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Dec. 25th, 2003 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sarea
Sorry for the extra post, but apparently the Christmas fic was too long to post in its entirety, so I had to cut it in half. Here's the second part.
~.~
The hot tub had been a great idea. Everyone was far more relaxed than they had been earlier, although when Draco had first caught sight of Ginny in her bathing suit, he’d been very glad for the concealment of the bubbles. It was a very simple violet-colored suit that hid all the proper parts, but it was in two pieces. He could see her cute little navel, and it had taken every ounce of strength he possessed not to grab her and tumble her onto his lap. Instead, he’d had to watch her take a seat next to Potter, who was sitting across from him, and settle for being able to look at her (in particular the enticing cleavage that appeared and disappeared depending on the bubbles) and occasionally rub his ankle against her slender leg.
Granger was wearing a t-shirt of Potter’s, as she had apparently not brought any swimwear with her (for this, Draco was eternally grateful, as seeing the Murkyblood in the near-altogether was something he could go his whole life without), and both Potter and Weasley were wearing boxer shorts, Draco noted with some disdain. Both Greengrass and Parkinson had on proper swimwear, but he couldn’t recall color or style. He was too busy trying to control his reaction to seeing Ginny in her bikini.
Once, as she laughed at something Idiot Ron said, her breasts looked precariously in danger of popping right out. Draco didn’t know what he would do if that happened. Rush to cover her with his body so that no one else would see? Make a remark that would alert her to the problem and keep their secret, but embarrass her in the process? Try and communicate to her subtly about what had happened (how he would do that, exactly, required some thought), but risk someone else seeing and possibly humiliating her? Reach over casually and put them back in, “accidentally” brushing against her more than was strictly necessary? Immediately come in his shorts? The possibilities were endless.
It turned out to be a dilemma that didn’t require a solution, as it never came to pass. Draco wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He wondered when he’d get to taste the freckles that dusted her chest, what shade of pink her nipples were, and how all that glorious red hair would look decorating his pillow.
He was definitely relieved that Potter kept his hands to himself as he chattered animatedly with Idiot Ron and the Soiledblood, and their conversation also kept anyone else from noticing that Ginny was trailing her toes up to Draco’s knee, a very becoming blush on her cheeks. Even Zabini and Greengrass had decided to join in the fun, although they were currently engaged in eating each other’s faces off on the other side of the tub. And judging by the look on Parkinson’s face, Draco and Ginny weren’t the only ones engaging in a little underwater play.
The highpoint in the whole excursion had occurred when everyone started bellyaching about how they were turning into raisins, and speaking of raisins they were really hungry, and Malfoy, you’re supposed to make dinner. Everyone began to get out of the tub, when suddenly the Weasel King’s shorts were down around his knees. Luckily, he’d been the first to head to the door, so no one saw anything too risqué (Draco was sure he would have gone blind). Idiot Ron quickly pulled his shorts back up, then rounded on them with a thunderous expression, turning so red he was almost purple.
“Who ... did ... that?” Weasley asked in a quiet voice that had ‘Warning: Enraged Peasant’ written all over it.
Everyone was stunned and rooted to the spot. Draco recovered first and started laughing so hard he tumbled right back into the tub. At first he thought his laughter was keeping him from surfacing again, before he realized that there were hands around his neck and that someone was trying to drown him. He could dimly hear the commotion as other hands plunged into the water to try and loosen Weasley’s grip.
At last, Draco was able to come up for air, and he certainly wasn’t laughing as he gasped for breath. “Wasn’t me, you ... homicidal ... psychopath.”
“Maybe it was just an accident, Ron,” Ginny soothed.
“This was no accident! One of you did this!” Weasley raged, starting to pace back and forth. “We’re not leaving this room until I know which one of you it was.” He stopped. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll cast Prior Incantato on your wands.”
“Is this really necessary, Ron?” The Grimeblood sounded pleading.
“Forget this,” said Zabini, holding onto Greengrass’s hand and trying to push past Weasley.
“If it wasn’t you, you don’t have anything to worry about. If you leave, I’ll know it was you, and you will pay.” Something in Weasley’s eyes (insanity, maybe?) must have communicated itself to Zabini, because the other boy swallowed, then nodded and stayed put.
The only one who hadn’t brought her wand was Ginny, and Draco made a mental note to talk to her about that. She should carry her wand with her at all times as a safety precaution. Didn’t she know that by now? Weasley started with Greengrass and Zabini, both of whom had contraceptive spells as the last spell cast from their wands; Potter’s was the charm on the balls from their earlier Quidditch game; Draco’s was the healing spell he had performed on Potter. That meant there was only one possible culprit left.
“Hermione, how could you?” Weasley said, sounding so hurt that even Draco nearly felt sorry for him.
“I’m sorry, Ron, I didn’t mean for that to happen!” the Dustblood cried, covering her face with her hands.
“What did you mean to happen?” Weasley shouted.
“I was only trying to help pull them up ... they were hanging kind of low and I didn’t want them to fall, because I knew how much it would ... well ... embarrass you ...”
“Well, good show Hermione, I wasn’t embarrassed at all!”
“We should go,” Ginny whispered, nudging Draco’s arm. “They should be alone to work this out.”
“But I want to watch,” Draco said, and was summarily dragged out of the room by Potter and a surprisingly strong Ginny. “Okay, fine, I guess I’m hungry. What are we having?”
“You’re making dinner,” she reminded him.
“Oh ... right.”
“This doesn’t bode well,” said Potter.
~.~
So here he was, staring at a large number of cupboards, wondering where he was supposed to start. So this is a kitchen, Draco mused. That thing must be a stove. Stoves were supposed to make things hot, he knew, but there was going to be none of that.
He began opening cupboards at random. Bread. That was good. And here was some jelly. They would have sandwiches for dinner! This was so easy. He had been worried for nothing. Well ... he hadn’t really worried, but he didn’t want to give McGonagall anything to hold over him. She favored the Gryffindors quite enough.
Two minutes later, Draco brought dinner out to the masses, who were all sitting around the table looking sleepy.
“Dinner is served,” he announced dramatically, tossing the loaf of bread onto the table. This was met by incredulous looks. “Don’t worry, I brought jelly,” he said, and put that on the table as well.
“You want us to have jelly sandwiches for our Christmas Eve dinner?” Potter said in disbelief.
“Look orphan, this is more food than you ever saw as a scar-faced, four-eyed kid,” Draco pointed out as tactfully as he knew how. “So eat up and be grateful. Plus, I have peanut butter as well.” He revealed this surprise jar with a flourish.
Draco couldn’t understand why they were still looking at him with their mouths agape. Then he realized. “Oh, right, and here’s a knife. Don’t grab for it all at once.”
“Malfoy, if you don’t have something hot and delicious for me to eat in fifteen minutes, I’m going to kick your skinny blond arse,” said Greengrass.
“So what you’re saying is ... you want toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” Draco interpreted. “I don’t know, that seems like a lot of work. Besides, I don’t recall any of you making anything hot and delicious to eat.”
“I baked Cornish game hens,” said Weasley, who had apparently made up with the Grass-stainsblood, as they were being sickeningly demonstrative with their hand-holding.
“I broiled salmon,” said Zabini.
“Spaghetti.”
“Beef stew.”
“Tuna casserole.”
“Rack of lamb with mint sauce.”
Draco glared at Ginny, who was the only one who hadn’t yet spoken.
“Pecan-encrusted pork filets,” she said in small voice.
“Fine!” Draco said peevishly, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine, I will cook something. But I will remember this. Mark my words.” And he stormed back into the kitchen.
He found a pile of recipe books, and began flipping through one of them. How difficult could this be, really? He could follow instructions. This was a lot like making potions, after all. He looked around for a cauldron. He didn’t find one, but he did come across an apron, which he quickly donned.
Presently, Ginny popped her head in the door. “Need any help?” she asked, biting her lip.
“No, thank you,” Draco said with as much dignity as he could muster.
“What are you making?”
“I’m going to start with a chestnut soup, followed by grilled beef tenderloin with roasted garlic sauce and leek-tomato quinoa. I was thinking of also having a green bean salad with sunflower seed dressing as a side dish, along with some roasted rosemary potatoes. Dessert will be ...” He flipped a couple of pages. “... let’s see ... an autumn trifle with roasted apples, pears, and pumpkin-caramel sauce.”
“What? You don’t have time to make all that.”
Draco glared at her. “Are you casting doubt on my cooking skills?”
“You’re not very threatening with that apron, you know. Anyway, I’m just saying that you’re making this a lot more complicated than it has to be. They’re pretty hungry; I think if you just make a little effort, they’ll be happy.”
“I am making an effort,” Draco said in outrage. “Well, now.”
“Why don’t you just make some omelets?”
“All right, fine, I will.” Draco adjusted his apron. “How do you make an omelet?”
“It’s really easy, I’ll show you,” said Ginny. “But first let’s see what everyone wants in their omelet.” She was back after a few moments with a parchment in her hand. “All right, get some eggs and the milk. First we’ll whisk them together, with this...”
Draco found that he quite liked to cook, after all, especially when Ginny was doing the teaching. Her instructions were always clear, her explanations made sense, and red bell pepper tasted really good when she fed it to him with her fingers. Before long there were several omelets cooking in the pans, with the rest ready to be cooked next. They had also heated a pot of canned chicken noodle soup, which tasted disgusting (how could anyone eat soup that came from a can?), but at least it was hot.
Draco wrapped his arm around Ginny’s waist and nuzzled her neck as she took up the spatula to flip over the current batch of omelets.
“You know, you should really be the one doing this,” she said. He was pleased when she shivered in response to his teeth nibbling at her earlobe. “And you shouldn’t be doing that. Someone might walk in.”
“I don’t care,” he said, and inched her jumper up over her stomach so he could put his hands there.
Ginny jumped slightly. “Your hands are cold!”
“That’s why I’m warming them up,” Draco said, starting to move his hands higher.
“All right, that’s enough of that, mister.” Ginny pulled her jumper down and handed him a salt shaker. “Now, sprinkle salt lightly on top. What are you -- not me! The eggs!”
Draco insisted on making extra cheese omelets for the absent professors (he suspected Ginny had guessed -- rightly -- that it was only so he could harass her in the kitchen some more, though he told her it was so that he wouldn’t be accused of shirking his duties), and he cast charms on them so they’d stay warm for a few hours yet. Everyone at the dinner table made appreciative noises over their individualized omelets (well, Weasley didn’t say anything at all, but silence from him was usually a good thing), and Draco was very, very pleased with himself.
That’s when the Weasel King looked at him and said, “You couldn’t have done this without my sister’s help, so don’t you look so damn smug.”
“You’re right, Weasley. I couldn’t have done it without the little Weaslette’s assistance, so thank you, little Weaslette,” Draco said, taking up Ginny’s hand and kissing her palm.
Ginny stared at him with wide eyes while Weasley made predictable noises of outrage.
“Quit winding him up,” Potter said mildly, taking a bite of his ham and cheese omelet. “And quit kissing my girlfriend’s hand.”
Draco dropped Ginny’s hand and sullenly went back to his eggs.
~.~
After dinner, Ron and Harry played pool, teaming up against Draco and Blaise (the latter won, but Ginny suspected that the issue of a rematch was more for the fun of playing than from any true belief her brother held that he and Harry would beat two boys who’d been playing the game since they were children). Daphne and Pansy spread themselves out on the couch, so Ginny and Hermione sat on the floor next to the fireplace. They held a drowsy conversation about school and the merits and detriments of the new robes at Madam Malkin’s that magically enhanced one’s cleavage.
Yawning, Ginny said that she was going to turn in. Tomorrow was Christmas day and time to go home; at this point, it would be a relief. Having Draco so physically close and yet being unable to do anything about it was a torture that was becoming increasingly difficult to withstand.
Ginny was surprised when she bumped into someone as she was passing through the door. She looked up and found Draco grinning down at her in an altogether alarming way.
“What--” she began, then stopped as he pointed up. Ginny raised her chin to see what he was indicating, and that’s when she saw it. Mistletoe. “Oh,” she said faintly. Surely he wasn’t expecting her to kiss him in front of all these people ... in front of Ron.
“How would you like it?” Draco asked, crossing his arms and leaning lazily against the doorframe.
“If you think I’m going to let you put your slimy lips on my sister, you’ve got to know I’ll give you a good walloping,” said Ron, who had arrived to take a threatening stance within arm’s reach of the two of them.
“Oh, just let it go,” said Ginny, not looking away from Draco. She wasn’t sure who she was pleading with. Probably Draco. They’d already had more alone time today than they’d had the entire week; did they really want to push their luck?
Seeing the lazy unconcern on his face and the devilish gleam in his eye, she had her answer. Draco Malfoy thrived on pushing his luck.
“Weasley, we’re standing under mistletoe. You know the rules as well as I,” said Draco piously.
“You vaulted over here like the Bloody Baron was after you when it appeared,” said Ron. “Getting someone under mistletoe on purpose doesn’t count.”
“Show me where it says that in the mistletoe handbook,” challenged Draco.
“I don’t -- there isn’t -- look, everyone knows that’s not on!”
“Everyone knows? Parkinson? Greengrass?”
“Seems fair to me,” Daphne responded, studying her nails.
“Completely within rights,” Pansy agreed.
“You can’t ask a bunch of--” Ron began, then quailed at the dangerous looks on the two girls’ faces. “Well, she’s my sister, and I say it’s not on. You can’t make her--”
“Soft, then,” said Ginny, resigned.
“Ginny!” Ron exclaimed. “No! You don’t have to do this. Malfoy, I’m warning you. You kiss my sister, I’m going to kiss your face with this.” He raised a fist.
Draco leaned down and, as requested, pressed his lips softly against Ginny’s. She closed her eyes and sighed into his mouth, trying her best not to respond ... too much. It was difficult when he was moving his lips so sweetly, so enticingly, against hers. At last he pulled away, and Ginny would have given anything for time to stand still. She licked her lips and stared at Draco, who licked his lips and stared at her in return.
The next moment, Ron’s fist had connected, as promised, with Draco’s face. Ginny yelped and immediately darted forward to see if any serious damage had been done. Harry held on to his friend, but there wasn’t any need; Ron was making no move to hit Draco again. He merely shook out his hand and said, “I warned you.”
Draco had stumbled back from the force of the blow and was now touching his rapidly swelling cheek with ginger fingers. “So you did,” he said without any rancor. Then he grinned unrepentantly as Ginny made distressed noises over the distended area. “Totally worth it.”
Ginny, who had been afraid he was seriously injured, huffed in exasperation and went to bed.
~.~
Ginny was interrupted from a very lovely dream about having her way with a grey-eyed blond against a broom shed by a hand on her shoulder, which was shaking her to consciousness. She resisted waking until another hand clamped over her mouth, alarming her and making her eyes pop open. She closed them again in relief when Draco’s familiar features came into view, although for a split second she remained edgy, as years of being wary of him were not so easily forgotten.
Draco put a finger to his lips, indicating that she should be quiet, and Ginny nodded. What was she going to do, try and hold a conversation with him while Hermione was sleeping in the next bed?
He removed his hand from her mouth and picked up a thick cloak -- one of his -- holding it open, obviously wanting her to put it on and follow him out. The last thing Ginny wanted to do was get out of her warm bed and into the cold. She shook her head and lifted her covers a bit, inviting him in. She wasn’t really serious, but to her delight she saw Draco hesitate before he shook his head and looked away, still holding the cloak.
With some reluctance Ginny got out of bed, shivering when the cool air penetrated her thin pajamas. Draco immediately enveloped her in the cloak, and she was very grateful to the person who had first thought of putting warmth charms on clothing. Draco indicated that she should put her boots on, so she carried them out of the bedroom and put them on when they were in less danger of being overheard.
Taking one of her newly gloved hands in his, Draco opened the front door and led her outside. Ginny’s breath made an immediate impression in the frigid air, and she wondered what Draco was up to. She guessed it was very early morning; the sun had not yet made its appearance on the horizon. The skies were lightening, however, so it was only a matter of time.
Draco’s boots crunched through the snow as he drew her to a secluded spot next to a tree that had long since lost its leaves. Disengaging her hand from his, Ginny wrapped the cloak more tightly around herself. “What’s going on?” she asked. “How’s your cheek?” She reached up to lightly caress the reddened skin.
Draco took hold of her hand again and didn’t let go. “It’s fine; Weasley barely grazed me.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Happy Christmas, Gin.”
Ginny smiled and warmth suffused her at the look in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice. “Happy Christmas, Draco. Is that what this is about?”
“I wanted to be the first to say it,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.
Ginny let her eyes drift closed and inhaled his familiar scent, which never failed to arouse great emotion in her (of course, it was only recently that any of these emotions could be labeled as the positive kind). It was strange how quickly she had become accustomed to being this close to him, being this intimate with him. She supposed the years of fighting had bred an awareness all its own, and in some ways, theirs had been an association more complicated and intimate than many romantic relationships -- even before Ginny realized that he wanted to snog her more than fight with her, and that she wanted the same. Right now what she wanted more than anything else was for him to lean just a little bit closer and touch his mouth to hers.
“There’s something else,” Draco blurted. “I have something for you.”
Ginny looked at him in astonishment and dismay. “But ... we said we wouldn’t exchange gifts this year ...” It had been mutually agreed that this -- whatever it was they had -- was too new for the added pressure of Christmas gift shopping. Not to mention Ginny had already spent the balance of her gift budget before this thing with Draco Malfoy had happened. Besides, what would she give to someone who had everything? Other than a whole new personality, which she’d claimed in the past was something he needed, before he’d grown on her.
“I know, it’s not really a gift,” he said. “It’s nothing, really. Just a sort of ...” He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize that he was on the verge of rambling. He took a deep breath. “Well, anyway, here.”
It took Ginny a moment to realize he was actually holding something out to her, as it was somewhat concealed by the dark color of his gloves, and by its relative size. She reached out with tentative fingers and took it from him, and when she recognized what it was her gaze flew to his.
“But ... you can’t give me this,” she stammered. “I mean, it’s too ... you know ...”
“I told you, I’m not really giving it to you,” he said swiftly. “I just thought ... you could ... wear it, maybe ...” She couldn’t tell if the pinkness around his ears and his cheeks was due to the cold or to his discomfort.
Ginny studied the ring, liking the weight of it between her fingers. She’d seen it plenty of times on Draco, of course, but had never imagined that she would see it up close (nor imagined she’d want to). The craftsmanship of the intricately detailed serpent design was breathtaking; the ring was clearly made by a master who had given great attention to every curve and line. In some ways, it represented everything she had once hated about Draco -- the privilege, the class, the sheer wealth that he possessed, which in turn often made him arrogant, selfish, and thoughtless -- but it also stood for other things, such as his heritage, his pride, his self worth. And he was offering it to her. Ginny was overwhelmed by what that meant, and she hesitated a second too long, for in the next second Draco had snatched it back.
“Never mind, it was a stupid idea,” he said, not looking at her. “Forget it.”
“I don’t want to forget it,” she said, taking the fist that was clenched around the ring and trying to get it to open with soothing, determined fingers. “I want to wear it, very much. You just surprised me. You can’t take it back now,” she teased.
Slowly, Draco’s grip loosened and he was once again holding it out to her. This time, she immediately removed one of her gloves and slipped the ring onto her finger. “It’s too big,” she laughed, moving it to her thumb, where it still slid about precariously.
“That’s all right,” Draco said in a low voice, looking at her with unfathomable eyes. “You can’t wear it there, anyway. I also got this for you.” He pulled a long silver chain from his cloak pocket, then took the ring from her and slipped it onto the delicate silver. “Turn around,” he said in a voice that was like a velvety dark chocolate.
Ginny did as she was asked, lifting her hair, and felt the momentary coldness of the chain as it was fastened around her neck, before it warmed to her skin. And though she could no longer tell it was there by temperature alone, she could feel the ring settling between her breasts, cradled against her heart. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Draco stroked her ungloved hand, which did not feel the winter chill. “One day you’ll wear it here,” he said, and he looked so serious that Ginny squeezed his hand, hoping it was assurance enough.
“One day,” she promised, standing on her toes to twine her arms around his neck and kiss him with all the emotion she couldn’t voice.
And while the world around them slept, Draco and Ginny watched the sun rise on Christmas morning.
= end =
End Notes:
Yes, I’ve now written what in XF would be called ‘ringfic.’ I just love that detail from the movie franchise. Anyway -- Sydney Lynne’s five improv elements (i.e., things I had to include):
1) Harry having a bad hair day
2) Fizzing Whizbees
3) Draco and Ginny sweaty after Quidditch
4) Hermione in Harry’s shirt
5) Priori Incantatem -- I cheated on this one and used Prior Incantato instead. See, Priori Incantatem requires that two wands having core material from the same single animal be involved in a duel, which will then display the last spells cast from one of the wands, in sequence. Well, this was slightly too complicated for a fun little Christmas story, so I took liberties. :D
Elements I didn’t have to include, but did anyway because it’s my story:
1) Mistletoe
2) Snape and Lupin sharing a room
3) Boy!Blaise
4) Snoggity snogs
5) Everything else
Jade and I didn’t see one another’s stories until they were done, and only then did we realize that for some bizarre reason, we had both ordered Draco into the kitchen. My Draco had no idea what he was doing while hers was quite capable, but still. I might be more perturbed if oddities like that didn’t happen all the time with us. Nothing wrong with Draco, barefoot and clueless in the kitchen, I say. COOK, DRACO, COOK!
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Sarea
The hot tub had been a great idea. Everyone was far more relaxed than they had been earlier, although when Draco had first caught sight of Ginny in her bathing suit, he’d been very glad for the concealment of the bubbles. It was a very simple violet-colored suit that hid all the proper parts, but it was in two pieces. He could see her cute little navel, and it had taken every ounce of strength he possessed not to grab her and tumble her onto his lap. Instead, he’d had to watch her take a seat next to Potter, who was sitting across from him, and settle for being able to look at her (in particular the enticing cleavage that appeared and disappeared depending on the bubbles) and occasionally rub his ankle against her slender leg.
Granger was wearing a t-shirt of Potter’s, as she had apparently not brought any swimwear with her (for this, Draco was eternally grateful, as seeing the Murkyblood in the near-altogether was something he could go his whole life without), and both Potter and Weasley were wearing boxer shorts, Draco noted with some disdain. Both Greengrass and Parkinson had on proper swimwear, but he couldn’t recall color or style. He was too busy trying to control his reaction to seeing Ginny in her bikini.
Once, as she laughed at something Idiot Ron said, her breasts looked precariously in danger of popping right out. Draco didn’t know what he would do if that happened. Rush to cover her with his body so that no one else would see? Make a remark that would alert her to the problem and keep their secret, but embarrass her in the process? Try and communicate to her subtly about what had happened (how he would do that, exactly, required some thought), but risk someone else seeing and possibly humiliating her? Reach over casually and put them back in, “accidentally” brushing against her more than was strictly necessary? Immediately come in his shorts? The possibilities were endless.
It turned out to be a dilemma that didn’t require a solution, as it never came to pass. Draco wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He wondered when he’d get to taste the freckles that dusted her chest, what shade of pink her nipples were, and how all that glorious red hair would look decorating his pillow.
He was definitely relieved that Potter kept his hands to himself as he chattered animatedly with Idiot Ron and the Soiledblood, and their conversation also kept anyone else from noticing that Ginny was trailing her toes up to Draco’s knee, a very becoming blush on her cheeks. Even Zabini and Greengrass had decided to join in the fun, although they were currently engaged in eating each other’s faces off on the other side of the tub. And judging by the look on Parkinson’s face, Draco and Ginny weren’t the only ones engaging in a little underwater play.
The highpoint in the whole excursion had occurred when everyone started bellyaching about how they were turning into raisins, and speaking of raisins they were really hungry, and Malfoy, you’re supposed to make dinner. Everyone began to get out of the tub, when suddenly the Weasel King’s shorts were down around his knees. Luckily, he’d been the first to head to the door, so no one saw anything too risqué (Draco was sure he would have gone blind). Idiot Ron quickly pulled his shorts back up, then rounded on them with a thunderous expression, turning so red he was almost purple.
“Who ... did ... that?” Weasley asked in a quiet voice that had ‘Warning: Enraged Peasant’ written all over it.
Everyone was stunned and rooted to the spot. Draco recovered first and started laughing so hard he tumbled right back into the tub. At first he thought his laughter was keeping him from surfacing again, before he realized that there were hands around his neck and that someone was trying to drown him. He could dimly hear the commotion as other hands plunged into the water to try and loosen Weasley’s grip.
At last, Draco was able to come up for air, and he certainly wasn’t laughing as he gasped for breath. “Wasn’t me, you ... homicidal ... psychopath.”
“Maybe it was just an accident, Ron,” Ginny soothed.
“This was no accident! One of you did this!” Weasley raged, starting to pace back and forth. “We’re not leaving this room until I know which one of you it was.” He stopped. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll cast Prior Incantato on your wands.”
“Is this really necessary, Ron?” The Grimeblood sounded pleading.
“Forget this,” said Zabini, holding onto Greengrass’s hand and trying to push past Weasley.
“If it wasn’t you, you don’t have anything to worry about. If you leave, I’ll know it was you, and you will pay.” Something in Weasley’s eyes (insanity, maybe?) must have communicated itself to Zabini, because the other boy swallowed, then nodded and stayed put.
The only one who hadn’t brought her wand was Ginny, and Draco made a mental note to talk to her about that. She should carry her wand with her at all times as a safety precaution. Didn’t she know that by now? Weasley started with Greengrass and Zabini, both of whom had contraceptive spells as the last spell cast from their wands; Potter’s was the charm on the balls from their earlier Quidditch game; Draco’s was the healing spell he had performed on Potter. That meant there was only one possible culprit left.
“Hermione, how could you?” Weasley said, sounding so hurt that even Draco nearly felt sorry for him.
“I’m sorry, Ron, I didn’t mean for that to happen!” the Dustblood cried, covering her face with her hands.
“What did you mean to happen?” Weasley shouted.
“I was only trying to help pull them up ... they were hanging kind of low and I didn’t want them to fall, because I knew how much it would ... well ... embarrass you ...”
“Well, good show Hermione, I wasn’t embarrassed at all!”
“We should go,” Ginny whispered, nudging Draco’s arm. “They should be alone to work this out.”
“But I want to watch,” Draco said, and was summarily dragged out of the room by Potter and a surprisingly strong Ginny. “Okay, fine, I guess I’m hungry. What are we having?”
“You’re making dinner,” she reminded him.
“Oh ... right.”
“This doesn’t bode well,” said Potter.
~.~
So here he was, staring at a large number of cupboards, wondering where he was supposed to start. So this is a kitchen, Draco mused. That thing must be a stove. Stoves were supposed to make things hot, he knew, but there was going to be none of that.
He began opening cupboards at random. Bread. That was good. And here was some jelly. They would have sandwiches for dinner! This was so easy. He had been worried for nothing. Well ... he hadn’t really worried, but he didn’t want to give McGonagall anything to hold over him. She favored the Gryffindors quite enough.
Two minutes later, Draco brought dinner out to the masses, who were all sitting around the table looking sleepy.
“Dinner is served,” he announced dramatically, tossing the loaf of bread onto the table. This was met by incredulous looks. “Don’t worry, I brought jelly,” he said, and put that on the table as well.
“You want us to have jelly sandwiches for our Christmas Eve dinner?” Potter said in disbelief.
“Look orphan, this is more food than you ever saw as a scar-faced, four-eyed kid,” Draco pointed out as tactfully as he knew how. “So eat up and be grateful. Plus, I have peanut butter as well.” He revealed this surprise jar with a flourish.
Draco couldn’t understand why they were still looking at him with their mouths agape. Then he realized. “Oh, right, and here’s a knife. Don’t grab for it all at once.”
“Malfoy, if you don’t have something hot and delicious for me to eat in fifteen minutes, I’m going to kick your skinny blond arse,” said Greengrass.
“So what you’re saying is ... you want toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” Draco interpreted. “I don’t know, that seems like a lot of work. Besides, I don’t recall any of you making anything hot and delicious to eat.”
“I baked Cornish game hens,” said Weasley, who had apparently made up with the Grass-stainsblood, as they were being sickeningly demonstrative with their hand-holding.
“I broiled salmon,” said Zabini.
“Spaghetti.”
“Beef stew.”
“Tuna casserole.”
“Rack of lamb with mint sauce.”
Draco glared at Ginny, who was the only one who hadn’t yet spoken.
“Pecan-encrusted pork filets,” she said in small voice.
“Fine!” Draco said peevishly, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine, I will cook something. But I will remember this. Mark my words.” And he stormed back into the kitchen.
He found a pile of recipe books, and began flipping through one of them. How difficult could this be, really? He could follow instructions. This was a lot like making potions, after all. He looked around for a cauldron. He didn’t find one, but he did come across an apron, which he quickly donned.
Presently, Ginny popped her head in the door. “Need any help?” she asked, biting her lip.
“No, thank you,” Draco said with as much dignity as he could muster.
“What are you making?”
“I’m going to start with a chestnut soup, followed by grilled beef tenderloin with roasted garlic sauce and leek-tomato quinoa. I was thinking of also having a green bean salad with sunflower seed dressing as a side dish, along with some roasted rosemary potatoes. Dessert will be ...” He flipped a couple of pages. “... let’s see ... an autumn trifle with roasted apples, pears, and pumpkin-caramel sauce.”
“What? You don’t have time to make all that.”
Draco glared at her. “Are you casting doubt on my cooking skills?”
“You’re not very threatening with that apron, you know. Anyway, I’m just saying that you’re making this a lot more complicated than it has to be. They’re pretty hungry; I think if you just make a little effort, they’ll be happy.”
“I am making an effort,” Draco said in outrage. “Well, now.”
“Why don’t you just make some omelets?”
“All right, fine, I will.” Draco adjusted his apron. “How do you make an omelet?”
“It’s really easy, I’ll show you,” said Ginny. “But first let’s see what everyone wants in their omelet.” She was back after a few moments with a parchment in her hand. “All right, get some eggs and the milk. First we’ll whisk them together, with this...”
Draco found that he quite liked to cook, after all, especially when Ginny was doing the teaching. Her instructions were always clear, her explanations made sense, and red bell pepper tasted really good when she fed it to him with her fingers. Before long there were several omelets cooking in the pans, with the rest ready to be cooked next. They had also heated a pot of canned chicken noodle soup, which tasted disgusting (how could anyone eat soup that came from a can?), but at least it was hot.
Draco wrapped his arm around Ginny’s waist and nuzzled her neck as she took up the spatula to flip over the current batch of omelets.
“You know, you should really be the one doing this,” she said. He was pleased when she shivered in response to his teeth nibbling at her earlobe. “And you shouldn’t be doing that. Someone might walk in.”
“I don’t care,” he said, and inched her jumper up over her stomach so he could put his hands there.
Ginny jumped slightly. “Your hands are cold!”
“That’s why I’m warming them up,” Draco said, starting to move his hands higher.
“All right, that’s enough of that, mister.” Ginny pulled her jumper down and handed him a salt shaker. “Now, sprinkle salt lightly on top. What are you -- not me! The eggs!”
Draco insisted on making extra cheese omelets for the absent professors (he suspected Ginny had guessed -- rightly -- that it was only so he could harass her in the kitchen some more, though he told her it was so that he wouldn’t be accused of shirking his duties), and he cast charms on them so they’d stay warm for a few hours yet. Everyone at the dinner table made appreciative noises over their individualized omelets (well, Weasley didn’t say anything at all, but silence from him was usually a good thing), and Draco was very, very pleased with himself.
That’s when the Weasel King looked at him and said, “You couldn’t have done this without my sister’s help, so don’t you look so damn smug.”
“You’re right, Weasley. I couldn’t have done it without the little Weaslette’s assistance, so thank you, little Weaslette,” Draco said, taking up Ginny’s hand and kissing her palm.
Ginny stared at him with wide eyes while Weasley made predictable noises of outrage.
“Quit winding him up,” Potter said mildly, taking a bite of his ham and cheese omelet. “And quit kissing my girlfriend’s hand.”
Draco dropped Ginny’s hand and sullenly went back to his eggs.
After dinner, Ron and Harry played pool, teaming up against Draco and Blaise (the latter won, but Ginny suspected that the issue of a rematch was more for the fun of playing than from any true belief her brother held that he and Harry would beat two boys who’d been playing the game since they were children). Daphne and Pansy spread themselves out on the couch, so Ginny and Hermione sat on the floor next to the fireplace. They held a drowsy conversation about school and the merits and detriments of the new robes at Madam Malkin’s that magically enhanced one’s cleavage.
Yawning, Ginny said that she was going to turn in. Tomorrow was Christmas day and time to go home; at this point, it would be a relief. Having Draco so physically close and yet being unable to do anything about it was a torture that was becoming increasingly difficult to withstand.
Ginny was surprised when she bumped into someone as she was passing through the door. She looked up and found Draco grinning down at her in an altogether alarming way.
“What--” she began, then stopped as he pointed up. Ginny raised her chin to see what he was indicating, and that’s when she saw it. Mistletoe. “Oh,” she said faintly. Surely he wasn’t expecting her to kiss him in front of all these people ... in front of Ron.
“How would you like it?” Draco asked, crossing his arms and leaning lazily against the doorframe.
“If you think I’m going to let you put your slimy lips on my sister, you’ve got to know I’ll give you a good walloping,” said Ron, who had arrived to take a threatening stance within arm’s reach of the two of them.
“Oh, just let it go,” said Ginny, not looking away from Draco. She wasn’t sure who she was pleading with. Probably Draco. They’d already had more alone time today than they’d had the entire week; did they really want to push their luck?
Seeing the lazy unconcern on his face and the devilish gleam in his eye, she had her answer. Draco Malfoy thrived on pushing his luck.
“Weasley, we’re standing under mistletoe. You know the rules as well as I,” said Draco piously.
“You vaulted over here like the Bloody Baron was after you when it appeared,” said Ron. “Getting someone under mistletoe on purpose doesn’t count.”
“Show me where it says that in the mistletoe handbook,” challenged Draco.
“I don’t -- there isn’t -- look, everyone knows that’s not on!”
“Everyone knows? Parkinson? Greengrass?”
“Seems fair to me,” Daphne responded, studying her nails.
“Completely within rights,” Pansy agreed.
“You can’t ask a bunch of--” Ron began, then quailed at the dangerous looks on the two girls’ faces. “Well, she’s my sister, and I say it’s not on. You can’t make her--”
“Soft, then,” said Ginny, resigned.
“Ginny!” Ron exclaimed. “No! You don’t have to do this. Malfoy, I’m warning you. You kiss my sister, I’m going to kiss your face with this.” He raised a fist.
Draco leaned down and, as requested, pressed his lips softly against Ginny’s. She closed her eyes and sighed into his mouth, trying her best not to respond ... too much. It was difficult when he was moving his lips so sweetly, so enticingly, against hers. At last he pulled away, and Ginny would have given anything for time to stand still. She licked her lips and stared at Draco, who licked his lips and stared at her in return.
The next moment, Ron’s fist had connected, as promised, with Draco’s face. Ginny yelped and immediately darted forward to see if any serious damage had been done. Harry held on to his friend, but there wasn’t any need; Ron was making no move to hit Draco again. He merely shook out his hand and said, “I warned you.”
Draco had stumbled back from the force of the blow and was now touching his rapidly swelling cheek with ginger fingers. “So you did,” he said without any rancor. Then he grinned unrepentantly as Ginny made distressed noises over the distended area. “Totally worth it.”
Ginny, who had been afraid he was seriously injured, huffed in exasperation and went to bed.
Ginny was interrupted from a very lovely dream about having her way with a grey-eyed blond against a broom shed by a hand on her shoulder, which was shaking her to consciousness. She resisted waking until another hand clamped over her mouth, alarming her and making her eyes pop open. She closed them again in relief when Draco’s familiar features came into view, although for a split second she remained edgy, as years of being wary of him were not so easily forgotten.
Draco put a finger to his lips, indicating that she should be quiet, and Ginny nodded. What was she going to do, try and hold a conversation with him while Hermione was sleeping in the next bed?
He removed his hand from her mouth and picked up a thick cloak -- one of his -- holding it open, obviously wanting her to put it on and follow him out. The last thing Ginny wanted to do was get out of her warm bed and into the cold. She shook her head and lifted her covers a bit, inviting him in. She wasn’t really serious, but to her delight she saw Draco hesitate before he shook his head and looked away, still holding the cloak.
With some reluctance Ginny got out of bed, shivering when the cool air penetrated her thin pajamas. Draco immediately enveloped her in the cloak, and she was very grateful to the person who had first thought of putting warmth charms on clothing. Draco indicated that she should put her boots on, so she carried them out of the bedroom and put them on when they were in less danger of being overheard.
Taking one of her newly gloved hands in his, Draco opened the front door and led her outside. Ginny’s breath made an immediate impression in the frigid air, and she wondered what Draco was up to. She guessed it was very early morning; the sun had not yet made its appearance on the horizon. The skies were lightening, however, so it was only a matter of time.
Draco’s boots crunched through the snow as he drew her to a secluded spot next to a tree that had long since lost its leaves. Disengaging her hand from his, Ginny wrapped the cloak more tightly around herself. “What’s going on?” she asked. “How’s your cheek?” She reached up to lightly caress the reddened skin.
Draco took hold of her hand again and didn’t let go. “It’s fine; Weasley barely grazed me.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Happy Christmas, Gin.”
Ginny smiled and warmth suffused her at the look in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice. “Happy Christmas, Draco. Is that what this is about?”
“I wanted to be the first to say it,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.
Ginny let her eyes drift closed and inhaled his familiar scent, which never failed to arouse great emotion in her (of course, it was only recently that any of these emotions could be labeled as the positive kind). It was strange how quickly she had become accustomed to being this close to him, being this intimate with him. She supposed the years of fighting had bred an awareness all its own, and in some ways, theirs had been an association more complicated and intimate than many romantic relationships -- even before Ginny realized that he wanted to snog her more than fight with her, and that she wanted the same. Right now what she wanted more than anything else was for him to lean just a little bit closer and touch his mouth to hers.
“There’s something else,” Draco blurted. “I have something for you.”
Ginny looked at him in astonishment and dismay. “But ... we said we wouldn’t exchange gifts this year ...” It had been mutually agreed that this -- whatever it was they had -- was too new for the added pressure of Christmas gift shopping. Not to mention Ginny had already spent the balance of her gift budget before this thing with Draco Malfoy had happened. Besides, what would she give to someone who had everything? Other than a whole new personality, which she’d claimed in the past was something he needed, before he’d grown on her.
“I know, it’s not really a gift,” he said. “It’s nothing, really. Just a sort of ...” He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize that he was on the verge of rambling. He took a deep breath. “Well, anyway, here.”
It took Ginny a moment to realize he was actually holding something out to her, as it was somewhat concealed by the dark color of his gloves, and by its relative size. She reached out with tentative fingers and took it from him, and when she recognized what it was her gaze flew to his.
“But ... you can’t give me this,” she stammered. “I mean, it’s too ... you know ...”
“I told you, I’m not really giving it to you,” he said swiftly. “I just thought ... you could ... wear it, maybe ...” She couldn’t tell if the pinkness around his ears and his cheeks was due to the cold or to his discomfort.
Ginny studied the ring, liking the weight of it between her fingers. She’d seen it plenty of times on Draco, of course, but had never imagined that she would see it up close (nor imagined she’d want to). The craftsmanship of the intricately detailed serpent design was breathtaking; the ring was clearly made by a master who had given great attention to every curve and line. In some ways, it represented everything she had once hated about Draco -- the privilege, the class, the sheer wealth that he possessed, which in turn often made him arrogant, selfish, and thoughtless -- but it also stood for other things, such as his heritage, his pride, his self worth. And he was offering it to her. Ginny was overwhelmed by what that meant, and she hesitated a second too long, for in the next second Draco had snatched it back.
“Never mind, it was a stupid idea,” he said, not looking at her. “Forget it.”
“I don’t want to forget it,” she said, taking the fist that was clenched around the ring and trying to get it to open with soothing, determined fingers. “I want to wear it, very much. You just surprised me. You can’t take it back now,” she teased.
Slowly, Draco’s grip loosened and he was once again holding it out to her. This time, she immediately removed one of her gloves and slipped the ring onto her finger. “It’s too big,” she laughed, moving it to her thumb, where it still slid about precariously.
“That’s all right,” Draco said in a low voice, looking at her with unfathomable eyes. “You can’t wear it there, anyway. I also got this for you.” He pulled a long silver chain from his cloak pocket, then took the ring from her and slipped it onto the delicate silver. “Turn around,” he said in a voice that was like a velvety dark chocolate.
Ginny did as she was asked, lifting her hair, and felt the momentary coldness of the chain as it was fastened around her neck, before it warmed to her skin. And though she could no longer tell it was there by temperature alone, she could feel the ring settling between her breasts, cradled against her heart. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Draco stroked her ungloved hand, which did not feel the winter chill. “One day you’ll wear it here,” he said, and he looked so serious that Ginny squeezed his hand, hoping it was assurance enough.
“One day,” she promised, standing on her toes to twine her arms around his neck and kiss him with all the emotion she couldn’t voice.
And while the world around them slept, Draco and Ginny watched the sun rise on Christmas morning.
= end =
End Notes:
Yes, I’ve now written what in XF would be called ‘ringfic.’ I just love that detail from the movie franchise. Anyway -- Sydney Lynne’s five improv elements (i.e., things I had to include):
1) Harry having a bad hair day
2) Fizzing Whizbees
3) Draco and Ginny sweaty after Quidditch
4) Hermione in Harry’s shirt
5) Priori Incantatem -- I cheated on this one and used Prior Incantato instead. See, Priori Incantatem requires that two wands having core material from the same single animal be involved in a duel, which will then display the last spells cast from one of the wands, in sequence. Well, this was slightly too complicated for a fun little Christmas story, so I took liberties. :D
Elements I didn’t have to include, but did anyway because it’s my story:
1) Mistletoe
2) Snape and Lupin sharing a room
3) Boy!Blaise
4) Snoggity snogs
5) Everything else
Jade and I didn’t see one another’s stories until they were done, and only then did we realize that for some bizarre reason, we had both ordered Draco into the kitchen. My Draco had no idea what he was doing while hers was quite capable, but still. I might be more perturbed if oddities like that didn’t happen all the time with us. Nothing wrong with Draco, barefoot and clueless in the kitchen, I say. COOK, DRACO, COOK!
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Sarea
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Date: 2003-12-26 08:23 am (UTC)