effortlessly demonstrated how to move her feet in synch with his. After a while, she finally got the timing, although she would occasionally step on his foot and laugh.

"Maybe we should name this song 'I've Got You Under My Foot'," she said, smiling embarrassedly at the painful expression that was obvious on his face.

He nodded his head and winced as she stepped on his foot yet again, as if to demonstrate her point. "For a petite woman, you certainly manage to effectively crush my foot with little effort," he said with a smirk, and she dropped her hand from his to draw it back and playfully swat at him.

Draco was quicker than she and managed to catch her hand and bring her knuckles to his lips, letting them linger on her satin smooth skin for a moment, unaware of what he had done or what he was about to do. He saw her swallow hard and bat her eyelashes, and he brought her now trembling hand down to his chest. He wanted her to feel his heart beat, to feel the vibrations of it thudding loudly in his chest. He drew her in close and felt her lips reach his neck, and he shuddered, feeling goosebumps travel up his arms and chest.

The music had stopped, and the record was skipping softly, almost soundlessly on the tray. He pulled back slightly and looked down at her. She opened her honey-coloured eyes and gazed up into his mercury orbs. She looked so lovely, so inviting.

Draco bent down slowly, and Ginevra closed her eyes, hesitantly and expectantly, lifting her chin so that her mouth was made accessible. He lowered his soft lips down onto hers and felt how warm and smooth they were, aching for his touch. As his lips agonisingly brushed against hers, he brought his free hand to her temple, sliding his fingers wantonly down her cheek, parting his mouth to take her full, pink lips into his.

"Ginny?"

His head snapped back, and he watched her open her eyes in shock. She stood back, stunned, and looked around the room in wonder, trying to identify the disembodied voice that echoed softly.

"Who?" she asked, and Draco stiffened, dropping her hand as he stepped back.

"I think someone is Flooing you," he answered without emotion, and she frowned, turning her ear towards the stairs when she heard the voice call her name out once more.

There was no mistaking who it was.

"Oh, it's Harry. I--" A guilty and reluctant expression hung on her face.

"It's quite alright," he said formally with a wave of his hand. "We can continue this later."

She looked as though she was about to say something in return, but, instead, she simply frowned and nodded her head, turning to go up stairs and leave him to the silence of the empty parlour.

~*~

They spent the next day in awkward silence. She played her jazz records, and he sat with his back against the wall near the door, listening, thinking about the way her eyes widened and lit up when she looked up at him while they danced, the way her lips would part, allowing for a sweet sigh to escape.

Merlin, he had it bad. He could never admit it to her, but the dance that they shared the night before confirmed his most bitter-sweet fears: Draco Malfoy had feelings for Ginevra Weasley.

A captive should never fall for his captor. It was wrong, and he knew it. But why did something that was so wrong feel so ... right?

Suddenly, the door opened, and she walked inside, stirring him from his musings. She had a letter in her hand, and she was turning it over nervously with a worried expression on her face.

"Harry and Kingsley are coming tomorrow," she said, failing to meet his eyes.

Her eyes were shiny and bloodshot. Had she been crying, for him?

"So the verdict will be tomorrow then?" he asked somewhat resignedly, looking up into her deep caramel eyes.

Her face was long and drawn, whereas his features were inscrutable.

"Yeah." She looked away. "Did you want anything?" she asked, trying not to verbalise her doleful demeanour.

"One last dance?" he asked hopefully, almost shyly.

Ginevra turned her head and glanced down at him. Tears unabashedly spilled down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to hide them or wipe them away. Instead, she smiled.

"Of course," she replied softly.

Draco offered her his hand, and she took it, helping him to his feet. He squeezed her palm reassuringly as he led her out into the parlour towards the middle of the room. They waited for the next song to play, their eyes glued on one another.

A haunting piano solo started with classical drums. A lovely, soulful woman's voice began, tugging at the heart strings.

It's not the pale moon that excites me,

That thrills and delights me. Oh no,

It's just the nearness of you.

He led her, bringing her in close to him, loving the way she fit in his arms. If only he could freeze these moments and capture them like snapshots in time, forever immortalised.

It isn't your sweet conversation

That brings this sensation. Oh no,

It's just the nearness of you.

He stepped back and to the side, and she matched him with every step. Their movements were natural and fluid. Their timing was impeccable, immaculate. The moment was perfect; it was a fairy tale.

When you're in my arms,

And I feel you so close to me,

All my wildest dreams come true.

She looked up at him and smiled shyly, turning her head to rest it on his chest. He smiled down at her in return and drew her in even closer, resting his chin on top of her soft, red curls. He took in a deep breath, familiarising himself with her sent, the essence that was her.

I need no soft lights to enchant me,

If you'll only grant me the right

To hold you ever so tight

And to feel in the night,

The nearness of you.

They held each other tightly as though if they let go, they would be lost forever, drowned in the current of reality. Tonight was their night, so they danced it away in each other's willing embrace, hoping against hope that the song would never end.

~*~

Author notes: Would you like some cheese? Hehe. Oh, man, me and my cheesy moments. So the first half of this story was unbelievably angst-filled and dark - and now? Now it has some of the fluffiest moments I have ever written. I really hope that it hasn't stepped out of line. I can't help but get sappy with these two sometimes.

I am the Hallmark creator of 'Aww' moments. Just give me the silver trophy and move on, already! Sheesh!

I'd like to apologise for how long this chapter took to be posted. I came down with H1N1 and was too sick, weak, and delusional to write. However, now that I am feeling better, I shall get back in the saddle again. And now that I have given you two straight chapters of fluff, it's time to get back to the drama/angst! ^_~

Note on songs: Both songs, I've Got You Under My Skin and The Nearness of You, were done by Frank Sinatra, but I prefer Ella Fitzgerald's covers. When you think of them dancing to The Nearness of You, listen to Lady Ella and Louis Armstrong's version of that song - gorgeous!