It was a truth universally acknowledged that Draco Malfoy was an arrogant tosspot who deserved to be pecked to death by magically modified penguins. It was also true that said tosspot happened to be extremely handsome, and looked far too good in his Quidditch gear for someone so prejudiced and unlikeable. Not that Ginny noticed. She didn't care for the way the dark green of his robes contrasted with his silvery-blond hair and pale skin. She certainly didn't care to appreciate how his outfit failed to disguise the lean but undeniably masculine form concealed underneath. And those dragon-hide armguards and boots did nothing for her at all. Absolutely nothing.

"He's nothing but a runty, rat-faced cretin," she muttered, scowling at the boy in question.

The blond chose that moment to laugh at something his team mate said, making Ginny's lips twist as if she had just bit into a lemon. Because he did not look charming when he smiled like that, all casual and leaning against his broom as if he were some (rat-faced) model for the Hot-Bods of Quidditch Calendar. Nope. She was not to be swayed. She was a rock of immovability and would not succumb to the powers of Draco Malfoy in his Quidditch gear.

Grey eyes locked with hers, and she was annoyed to feel her cheeks flush with warmth. Brilliant. Now he had caught her staring, and now that thin mouth of his was curling into a smirk, and now—

Damn it! He's walking right towards me!

That was just like the conceited prat. Just because she happened to be looking in his direction did not mean that she was extending an invitation for him to come talk to her.

And he could at least stop strutting like that, she thought sourly, taking in the way his jade robe rippled around him. This isn't a catwalk.

The blond stopped in front of her, leaning on his broom as he met her narrowed eyes. "Enjoy the show, Weasley?"

She folded her arms under her breasts, raising her chin. "Please. I'm not one of your fangirls, Malfoy. You can strut around all you like, but I won't be falling at your feet."

A smile glinted in his eyes. "I was talking about the game."

Heat rushed through her cheeks. "That's what I meant!"

Draco merely raised his eyebrow. It was obvious that he did not believe her. It was also obvious that he found her amusing. Damn him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded, scowling as she tapped her foot against the ground. "I have better things to do than stand around chatting to you."

"Do I have to want something?" he asked, mouth twitching. "Maybe I just felt like talking to you."

She let out a derisive snort. "Like I'm really going to believe that. You're a Slytherin; you've got sneaky, scheming bastard written all over you."

He laughed. "See, that's what I like about you, Weasley. You're never afraid to speak your mind."

She shot him a suspicious look. "Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"

"I actually believe I'm trying to give you a compliment."

Ginny opened and closed her mouth wordlessly. Nowhere in her Why All Malfoys Are Bastards handbook did it suggest that Draco Malfoy might one day try to give her a compliment. Clearly, he was up to something. Malfoys did not give Weasleys compliments.

She stared at him for a moment, still keeping her arms firmly crossed. The blond stared back at her innocently—or at least as innocently as his smirky face could reflect. That was when she started laughing, nodding her head as if sharing in on a secret joke.

"Oh, I get it," she said, still sounding amused, "this is all some grand scheme to make me like you, and then you'll turn around and humiliate me in front of all your friends, right?"

Draco blinked. "Uh, no."

"No, no, don't try to deny it." Her expression hardened, and she poked him in the chest. "I know your tricks, Malfoy, and I'll tell you now that you're wasting your time."

His brow furrowed. "Listen—"

"No, you listen!" she interrupted, poking him in the chest again. "I don't care how good you look in your Quidditch gear; this is one Weasley you won't ensnare!"

A faint smile curved his lips. Ginny blushed and clamped her hands over her mouth, realising what she had just said. Damn it. She really needed to stop blurting things out like that.

"I—I mean," she stammered, lowering her hands and still flushing a brilliant red.

"Oh, I think I got what you meant," he drawled. "Very enlightening it was, too."

She gritted her teeth. "Well, so what? You might be pretty to look at, but your personality is still ugly as hell. Trust me, Malfoy; it's nothing to be proud of."

He placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me."

She let out another derisive snort. "Please, you don't have a heart to wound."

"Now that's not true, and if you'd just lower those bristling hackles of yours for a moment, you'd see that I'm actually not playing any games. I just want to talk."

She folded her arms again and looked the other way. "Whatever."

A hint of irritation glinted in his eyes. "You're really not making this easy for me."

"Good."

This time he did make a frustrated sound. "Damn it, Weasley, here I am trying to ask you to go to Hogsmeade with me, and you're acting like a bloody hippogriff on a rampage!"

Once again, Ginny found herself bereft of words. "You what?"

"Like you and want to go on a date with you, yes. Is that really so hard to believe?"

"I, er, well—" she blushed and bit her lip.

Surely there was a catch somewhere. Surely this was all some elaborate plan to humiliate her. Draco Malfoy was an arrogant tosspot—albeit a gorgeous one—and she had sworn that she would never, ever let herself be caught by his wily, Slytherin ways. But right now he did not look smirky and smug. Right now he just looked a little exasperated because, so far, she hadn't believed a thing he'd said, and that in itself made her wonder if he was being sincere. Maybe he did like her. Maybe this wasn't a trick. Her stomach fluttered in a whole circus act of swoops and soars at the thought.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Yes."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Yes what?"

"Yes, I'll go to Hogsmeade with you."

He opened his mouth to respond, but just then one of his team mates called out to him, shouting for him to get back over there and stop flirting before they kicked him off the team. Draco muttered something unflattering about the Chaser under his breath and then turned back to Ginny.

"I've got to get back for the team meeting, but we'll talk later, yeah? Maybe before dinner?"

"Um, sure."

He smiled—really smiled—and then he was heading back to his team mates, jade robe rippling around him. Ginny allowed herself a moment to indulge in the image—until she realised what she was doing, as well as everything else that had just happened.

"What was I thinking?" she groaned, smacking her palm against her forehead. "I can't believe I just agreed to go on a date with Draco Malfoy."

She scowled at the boy in question. It was the Quidditch gear. None of this would have happened if he was just wearing his ordinary school robes. But no, he had to go and be all charming to her when he was looking the epitome of sex on legs, and now she had gone and betrayed herself and everything she stood for as a Gryffindor and Weasley. Her ancestors were probably all rolling in their graves right now.

His gaze flickered her way just before he headed into the Slytherin changing rooms, and for a moment their eyes met. She couldn't stop the tiny smile that tugged at her lips. Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad going on a date with him. He might be an arrogant tosspot who deserved to be pecked to death by magically modified penguins, but he was an awfully handsome one. Perhaps she was right to give him a chance.

Ginny's smile widened a fraction. Yes, she thought she could get used to having Draco Malfoy around. Especially when he was wearing his Quidditch gear.