----

“Gin-NY! Gin-NY!”

Draco Malfoy let out a strangled yelp at the bellow and successive pounding at the front door, and then another as the heavy, extremely hot pan he was carrying slipped from his fingers. It bounced, Draco recalled with a strict sense of astonishment later, and a golden rain of grease and meat juices showered the caramel tiles. Worse, the steaming roast chicken within made a leap for safety across the tiny kitchen.

“Gah!”

There was more pounding at the door, and more Neanderthal grunting and bellowing, or so it seemed to Draco, for the young mistress of the apartment. The chicken – his chicken – bounced like a fat, greasy, oddly-shaped football into the space between the sink and the wall. Against his will, Draco let slip a low moan of despair.

That was it. Her brothers were dead.

----

Draco stormed into the lounge room, directing an irritable flick of his wand at that silly Muggle “tellyvision” Ginny’s father had given her. With a sulking popping noise the appliance turned itself off as he stomped to the front door.

“Gin-NY,” the bellows continued like a chant, grating loudly on Draco’s delicate Malfoy ears, “Gin-NY, Gin-NY, Gin-Ah!”

The three nearest Weasley brothers took an involuntary step back from the door as it was swung open ungraciously by a blond thundercloud that spoke with the voice of Draco Malfoy. “What,” the thundercloud dressed in grey silk and white linen snarled dangerously, “do you goons think you’re doing?”

“Cheer up old chap,” Fred and George said with a matching pair of grins.

“Just popped in –“

“To say hello –“

“To our beloved –“

“Baby –“

“Sister!”

Ignoring the frantic shaking of Draco’s head, the twins shouldered past him into the apartment, clapping their brother in-law enthusiastically on the back as they went.

“No, no, no,” he moaned, horrified. The previous angry flush to his cheeks paled and he looked distinctly ill.

“What’s wrong, Malfoy?” Ron failed to suppress a smile at Draco’s clear discomfort. More habit than spite, really, “You look peaky.”

“Peaky?” Draco snapped, his voice raising several octaves all at once, “Peaky?”

Bill and Charlie appeared rather impressed at this feat, but Ron ploughed onwards unflinching, “She hasn’t gone and come to her senses, has she? Hasn’t realised you really are a hopeless, arrogant git and nicked off?” His expression was rather hopeful.

Draco took a deep, calming breath, and then spoke in a more regular tone.

“Where’s Percy?”

“Oh,” Bill said. “Him,” Charlie echoed.

“He’ll be along later,” Ron finished, “Said he had to finish off some urgent report for Dumbledore, but he’d get here before six, if he could.”

“Six?!” Draco exploded.

----

It was okay. Everything would be fine. All he had to do was get rid of five Weasleys and give the chicken a bit of a wash, or something.

Oh Merlin. He was ruined.

---- “Ginny not home yet, Malfoy?” Ron asked, unstopping a crystal bottle of scotch he picked up from atop a crocheted doily on the Muggle television.

“Give me that,” Draco ordered harshly, grasping the expensive bottle and taking a deep swig directly from the mouth.

“Here, pour us a glass will you?” Fred (or was it George?) emerged from the kitchen with a short, squat tumbler he held out towards Draco. “There’s a chicken hiding beside the sink,” he told the young man helpfully.

Ron and Charlie gaped. Draco took another swig, ignoring the outstretched glass, “I know.” His voice was bitter.

“Been cooking, Draco?” Bill asked, quite kindly.

“Something like that,” Draco looked downright gloomy. He didn’t bother to elaborate. A third and final mouthful of gin burned its way down his throat, and he fought against gagging. Wordlessly, he thrust the half-empty bottle into Fred (George?)’s hands.

“Look,” he kept his voice even with great effort, “Do you think you could all sod off?”

George (Fred?) strolled back into the lounge from the direction of the bedroom, “Why? Got a big night planned have we?” With an evil, impish smile he twirled around, scattering myriad red and yellow rose-petals merrily about him.

“What?” Ron exploded, face flushing with embarrassment as George (Fred?)’s meaning sunk in and the rose-petals drifted lazily to the dull grey carpet.

For the second time in an hour, Draco lost it.

----

“Calm down, mate,” Charlie handed Draco a steaming mug rather warily, as if fearing the younger man would break down and throw it in his face if he made any sudden moves, “Have a cup of tea.”

“I don’t want tea,” Draco moaned, “I want you all to go away so I can fix things.”

“Impatient git,” Ron muttered darkly beneath his breath, replacing the kettle on the stove, “Pass us the sugar, Charlie.”

“I’ll even say ‘please’ if you all sod off right now,” Draco said wildly, startling Bill so badly that he almost upset his cuppa, “And ‘thank you’.”

“So generous of you,” Fred (George?) quipped, skipping out of the way of Charlie’s reprimanding cuff, “Look, now you’ve gone and made me spill my tea.”

“Please,” Draco fixed the youngest Weasley brother with an unblinking, pleading stare, and the latter shifted uncomfortably beneath the wretched gaze.

“Look,” Ron turned to his brothers begrudgingly,” Maybe we should leave.” Evidently, witnessing Draco begging was not quite as appealing a sight as Ron would have once thought.

“What?” George (Fred) snickered, reaching out a hand as if to pat Draco consolingly on the head, “And leave poor, unstable loverboy here all alone?”

“Fred, stop,” Bill said sharply, recognising the gleam of desperation in Draco’s eye and reckoning the twin was likely to get bitten if he didn’t stop, “We came here to see Ginny, not taunt Malfoy.”

Realising his rather rude lapse into old habit, Bill cast Draco an apologetic glance, “Sorry, mate.”

Ron and the twins snickered in the background, but Draco just shook his head hurriedly, appearing decidedly wild-eyed, “For the love of Merlin, please just leave.”

George looked cheerful. “No go, mate,” he said with a shake of his head, “We came here to see our little sister, and see our little sister we shall, right?”

Draco wondered, with a hint of desperation, if it would be possible to drown himself in his damn tea.

Luckily, Bill stopped him before he could find out.

----

With a sharp crack, and the faint, disjointed smell of apples and cinnamon, Ginevra Molly Malfoy apparated into the middle of her kitchen. Almost, but not quite, on top of her husband.

“Draco!” she started in surprise, one slender hand fluttering to her breast, “I thought we’d agreed that the kitchen was out of bounds when I was coming home from work.”

Draco, slumped at the kitchen table (albeit still elegantly), looked absolutely miserable.

“Your brothers were over,” he mumbled quietly, looking, to Ginny’s horror, on the verge of tears, “But Bill made them leave. You just missed them, actually.”

“Draco –“ she started, then paused, sniffing, “What is that smell?”

If he’d had a tail, Ginny thought, Draco would have tucked it between his legs.

“Chicken,” he said, so quietly that she thought she’d misheard, “Beside the sink.” As an afterthought he added, “Bloody chicken.”

True to his word, there was indeed a chicken between the sink and the wall. Ginny didn’t want to ask.

“Is everything okay, honey?”

“Oh Gin,” he moaned helplessly, turning his gaze upwards as though begging divine forgiveness, “Everything is bloody, sodding ruined.”

Sensing impending tantrum time, Ginny planted a quick kiss on his brow. Slightly mollified, but grumbling still, Draco lifted his arrogant chin higher and Ginny placed an obedient kiss on his upturned lips. She made to pull away, but her husband slipped an arm about her hips and drew her down a little awkwardly into his lap. With a surprised ‘oomph’, Ginny wriggled her bottom into a more comfortable position and snuggled closer to her husband happily. Despite the hand he slipped beneath her skirt, Draco still seemed preoccupied however.

“I worked so sodding hard!” he burst out finally, sliding his hand up her smooth thigh with a slow, quiet rasp, “I bought roses, and champagne, and chocolate, and a sexy new dress for you to seduce me in. And I cooked!”

Ginny let out a little gasp of surprise that was drawn almost as much from this last astonishing statement as his thumbnail scratching her clit through her knickers. Almost.

“You cooked?” her tone, she knew, was incredulous.

“Well,” Draco frowned a little, slipping his finger just beneath the elastic leg of her soft, cotton knickers, “Borrowed Potter’s house-elf at least.”

Ginny wiggled a little against his probing fingers, sliding her skirt hem higher up her thighs and spreading her legs to allow him a more comfortable angle for his wrist.

“Dobby?”

“Mmm,” Draco’s brow knit into a frown of intent concentration as he stroked Ginny’s most sensitive spot slowly and deliberately, his trademark smirk sliding cross his lips as his fingers slipped in her slick wetness.

“You borrowed Dobby from Harry?” Ginny persisted, quite a feat, she thought, under these particular circumstances. Admittedly, the last syllable of “Harry” slithered into a low moan of pleasure – but that was certainly understandable.

Sliding his index finger gently into her, feeling her stiffen against him and clutch at his arms frantically, Draco chuckled.

“Shush, little bit.”

The use of his pet-name for her elicited another moan, and a shudder as his finger probed deeper into her aching warmth.

“Please, Draco,” his flustered, flushed wife was not too proud to plead with him, “I want you to make me –”

An unexpected, insistent, and very unwelcome knocking at the front door forever drowned out what Ginny might have said next. The youngest Weasley bowed her head in defeat, largely incapable of stifling her moan of disappointment.

“Six o’clock,” she said in bewilderment, staring at the clock over the sink (and the forgotten chicken), “Who on earth would that be?”

“Oh,” Draco said, planting a resigned kiss on Ginny’s freckled nose and slipping his hand from her damp panties with a wry smile, “That’d be Percy, then. Happy sodding birthday, love.”

Fin.

Author notes: Yes, I stole "little bit" from Spike, and in turn, Buffy. And I'm not ashamed at all. So there *g*

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