Summary: Can the love of snarkiness bring two people together?1. Chapter 1 by Ada Achlys
Well, that was humiliating, Ginny Weasley thought to herself as she stooped to gather her books. The crowd who had gathered to watch her heated exchange with Draco Malfoy dispersed rapidly now that the fight was over. Not that it had been much of a fight. She had been trounced, completely quelled by . . . THE EYEBROW. That perfectly arched, perfectly raised brow so effing perfectly expressed both incredulity at her stupid comeback, and a sense of politely forbearing to respond.
An “I don’t hit kids wearing glasses” look.
Except that everyone knew Malfoy did hit kids in glasses, quite gladly it seemed, given the number of punches he’d willingly exchanged with Harry Potter over the years. This made his mild treatment of her doubly insulting, and doubly annoying as far as Ginny was concerned. Stupid, sodding wank! She didn’t need his charity!
With a low growl of frustration, Ginny shoved the last of her books into her satchel and stood, only to realize that Malfoy was still there, regarding her coolly as he leaned against the wall in the now empty hall.
“What?” she exclaimed, reddening in anger and embarrassment. Malfoy smirked.
“Weasley, allow me to offer you my services,” he said, presenting her with a business card. For a moment Ginny hesitated and then snatched the gilt-edged rectangle from him. She glanced at it.
“You sick bastard!” she exclaimed.
Malfoy gave her a puzzled glance and then snatched the card back.
“Wrong one,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Here.”
Ginny read the information on the new card.
“Are you offering to insult me?” Ginny asked in genuine confusion. “Because you do that all the time. In fact, you just did not two minutes ago. Why the fancy lead up now?” “I’m not offering to insult you, you daft witch! I’m offering to help you learn to insult others!”
Ginny frowned up at the blond Slytherin. “I don’t need help learning to insult! I’ve got loads of zingers, I’ll have you know. I could call you names that would make you wet yourself.”
Malfoy laughed. “Weasley, please. You’re funny, I’ll give you that. But take a step back in time with me, won’t you? Five minutes ago, you, me, this hallway. A conversation that began with me throwing a standard ‘Weasleys are very poor’ line your way, to which you responded by calling me a ‘meany.’”
Ginny blushed. “You caught me off guard, that’s all. I had just dropped all my books. And besides, why would you want to help me improve my insults when the person I’d be using them on is you?”
“But that’s just it, you see, Weasley! My talents are utterly wasted when you can’t respond properly!” Malfoy exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
“Well, that’s hardly my problem, Malfoy. Why don’t you go back to picking on Harry, Ron and Hermione – you always seemed to enjoy that,” Ginny offered helpfully.
Malfoy sighed. “I wish I could,” he said. “But they’re always so –” he shrugged, at a loss for words.
“Too busy fighting evil to bother with you?”
Malfoy nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping forward.
“There, there,” Ginny said, patting Malfoy awkwardly. “I know. They’ve no time for me either.” She eyed him thoughtfully. Malfoy, sensing her moment of indecision, gave her his best try at puppy dog eyes.
“Stop it, you’re creeping me out,” Ginny said.
“Stop what?”
“Whatever weird face thing you’re doing. Knock it off.”
“If I stop, will you let me give you lessons?”
“Fine. Anything. I can’t even look at you right now.” Ginny turned and began walking away.
“Weasley! Tomorrow night, seven, Room of Requirement!” Ginny waved her arm in acknowledgement and kept walking. Malfoy smirked. Puppy dog eyes worked every time.
Ginny had to laugh when she entered the Room of Requirement the next evening. The large space was completely empty but for a chalkboard, a teacher’s desk complete with a shiny red apple atop it, and one single student desk in the middle of the floor.
“Taking this whole ‘instructing’ thing a bit far, aren’t you?” she asked. Malfoy, who had been writing on the chalkboard, turned to glare at her.
“Sit down, and prepare yourself for the educational experience of your life,” he said primly.
“Yes, McGona – I mean Malfoy,” Ginny returned, sliding into the desk with a smirk plastered across her face.
“Well, that was all right,” Malfoy responded. “Lame, yes. But it shows you know how to think quickly.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at Malfoy’s back as he continued to scribble on the chalkboard. At least the view wasn’t bad, she thought. Draco Malfoy had an arse she could just about take a bite out of. Too bad he couldn’t teach History of Magic – she’d probably manage to stay awake through entire Goblin Rebellions if she had him to stare at instead of Binns.
Malfoy turned around and cleared his throat, breaking Ginny out of her reverie.
“We’ll start with the basic categories of insult,” he said, and as he spoke he gestured with his wand to the elegant scrawl on the chalkboard. “There are three main types: insults against an individual, insults against an individual’s loved ones, and insults against a group. Each of these types of insult has specific methods for doing the actual insulting . . . .”
Ginny met with Malfoy twice weekly, and slowly, she absorbed the fine art of insulting others. It was rather fun. Sometimes they would pore over old magazines and mock the pictures. Other times Malfoy would role-play different students and have Ginny insult whomever he was pretending to be. He did a mean (in every sense of the word) impersonation of Milicent Bulstrode. Malfoy began bringing his mother’s often-owled baked goods to their lessons and gave Ginny extras when she was particularly insulting.
“Your mother is amazing in the kitchen,” Ginny moaned one afternoon, patting her full belly after eating a third double-fudge brownie.
Malfoy raised his brow, for once, not to Ginny’s frustration. “You mean my mother’s house elves are amazing in the kitchen. I don’t think my mother even knows where the kitchen is.”
Ginny laughed. She was surprised by how easy Malfoy was to talk to. He was a good teacher, too – patient, funny, almost nice at times.
Of course, that was only in the classroom. Out in the halls it was war. Malfoy would usually begin things, tossing some nasty remark at the Trio as they walked to class, Ginny in tow as their accepted (and expected) tag-along. Ron would always respond first, red-faced and bordering on incoherence, and oftentimes Harry joined in too, using a tone Ginny had begun to think of as his “holier-than-thou” voice. However, what seemed like the perfect beginning to a rousing battle of wits was always cut short by a few whispered words from Hermione. The Trio had research to conduct, school rules to break, overly complicated Death Eater plots to foil; in short, they had no time for petty school bullies like Draco Malfoy.
That left Ginny to pick up their slack. The first few days, Ginny had been hesitant, nervous not only about not being able to hold her own against the Slytherin, but also afraid that her brother, Harry and Hermione would think her presumptuous for speaking out on their behalf. She quickly realized she didn’t have to worry on either count. Malfoy had taken it easy on her at first, to encourage her to develop her fledgling skills, he told her when she’d asked about it later, during their lesson. And the Trio . . . well, of course, they didn’t even notice.
Not, at least, until she became very good at what she was doing.
Ron had just responded to one of Malfoy’s taunts in his usual blustery fashion, and Malfoy, most likely because he couldn’t make heads or tails out of Ron’s splutterings, had given him The Eyebrow. This enraged Ron even more; in fact, he looked apoplectic. Ginny, however, knew how to handle it.
“Ooooh, Malfoy! Your brows are to die for! You must tell me who waxes them for you, dahhhling!” she exclaimed in a near perfect imitation of a society housewife.
Draco smirked. “For starters, Weasley, everything you see is completely natural. Malfoys are just that perfect. And secondly, I could give you the name of a waxist, but honestly, I doubt it would help. It’d be like putting a pink bow on a troll – totally inadequate to the job.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, fighting off the urge to just up and whack him. His response had been flawless: a smooth defense followed with a rebutting attack on her appearance. It was a bit general – he hadn’t touched on any specific characteristics like her hair or freckles – but still acceptable. Damn him though; she wasn’t about to let him win.
“Malfoy, Malfoy, I’m jealous of you. You’re such a pretty witch,” she taunted, knowing that his meticulousness regarding his appearance left him vulnerable to attacks about his masculinity.
Sure enough, faint spots of color bloomed on his cheeks.
“Weasley, you wouldn’t know pretty if it bit you on the arse. It’s not like you’ve ever seen it in your mirror. And the company you keep is certainly no help,” he said, nodding toward Hermione. “Crabbe, Goyle, let’s go.”
Hermione huffed indignantly as she caught his meaning, but by then it was too late; he had already disappeared around the corner with his goons.
Ron turned to his sister and gave her an appraising look.
“Wow, Gin. You told him,” he said, surprise coloring his tone.
Ginny shrugged modestly. She hadn’t won against Malfoy by any stretch of the imagination, but she had landed a blow. It was a good start.
Malfoy said as much during their lesson later that evening. “It wasn’t bad, but you erred in saying you were jealous. Never admit to wanting something, even facetiously. It gives your opponent an opening.” He grinned down at her. “Although I suppose wanting something is your default position.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ginny snapped, turning red.
Malfoy looked momentarily confused. “You know. Weasley . . . poor. General shabbiness.” He spoke slowly and waved one hand at her school robes.
“Oh. Right.” Malfoy thought she was an idiot, and for a moment Ginny felt like one. She thought he had guessed that she’d been entertaining a stupid schoolgirl crush on him for the last few weeks and was calling her out on it. She did want him, and was mortified by it. Looking at him now, leaning against the teacher’s desk with the sleeves of his Oxford rolled up and his tie loose around his collar, Ginny wanted nothing more than to knock him back against the desk, straddle his waist, and rip the buttons off his shirt one by one. She was shocked at how graphic her mind could be. And how warm the room suddenly was.
“I suppose being a Malfoy means you’ve never wanted for anything?” she asked, more to get her mind off her lascivious thoughts than with any real purpose.
Malfoy hesitated a moment before replying, his gray eyes meeting hers coolly.
“Of course not. My parents have always provided me with the best,” he said, slipping into the haughty tone he used during their skirmishes in the halls.
Something about his reply rankled. “And if you wanted something your parents didn’t consider the best?” Ginny asked. There was no longer any mockery in her voice.
“Such as?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A Muggle girlfriend.”
Malfoy shuddered theatrically. “I would never want a Muggle girlfriend. Really, you’ve insulted me just by suggesting it. My parents are quite satisfied with the girlfriend I have, and I’ll assure you, her pedigree is the best.”
Ginny forced herself to laugh even though the thought of Malfoy having a girlfriend filled her with anything but mirth. “I suppose it’s fitting that you talk about Pansy Parkinson as if she were a dog, since she looks so much like one.”
Unlike Ginny, Malfoy’s laughter was genuine. “Well done, Weasley! A nicely turned phrase on that one. And you’re right. It’s her nose, but I think she’s planning on changing it after graduation.”
“How can you talk about your girlfriend like that?” Ginny asked, astounded. Malfoy rolled his eyes at her. “Spare me your middle-class sentimentality. Slytherins don’t date people they like, they date people they can benefit from.”
“Please don’t take this as an insult, Draco” – Ginny felt the strange sensation of using his name for the first time – “but that’s really awful.”
“You can spare me your pity, too,” Malfoy snapped.
Ginny stood up from her desk and gathered her things. “You’re right,” she said as she headed for the door, “it’s wasted on you.”
Malfoy watched her leave in silence.
Two days later, as Ginny was trudging up the stairs after Quidditch practice, she ran into Malfoy. Of course Ginny looked awful. Still in her gear, she was sweaty and muddy, and her skin was blotchy from overexertion. If he hadn’t already seen her she would have turned around and gone another way. Of course Malfoy looked, quite simply, beautiful. His charcoal gray sweater emphasized his broad shoulders and the hard planes of his chest. One of his arms was casually draped across the shoulders of the equally well put together Pansy Parkinson, who wrinkled her nose in disgust as Ginny went to pass them.
“Weasley, you look like a walking skin disease,” Malfoy drawled with his customary smirk. “You should have a biohazard warning affixed to you.”
Ginny met his eyes for a moment and then simply kept walking. She could hear Pansy’s high-pitched giggles, but she didn’t look back.
After a long shower, Ginny propped herself against her pillows and reviewed the exchange with Malfoy. What he said hadn’t been that bad, but she felt inexplicably hurt by him. Finally she decided it was because their relationship had become entirely too confusing. She couldn’t be almost friends with him during lessons and then go back to hating him the rest of the time. It wasn’t just because she found him so attractive, either. Ginny realized that she really liked Malfoy. She wanted to be friends with him all the time.
No, she thought, forcing herself to be completely honest, I want to be more than friends with him, and that makes me the biggest idiot at Hogwarts.
“Why couldn’t I fall for a nice, sweet Hufflepuff?” she asked herself with a sigh.
She had a lesson scheduled for the next night. It was the last one before the holidays; in the morning, Ginny would board the Hogwarts Express and head home to the Burrow for Christmas. Malfoy had his feet propped up on the desk and was flipping through a Quidditch magazine when she came in.
“My mother sent peppermint pasties, but I’m not sure if I should share them given your poor performance yesterday,” he said by way of greeting.
The ghost of a smile flitted across Ginny’s face.
“What happened, anyway?” Malfoy asked, dropping his feet to the floor and regarding her more intently.
“Nothing. I just” – Ginny bit her lip hesitantly – “I just don’t want to do this anymore.”
Silence stretched out between them for a moment.
“What? Did I actually hurt your feelings?” Malfoy sounded incredulous.
“Yes,” Ginny replied simply. “You did.”
“Have a happy Christmas, Draco,” she said as she opened the door and exited.
For precisely twenty-eight hours Ginny wallowed in the misery of having fallen for Draco Malfoy. Her glum mood went undisturbed during the train ride, even when her brother and Hermione began snogging and Harry began eyeing her speculatively. Too little, too late, she thought grumpily.
Her mood was, if anything, enhanced by the car ride from the station to the Burrow. Squeezed in the back with Ron, Hermione, Harry, and George (the twins had decided to ride to the station to pick them up), Ginny could only feel the contrast between her poor spirits and the exuberant joy around her.
At dinner she channeled the spirit of a Severus Snape on the first day of school when its announced for the umpteenth time that he’s once again been passed up as DADA professor, glowering at all the world and picking at her food.
It was only after she stomped up to her room and overheard her father asking if anyone knew what was wrong with her that she realized how silly she was being. Sure, she had fallen for Malfoy, and sure, it was unfair because he’d never love her back and only dated people “who benefited him.” But she was also surrounded by her friends and family, with no homework looming over her head, about to celebrate her favorite holiday of the year. Pouting over Malfoy could wait until after the break, she decided, and picked up a trashy novel to read.
She was only a few chapters in when a sharp tapping at her window interrupted her. Outside was a vaguely familiar eagle owl who glared at her and refused a treat as she unwound the parchment tied to his leg.
“Weasley,” the letter said,Ginny looked up from the letter with a large, silly grin on her face and a warm feeling in her stomach. The eagle owl was still sitting on the window ledge, glaring at her.“I can’t believe you let anything I had to say about your freckles bother you. After all, what do I know about nice skin? I’m so pale, I make Death look like he spends a lot of time in the Bahamas. I’m completely vampire-proof because I already look like I’ve been drained. When I was born, the mediwitch suggested my mother had been unfaithful with the Abominable Snowman. Wait, he’s supposed to be all white, right? If not, insert ‘Polar Bear’ for Abominable Snowman. You get my drift.
I don’t think your freckles look like a skin disease. I like them. They are just the right amount of freckliness. If you tell anyone I said that, I will of course hex you.
Holiday cheers,
D. M.”
“Oh, does he want a reply? Hold on a minute.” She grabbed a quill and a blank piece of parchment and chewed her lip for a moment in contemplation. Finally, she began to write.
“Draco,Blushing at her last sentence, Ginny quickly rolled the parchment and attached it to the eagle owl’s leg. She was glad it took off right away so that she didn’t have time to rethink what she wrote.I’ve always heard that evil eventually turns on itself, but I never thought to see it in action. Or is it that you’ve finally run out of people to trade insults with and have resorted to going it alone? Your insults made me laugh and once again demonstrate how very good you are at them, but that compliment at the end (was that a compliment?) was frankly rubbish. Perhaps instead of offering lessons in insulting, you need to take some in complimenting. Let me help you out:
I don’t think your skin is too peaky at all. I think it is amazing that it can simultaneously look as flawless as marble and soft enough to touch.
Happy Christmas,
Ginny”
The next morning, as Ginny sat in the living room wrapping presents with Ron and Hermione, Malfoy’s owl returned. This time, it flew off after she removed the letter it carried.
“Oy, that was Malfoy’s owl,” Ron exclaimed. “What’s that git writing to you for, Ginny? Can’t take a break from insulting you for the hols?”
“Something like that,” Ginny said with a laugh as she ran up to her room. As she unrolled the parchment one of Malfoy’s business cards fell out. It was his “Slytherin Sex God” card. Ginny dreaded what the letter might say.
“Weasley,Ginny rolled her eyes and immediately picked up quill and parchment.You’re right. I’ve always been my own best company and I’ve finally realized that only I can insult myself with the wit I deserve to be insulted with.
You want to touch me, eh? Please see the enclosed card.
D. M.”
“Draco,She found Pig down in the kitchen and sent him on his excited way.That was slightly better as compliments go, but you do realize, don’t you, that you were supposed to compliment me and not yourself?
Regarding the business card, I hardly think your girlfriend would approve.
Ginny”
On Boxing Day, as Ginny sprawled in front of the fire with the twins, the three of them having just gorged themselves on leftovers while everyone else was out playing Quidditch, Malfoy’s owl once again appeared at the window. This time it had a small parcel clutched in its talons. It condescended to take a bit of turkey from Ginny’s palm before it took flight.
“What’s that?” asked Fred. “Got an admirer?”
“I don’t know,” Ginny replied truthfully.
The parcel contained a folded note and a brilliant green cashmere scarf. It was a Slytherin color, but it set off her hair beautifully and Ginny loved it at once. Wrapping it around her neck, she opened the note.
“Weasley,Ginny snorted at the ridiculousness of Malfoy’s compliment, but found herself angry at his ending remark.A late Christmas gift. I think it will suit you. And another gift – here’s the compliment you asked for:
I feel like a moth to your hair’s flame, only I’m afraid that touching it will burn more than my skin.
Please reconsider my earlier offer. Pansy and I have a very open relationship.
Draco”
“You are such an ass, Malfoy,” she said to the letter. “Like I’d really consent to be your tart on the side.” She hastily unwrapped the scarf and threw it on her bed.
Two days later, she felt cool enough to write back.
“Malfoy,” her response read,The second day of January, while Ginny packed to go back to Hogwarts, Malfoy wrote again.“The scarf is very nice. Thank you. Was your compliment supposed to make me laugh? Because it was so over the top that I couldn’t take it seriously at all. Please try something a little more genuine, like this:
The reason you hurt my feelings with your last insult was because I realized that I actually cared what you thought about me. I like spending time with you, and would like to be friends with you.
Congratulations, by the way, for being in an open relationship with Parkinson. That’s every boy’s dream isn’t it, so you must be thrilled. Contrary to what you probably believe about Weasleys, I, unlike your girlfriend, don’t share. And I don’t do business arrangements either.
Have a happy New Year,
Ginny”
“You poor dear,” Ginny said to his owl. “You must be tired of all this flying back and forth.” The eagle owl ruffled his feathers in agreement and was gone, disappearing into the falling snow.
Ginny sank down onto the bed beside her school trunk and untied Malfoy’s letter.
“Ginny,Ginny felt her face flame and her stomach drop as she read his letter a second time, then a third. Was he implying that he liked her? That he had liked her for years? It was impossible.Here’s genuine:
Every single one of my insults to you over the years – and that’s a lot, I know – was my version of pulling your pigtails. Please take that for what it’s worth.
I only printed up one copy of the “King of Insults” business card, and I carried it around for three months before I gave it to you.
Perhaps I was too dismissive of middle class sentimentality. I don’t want to be friends with you.
Draco”
Ginny didn’t see Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express, but she did notice Pansy Parkinson holding hands with Blaise Zabini. Part of the “open relationship” or had things ended between her and Malfoy? Ginny didn’t dare hope, but it was hard not to.
When she finally did see him, leaning up against a wall just inside the Entrance Hall, she felt like her heart was going to thunder right out of her chest. He was scanning the crowd, and when his eyes met hers, he smiled.
“Nice scarf,” he said, coming to stand in front of her.
“Thanks,” she replied, feeling suddenly shy.
“Take a walk with me before it gets dark?” he asked.
The two made their way down the front steps and wandered slowly toward the lake. Only a narrow path had been shoveled out of the snow, and Ginny shivered every time she brushed up against Malfoy’s arm.
“I saw Pansy with Zabini on the train,” she said finally, to break the silence.
“Yes, they look like a nice couple together, don’t they?” Malfoy replied.
“If by nice you mean stuck up and smarmy, then yes, very nice.”
Malfoy smiled. “Pansy and I broke up before New Year’s, if that’s what you were fishing for.”
“She didn’t waste any time, did she?” Ginny replied.
“I don’t plan to waste any time, either,” Malfoy said, coming to a stop and facing Ginny. They were almost to the lake. Ginny had mocked him for his compliment to her hair, but he looked genuinely hesitant as he reached out for a stray curl and wrapped it around his finger.
“What about my pedigree? Your parents will hardly approve.” Ginny was surprised at how steady her voice was considering the tremble that was running through her entire body.
“I guess it turns out that what I want most of all, my parents can’t give me,” Malfoy replied, his gray eyes holding her brown ones. “But you knew that when you asked the question, didn’t you?”
“This won’t be very beneficial for you,” said Ginny.
“Oh, I can think of some benefits,” the Slytherin replied with a smirk, trailing his eyes down her body and back up.
“Prat,” Ginny laughed.
Malfoy reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar rectangle.
“Not another business card, Malfoy!”
“This is the last one, I swear,” he replied, pressing it into Ginny’s hand.
She took a minute to absorb what it said.
When Ginny looked up, Malfoy was regarding her intently.
“Well, I guess I’m seriously enquiring then,” she said in a low voice.
“Thank gods,” Malfoy replied before catching her lips in a kiss that was at first just two smiles pressed together. It deepened into something much more serious, and Ginny found herself so heated she would not have been surprised to open her eyes and find summer had replaced the cold winter.
But it was still winter, and new snow was falling, and the sun was setting below the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Dark had settled long before the two students by the lake turned back toward the brightly lit castle. They walked hand in hand, close together, and as they climbed the castle steps, their two shadows became one.