THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 11
I awoke with a bang. You know how usually when you wake up it’s a gradual, delicate process? I’m sure everyone has their own unique system, but in my case it usually includes admitting to yourself that your dream about some damned blond-haired boy wasn’t actually real, squinting as you grow accustomed to the presence of the cursed light that awoke you in the first place, and finally regaining feeling in your limbs as your senses kick in. Ten minutes later I’m usually what most people would consider ‘awake’. I’m sure you get some sort of image, right?
Now let me just say, I’ve woken up that way—with the exception of the ruddy dream, and as to whether or not that is good or bad I am still uncertain—for approximately ninety-nine percent of my life. Needless to say, I have grown rather accustomed to waking up in that sort of fashion.
Take a moment to imagine my alarm then, when my eyes were suddenly open, my breathing was completely erratic, thinking caused nearly physical pain, and my body was suddenly tingling all over. It was like I had been thrown into a pool and it had awoken me from a coma. I’ll say it again: I awoke with a bang.
I pushed aside the uneasy feeling in my mind and tried to grasp on to anything in order to gain my bearings about me. I vaguely recalled an unfamiliar voice opening a door, but the majority of my memory served as means of preserving the sound, feel and smell of someone else. I remembered hands beneath my knees, wool against my cheek and the tickle of raspy breath whispering in my ear. I closed my eyes again, fully under the impression that I had yet to overcome the ‘dream portion’ of my wake-up system.
It was then that it happened. Something soft gently brushed against my hand. Until that moment I hadn’t really looked at my surroundings. My eyes had been open before, yes, but I had been otherwise occupied with trying to remember exactly what had happened, and therefore hadn’t actually seen anything. I reopened my eyes, allowing them to immediately flicker to the source of the touch. There they were met by a sight so surreal I almost considered the possibility that I had imagined the feeling, for this was truly something I could only dream about.
Draco Malfoy was sound asleep. And he was lying next to me.
All at once I was grateful for my semi-groggy state of mind. I was nearly afraid to breathe for fear of waking him; Merlin knows what a shame it would be to shatter something so exquisitely beautiful.
Draco was lying on his stomach, his head turned to one side. His eyes were gently closed and his lips were parted slightly as he took slow, rhythmic breaths. Both of his arms were spread wide, and I noticed it was his slender fingers barely resting in my palm that had caused the sensation earlier. His cap lay forgotten on the bed several feet from his head, and I followed the line of his still-cloaked spine down to where his legs dangled off the mattress irregularly. The boy looked positively exhausted, as if he had simply collapsed, unable to make it completely onto the bed.
As soon as the thought entered my head I felt like slapping myself. He was exhausted, Ginny, you half-wit! He carried your sorry arse around, didn’t he?
From the looks of it, that was no easy task, either. Glancing down again, I realized quite suddenly that my own feet were hanging off the bed and that my arms were spread out, though I was on my back. I began to feel a bit guilty. From the looks of things, collapsing was exactly what Draco had done.
I lay there for awhile after the thought came to me, relishing the feel of his fingertips skimming my palm and the ruffled state of his platinum hair. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but the notion that Draco had almost—almost, demonstrated an interest in my well-being was somewhat endearing. Of course, I’m sure the way his eyelashes were floating across his skin had something to do with my sudden increase in...fondness for the bloke, because heaven forbid he look less than impeccable doing anything. I was tempted to run a finger across that skin, and I nearly did. I would have, too, if I hadn’t recognized that as I was now fully conscious, lusty thoughts and all, touching Draco probably wouldn’t be the best idea. Especially when he looked like—well, how he did.
Smiling slightly, I carefully slid my hand out from under his fingertips, taking immense care not to wake him. Utilizing all the abdomen muscle I had, I pulled my torso up with moderate difficulty. Making a mental note to tell Harry to intensify that aspect of our training, I moved to stand. Needless to say, my stomach muscles weren’t the only ones that were a bit achy. I stretched my arms to the ceiling, but it wasn’t until I attempted to walk around the small room that I realized one of my legs—I’ll give you one guess as to which one—was completely and utterly numb. I stumbled slightly, wincing as my hip connected with the corner of a desk, partly because of the pain and partly because of the rather loud noise it made. A Weasley wasn’t generally known for their grace, and I was no exception.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Draco was still asleep. I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the thought that he, the One-who-was-always-in-control, was completely oblivious to what was going on around him. Smirking slightly, I turned, taking particular joy in yanking off my boots and—finally!—my bunched up socks. As I wondered where to put the items, I took the opportunity to examine the small room more closely.
A single bed draped in several thick blankets lay in the corner, and a desk—the one I had not so gracefully slammed into—sat on the wall several feet from the foot of the bed. A large, frayed rug covered the cold wooden floor, and a spindly coat rack was standing in the corner opposite the bed, not far from the small staircase leading to the door at the top of it. Finally, a rather worn armchair lay carelessly against the wall opposite the desk. From what I could tell, the room was below ground level, as there were no windows and the door at the top of the stairs indicated that we were surely below the rest of the pub.
I walked a bit unsteadily over to the coat rack and placed my boots against the stairs, hanging my damp cloak up on one of the hooks along with my equally wet socks, hat, scarf and mittens. Although the rest of my clothing was a bit damp as well, I really had no other option than to keep it on, and thus decided to make do.
This caused me to turn to Draco almost piteously. The chap was still fully clothed in his coat and boots, and from the awkward angle of his back hanging off the bed, he didn’t look too comfortable. Debating whether or not I dared using my efforts to help him, I couldn’t help but feel obligated as I looked back on what he had done for me today. Yes, he had given me numerous near heart attacks. Yes, he had set my skin on fire. Yes, he had thrown me into a snow bank. But he had also done more than his share of the shoveling, not to mention hauled me across the entire bleeding village.
I felt obligated. And grateful, too, I suppose. Either way, my mind was made up, and I marched purposefully over to the bedside; I had an unsettling feeling that the longer I debated on the matter, the more likely I was to lose my nerve. I didn’t really blame myself for that one. Undressing Draco Malfoy was a right bit intimidating, for reasons that need not be mentioned. I clasped my hands methodically as I took a moment to examine the er…situation. It really wasn’t my fault that my eyes thought it entirely necessary to glue themselves momentarily to his arse. Not that it was bad looking, mind you, but—well that’s really not the point. After my apparent hunger for eye-candy was sated, I decided that the best approach would probably be to simply lift his feet onto the bed, sort of turning him in the process.
I grabbed one booted foot in each hand and gave a hefty pull, but after my back nearly had a spasm under the strain, I realized I had probably best remove the boots and then move the idiot. As I undid the silver snaps on each, I couldn’t help but grin as I wondered if Draco had someone who did this for him when he was at home. Surely the prat was spoiled enough. I pulled off the boots, which was no easy task as I soon learned that the ruddy things were quite heavy, and placed them alongside my own behind the coat rack. This time when I lifted his legs I encountered no pressing problem other than the fact that the feel of his ankles beneath his stockings was something to be noted, and I didn’t fail to notice the definition of his calf muscles either. After situating him satisfactorily, I gathered his scattered hat and carefully removed a Slytherin green scarf from his neck, placing them on the coat rack to dry. I wasn’t nearly gutsy enough—or stupid, depending on how you looked at it—to attempt to remove his coat.
He still looked quite asleep after the whole ordeal, and after a final glance around the room, I decided to wander upstairs in search of a bathroom. My hair felt limp and matted, and I shuddered to think of what state my clothing must be in. Freshening-up definitely sounded like a good idea.
I ascended the small, wooden staircase and pushed open the door to find myself in a short, warmly lit hallway. Candlesticks adorned the walls, and I walked past several doors and around a corner before a larger, swinging door came into view. I stepped through and found myself in the familiar back hallway of the pub; the door I had entered from was marked “Employees Only” on this side. Entering a bathroom gratefully, I recognized that Rosmerta must have been letting us use a spare bedroom she kept in case of emergencies. Travelers often passed through, and the pub owner made a fair profit by sometimes administering rooms to folks in need when the Inn was full.
I stared long and hard into the mirror at the somewhat horrific sight before me. My hair was indeed matted into clumps from the frozen snow, and my eyes looked somewhat puffy from sleep. My lips were chapped and cracked from the cold, and perhaps oddest of all, a bit of dirt was on my left cheek. I was glad to know that Draco wasn’t awake to see this, let me say. After quickly using the facilities and washing my hands, I returned to the mirror and ran a bit of warm water over my face. I attempted to rake my fingers through my hair, but my efforts proved futile.
A desperate, brief examination of the bathroom revealed a “Friendly Wizard Travel Station” mounted on the far wall. I was elated to see that the remarkable device contained such things as toothpaste and toothbrushes, lotions, soaps and shampoos, nail files, and most blessedly of all, cheap plastic combs. I wasn’t too thrilled when I noticed that I’d have to pay two sickles and a knut for the damned thing, but for the second time since I’d woken up, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I reached into my trouser pocket grumpily for the required amount, amazed that I even had change floating around in there to begin with and officially pissed at the fact that if I had my wand a simple charm would have sufficed.
My disposition improved, however, after I had ran the thing through my hair, my locks now considerably softer than before. Well, no one can say that Ginny Weasley didn’t give it her all, eh? Waving a hand in dismissal, I left the bathroom and continued down the hallway to the main pub area, though the room was much different than it normally looked.
Most all of the tables and chairs were gone, save for a half-dozen small ones along the outside of the space. The large stone fireplace in the middle of the area danced with life and lamps burned on the walls, basking the room in a cheerful orange glow. I noticed three or four people sitting amongst the room as I stepped out from the hallway.
“You’re awake, then. Feeling better, are you?” Rosmerta greeted me from behind the bar, where it appeared that she was hastily working on the beginnings of a meal.
“Yes Ma’am. Well, I am, anyway. Can’t speak much for the other one as he’s still passed out downstairs,” I answered, watching as she stopped to send a seemingly pleased nod in my direction before turning once again to her barely started cooking.
“I imagine you’re hungry, eh? You look it. I can always tell when a witch or wizard is hungry.” She pursed her lips, her eyes smiling as she began to pull more ingredients out from cupboards I hadn’t known existed. “S'pose it comes from the business.”
At the mere mention of food my body suddenly became aware of the fact that it hadn’t eaten since ten o’clock that morning, and my frame suddenly became weak and shaky.
“I’m starved,” I admitted, glancing over the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help? I’m no gourmet chef, but I can chop vegetables and grill chicken.” To be honest, I felt it was the least I could do seeing as she had let the pair of us lodge up in one of her rooms for awhile. And hey, if it got the food cooked faster, why not help? It’s not like I had anything else to do at the moment. Sadly, I was kind of lost without Draco’s companionship. Not that I’d ever let him know that.
Rosmerta sent me a wary glance and then shrugged. “Why not?”
I smiled and moved behind the counter. “What exactly are we making?”
“Supplies are a bit short, I’m afraid. We’ve to make do with a fair amount of steaks, some onions and carrots—” Oh, marvelous. “—and a whole sack of potatoes,” she finished, kicking a large bag gently. “I figured we could throw all of it in some roasting pans with the onions for a bit of seasoning and end up with some pot roast and assorted cooked vegetables.” She looked to me and shrugged again.
“Sounds good to me,” I replied, pushing up the sleeves of my jumper in earnest. I wasn’t about to try my luck and admit that I hated carrots. Hell, I was so hungry I may even contemplate eating the damned things.
Rosmerta sent me a small grin in return. “I’ve also got a bit of whipping cream and marshmallows for hot chocolate later on, too. I reckon that’ll fill everyone up at least,” she said. She placed her hands on her hips and looked out at the various people gathered in the pub.
“I think you’re right,” I answered, following her gaze. It then occurred to me that most people would be in during a storm as bad as this, and suddenly wondered what on earth they were doing in the pub.
“Madam Rosemerta,” I asked curiously, “what are people doing in here on a night like this? I mean, with the storm and all, I’d have thought they’d stayed off at home.” I watched as she waved a hand, summoning two large cutting boards from thin air. I felt a pang of envy wash over me at her use of magic, and my fingers twitched longingly for the wand that was back in McGonagall’s room. If only we had been allowed our wands on detention this one time….
“Well, dear,” she said, pulling four large roasting pots out from low cupboards, “this lot here was among the last to leave the pub today when the storm began getting really nasty. They went straight off when I shooed them out, you see, a few going to the Inn for rooms, and the other pair heading off towards home, wherever that was. Some village about twenty miles from here, I think,” she mused, her eyebrows furrowing. “Anyway, by then all the rooms at the Inn had been up and taken, and it was far too disastrous to travel anywhere, so they came clobbering back here and I offered them to spend the night.”
“It’s that bad out? Everywhere, I mean?” I asked in disbelief.
She only nodded gravely as a means of response before turning to me with a potato peeler in one hand, and a knife in the other. “Which do you prefer?” She asked, raising her eyebrows, a small smile on her face.
“Potatoes please,” I said, reaching for the peeler. “I’ve had enough eye-watering for today. That wind outside is right nasty.”
Rosmerta chuckled, then turned to her cutting board as she reached for an onion. “I believe it. You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ve gotta say, it’s nice to have some female company around here.”
“It’s the least I could do to repay you for dinner,” I shrugged, viciously attacking a potato with the peeler.
“Don’t fret on it. It’s more than your male friend is doing, anyway.”
“Hardly surprising,” I answered under my breath, tossing the first potato into one of the roasters.
“Oh? He seemed like a nice boy, the way he lugged you through here, refusing to accept help when one of the other blokes offered to carry you downstairs, even though it was clear as day that the poor dear was exhausted. Seems to me he was pretty concerned for you.”
I snorted. Draco? A poor dear? I took a moment to be briefly astounded by how quickly Draco had managed to get Rosmerta wound around his finger. How disgusting.
“The day Draco Malfoy becomes concerned about anything other than his own hide—me especially, well the very idea is just…just…” I waved the potato peeler around in exasperation as I searched for a word worthy of the situation.
“Romantic?”
I nicked my thumb on the potato peeler.
“I was actually thinking more along the lines of unlikely,” I muttered, now feeling completely idiotic. I chose not to reveal to her that I was waiting for any indication that it was even possible. Was I that bloody obvious?
Rosmerta clicked her tongue. “You know what else this job has taught me?”
I stilled my peeling for a moment and glanced over at her.
“It’s taught me how to interpret first impressions. It takes other people days to learn what I can detect in minutes. That’s probably because that’s all I get. I have to learn quick. I’ve been wrong before, and I may have been wrong earlier when I said what I did about that boy of yours, but the last time I was wrong a bloke left me nine sickles instead of the ten I’d expected, if you know what I mean.” She looked meaningfully at me then, and gave a small wink.
I broke eye contact uneasily and continued the potato peeling. The woman honestly didn’t know Draco Malfoy if she thought he could care for me. Still, she had noticed that I had a romantic interest in him, a scary thought considering I hadn’t even mentioned him. Perhaps she wasn’t exaggerating when she said she wasn’t wrong often.
The whole thing was something to ponder as we worked, the winds outside still howling, the fire still dancing forcefully in the middle of the room. If I hadn’t been wearing slightly damp clothing I think the room would have been almost warm, if not cozy. I really didn’t mind preparing dinner with Rosmerta. After she had mentioned Draco initially she—thankfully—dropped the subject, and I discovered that she was a fairly funny lady as she told me story after story about her various adventures at the pub. Her words from earlier still echoed in the back of my mind despite the distraction, though, and a small part of me wasn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention. I felt bad about it, too. Not to mention I was a little worried I was going to slice off a finger.
Soon enough the roasting pans were all filled, and the only thing left to do was to put them in the ovens. Rosmerta waved me off when I offered to help her with anything else, and after I washed my hands I told her I was going to wake Draco for dinner. A lie—I had no intention of waking the boy, instead simply intent on finding out if he was still asleep—but I also had no intention on making it any more clear to Rosemerta that I might fancy Draco, and making it sound like I was afraid to wake him made me sound like a right pansy. It very well may have been too little too late as far as that subject was concerned, but forgive me if I felt the need to scrape that together as means of self-assurance.
I escaped from her presence with little more than a small smile on her part and padded down the hallways towards the door leading to our room. Our room—Christ almighty, I made it out to sound like the two of us were living together willingly, on bloody holiday or something. I ran a hand over my face as I neared our—the, yes the door, thinking rather morosely that I had never felt so completely and utterly hopeless in my entire life.
And then I turned the door handle.
Now I’m only going to say this once in hopes of minimizing the embarrassment that I endured within the next few moments, so pay attention so you can just get your laughs over and done with.
I turned the door handle and pushed open the silent door to the small room, eyes cast downward as I focused on the stairwell. As I started to descend, however, I glanced up casually, anticipating Draco to be asleep on the bed, or sitting in the armchair in that cool, detached manner of his.
That expectation was…well, it was shot to hell, really.
Draco was not asleep on the small, blanketed bed. Nor was he lounging about in the tattered armchair. He wasn’t even looking about in disgust at his humble surroundings. No, Draco was instead standing in the center of the room, his back to the doorway, removing his sweater. It wasn’t really the act of seeing a male shed clothing that I found startling—I had grown up with far too much of that to find it alarming. There would have been no problem whatsoever—or so I liked to think—if his white button-up shirt hadn’t stuck to his sweater and revealed a very long, very lean back as he pulled it over his head. I couldn’t stop my eyes from roaming from his exposed waist to the hypnotic way his shoulder blades moved as he shed the garment. Yes, it was only a glimpse, as the shirt quickly fell back into place, but a glimpse was all it took. One glimpse. One second.
And in my case, one missed stair. To this day I swear he did it on purpose. I mean honestly, people, nobody, not even Draco himself, could have planned it better. In the precise moment my foot moved to the next stair, I got an eyeful of a semi-shirtless young man, and it hit me like a slap in the face. As the shirt fell back into place I too fell, though not nearly as gracefully. No, my fall was more comparable to the earlier shock I had felt. Boom, down. Like cement. A cement block that was rolled down a flight a stairs.
I cringed as one of my knees slammed into the wood of the stairs, sending me sideways down the steps at a breakneck speed and into the wall opposite them with a deafening thud. Somewhere in the process a flailing arm had collided with something hard, and my back ached something fierce. One of my legs was twisted underneath me, and the other was pressed painfully against the wall. I couldn’t really breathe without risking my chest collapsing in on itself, so I did the only logical thing given my situation: I remained on my back, staring at the ceiling with wide, panicked eyes.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have remained there like that, but at the time, I figured I had nothing to lose. And then a blond head appeared above me and all the embarrassment came crashing down on my like a ton of bricks. The git didn’t even speak, instead raising a usual eyebrow—though his eyes were unusually wide, as if startled—and making enduring the moment all the worse. It was that moment that replaced the ‘our room’ instance as the most hopeless in my entire life. I had tripped down the stairs at the mere sight of him. My gods, if that didn’t make me a hopeless case, I didn’t know what would.
“Ow,” I managed to breathe through burning lungs.
He looked at me a moment, eyes flickering about my disoriented form, and I was pretty sure he shook his head a little, but I couldn’t be quite sure, for I was still a little dizzy.
“Weasley?”
“Uh?”
“For fucks sake, are you trying to kill us both?” His voice remained calm, but nonetheless I blinked quite distinctly as his normally pristine speech became dirtied with curses. “First you try to give me a heart attack by means of that huge cacophony of a noise, and what’s more, you try to break your neck in the process.”
I continued to look up at him, a sudden gratitude washing over me as he lightened the mood. I can’t be entirely sure, but I am fairly certain I would have died had he submitted me to ridicule.
“Point taken,” I grunted as I strained to lift myself up from the floor. I felt a hand reach down and assist my back while another slipped under a shoulder, pulling me up. I couldn’t help but lean against him as he lifted me, seeing as my knees were a bit quaky and it felt like someone was driving an elbow into my spine.
“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily and that you chose to fall down a rather short staircase,” his drawled bemusedly.
I chose not to comment back, as I was far too furious with the fact that he was touching me and I was too preoccupied with trying to discern right from left to enjoy it. Why, whenever he touched me, did it have to be under circumstances in which I couldn’t get the full experience? I took a few slow breaths, closing my eyes in hopes of regaining control over my equilibrium and temper, and for what felt like the first time in years, something happened the way I expected it to, both things effectively assuaged when I reopened my eyes.
“I think I can stand now, thanks,” I said in what I thought to be a stoic manner, pointedly annoying the voice telling me to prolong his touch.
He simply raised an eyebrow, his hands unmoved. “I don’t believe you.”
I experienced a small bout of déjà vu at his words, as they were nearly identical to the ones he had used after I had trashed my ankle on the potatoes.
“Really, it’s okay,” I assured, taking a timid step forward. ” I’ve just got a little kink in my—“ I gasped a little as I tried to straighten my back more fully, the aforementioned kink more apparent than I had originally thought.
“Kink, eh?” Draco grinned wickedly.
I tried to glare, but it didn’t work quite as well when I was gasping for breath.
“I thought as much,” he said smugly. The hand that was bracing my shoulder wrapped around to between my shoulder blades, the other resting at the small of my back. Quite suddenly he ushered me to him, the front of my body nearly pressed against his.
“Draco what’re you—”
“Arch your back.”
“Why—“
“That wasn’t a question,” he advised, voice dropping an octave as his lower hand slid up to the curve of my spine and began applying pressure when I didn’t do as he demanded. Immediately I felt a heat well up inside me at his insistent, powerful manner, and when his low, commanding voice reached my ears I couldn’t help but obey. I swallowed as I felt the hard lines of his body against my own.
“Like this?” I asked unsteadily.
“Yes,” he answered quietly and absentmindedly, a hand gently applying pressure with lean fingers as it trailed up and down my spine as if in search of something. This continued for a few moments until his fingers reached a sensitive spot, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from me. I jerked my head back slightly in pain, my gaze shifting from his chest to his eyes. Unbeknownst to the rest of my being, I stilled completely, more than a little lost at the vision he made. His eyes had transformed again, flaring with intensity as his lips quirked to one side. I was captivated. Go figure.
“Aha,” he mused, fingers treading delicately along the tender area. “That’s quite the kink.” I didn’t respond, as my voice was lost somewhere in the gray of his eyes and the soft circles his fingers were beginning to make. He increased the pressure slightly, and I winced.
“Relax,” he said in the same quiet voice, eyes softening. I complied, and felt the tension lessen as his fingers, which were now making deep, deliberate movements, worked. “Now arch your back again.”
I did, a firm hand jerking forward as I conformed, a single vertebra cracking from the movement. I couldn’t help refrain from gasping in shock, and I realized with wide eyes that the ache was no longer there at all.
His face became serious at my outburst, his gaze now steady and unwavering as it held my own. After a few moments I saw him swallow slightly, and he gave an almost undetectable nod before removing his hands from my back.
I didn’t know what to say. Can you blame me? I mean honestly, what do you say when a bloke massages your back and makes your pain vanish into thin air? Somehow a simple thank-you doesn’t quite fit the bill, and my response was only slightly—if at all—better.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked stupidly, and then immediately wondered if I really wanted to know the answer. “Thank you, Draco,” I added quickly, cringing inwardly as I resorted to it. Hey, it was all I had, alright?
His face turned impassive, and he turned away from me then, nodding to himself and running a hand through his hair. I couldn’t help but wonder innocently if Draco had a problem accepting gratitude. When his shoulders tensed I tried my best not to recall how they had looked divested of any clothing, and despite my valiant efforts, lost the fight.
Fortunately, Draco seemed to regain his composure, and turned around once more, smirk intact. “Well haven’t you been the happy little homemaker,” he commented, waving a hand in the direction of the coat rack, which was now knocked to the ground. I vaguely remembered coming into contact with something on my ‘stroll’ down the stairs and made a mental note to move the bastardly thing later.
“Yes, well…” I shrugged, masking my embarrassment as his gaze fell to his boots, “I certainly didn’t want to lounge about in my snow things, and I figured you’d feel the same.” I considered apologizing about the intrusion of personal space, but trashed that idea as I remembered how his ankles had felt beneath my fingertips. Oh no, I wasn’t sorry for that one bit.
Draco didn’t respond, a lopsided grin and slight lift of eyebrows my only indication as to what he was thinking. I should get a medal for all the bloody malarkey I go through to understand the moron, really.
“Anyhow, the whole reason I came down here in the first place was to see if you were awake, and you—” I lost my train of thought momentarily as the image of his back flashed across my mind again. Yes, he most surely had been awake. “You are. Madam Rosmerta and I just finished dinner and I came to fetch you. If you’re hungry, that is.”
“You cooked dinner, Weasel?”
“I assisted, yes,” I replied, pointedly ignoring his use of the nickname.
His golden eyebrows arched yet again. “Excellent. I’m sure you’ve had loads of practice with that sort of thing? Can’t be all bad, then, I’d imagine.”
My eyes narrowed slightly. If it hadn’t been for his barely snotty tone, the statement would have been almost friendly, and in normal circumstances, it probably wouldn’t have bothered me at all. Perhaps I overreacted a bit, but in my defense, I was one very, very food-deprived witch.
“Oh come off it. If you don’t want to eat my cooking, fine. I thought I was doing you a favor by coming to see if you were hungry—“
“Who said I wasn’t hungry?”
“You—“
“I didn’t.”
“You—oh sod this. I’m starving, and if you’re going to insist on being a—“
“Wonderful, I’m famished myself. Though this isn’t quite right…by our little wager earlier, I should be the one giving dinner,” he trailed off, and I suddenly felt like a fool. I had just let Draco Malfoy lure me into a trap. He had intentionally gotten me riled up, yet I was astonished that he even remembered that part of our conversation.
I stood there for a moment, during which I continued to feel incredibly foolish, not saying anything. Draco crossed his arms.
“Isn’t dinner upstairs?”
“It is, yeah.”
I felt a hand touch my back.
“Well then lead the way. Can’t have you nearly breaking your neck again, and at least this way you’ll run into me and not the wall if you fall, which I’m beginning to think is inevitable.” He rolled his eyes and guided me towards the stairs, which I dazedly climbed. Caught somewhere in the midst of bewilderment and surprise, I decided right then that I couldn’t rule anything out when it came to Draco Malfoy, Madam Rosmerta’s thoughts included.
END CHAPTER 11
I awoke with a bang. You know how usually when you wake up it’s a gradual, delicate process? I’m sure everyone has their own unique system, but in my case it usually includes admitting to yourself that your dream about some damned blond-haired boy wasn’t actually real, squinting as you grow accustomed to the presence of the cursed light that awoke you in the first place, and finally regaining feeling in your limbs as your senses kick in. Ten minutes later I’m usually what most people would consider ‘awake’. I’m sure you get some sort of image, right?
Now let me just say, I’ve woken up that way—with the exception of the ruddy dream, and as to whether or not that is good or bad I am still uncertain—for approximately ninety-nine percent of my life. Needless to say, I have grown rather accustomed to waking up in that sort of fashion.
Take a moment to imagine my alarm then, when my eyes were suddenly open, my breathing was completely erratic, thinking caused nearly physical pain, and my body was suddenly tingling all over. It was like I had been thrown into a pool and it had awoken me from a coma. I’ll say it again: I awoke with a bang.
I pushed aside the uneasy feeling in my mind and tried to grasp on to anything in order to gain my bearings about me. I vaguely recalled an unfamiliar voice opening a door, but the majority of my memory served as means of preserving the sound, feel and smell of someone else. I remembered hands beneath my knees, wool against my cheek and the tickle of raspy breath whispering in my ear. I closed my eyes again, fully under the impression that I had yet to overcome the ‘dream portion’ of my wake-up system.
It was then that it happened. Something soft gently brushed against my hand. Until that moment I hadn’t really looked at my surroundings. My eyes had been open before, yes, but I had been otherwise occupied with trying to remember exactly what had happened, and therefore hadn’t actually seen anything. I reopened my eyes, allowing them to immediately flicker to the source of the touch. There they were met by a sight so surreal I almost considered the possibility that I had imagined the feeling, for this was truly something I could only dream about.
Draco Malfoy was sound asleep. And he was lying next to me.
All at once I was grateful for my semi-groggy state of mind. I was nearly afraid to breathe for fear of waking him; Merlin knows what a shame it would be to shatter something so exquisitely beautiful.
Draco was lying on his stomach, his head turned to one side. His eyes were gently closed and his lips were parted slightly as he took slow, rhythmic breaths. Both of his arms were spread wide, and I noticed it was his slender fingers barely resting in my palm that had caused the sensation earlier. His cap lay forgotten on the bed several feet from his head, and I followed the line of his still-cloaked spine down to where his legs dangled off the mattress irregularly. The boy looked positively exhausted, as if he had simply collapsed, unable to make it completely onto the bed.
As soon as the thought entered my head I felt like slapping myself. He was exhausted, Ginny, you half-wit! He carried your sorry arse around, didn’t he?
From the looks of it, that was no easy task, either. Glancing down again, I realized quite suddenly that my own feet were hanging off the bed and that my arms were spread out, though I was on my back. I began to feel a bit guilty. From the looks of things, collapsing was exactly what Draco had done.
I lay there for awhile after the thought came to me, relishing the feel of his fingertips skimming my palm and the ruffled state of his platinum hair. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but the notion that Draco had almost—almost, demonstrated an interest in my well-being was somewhat endearing. Of course, I’m sure the way his eyelashes were floating across his skin had something to do with my sudden increase in...fondness for the bloke, because heaven forbid he look less than impeccable doing anything. I was tempted to run a finger across that skin, and I nearly did. I would have, too, if I hadn’t recognized that as I was now fully conscious, lusty thoughts and all, touching Draco probably wouldn’t be the best idea. Especially when he looked like—well, how he did.
Smiling slightly, I carefully slid my hand out from under his fingertips, taking immense care not to wake him. Utilizing all the abdomen muscle I had, I pulled my torso up with moderate difficulty. Making a mental note to tell Harry to intensify that aspect of our training, I moved to stand. Needless to say, my stomach muscles weren’t the only ones that were a bit achy. I stretched my arms to the ceiling, but it wasn’t until I attempted to walk around the small room that I realized one of my legs—I’ll give you one guess as to which one—was completely and utterly numb. I stumbled slightly, wincing as my hip connected with the corner of a desk, partly because of the pain and partly because of the rather loud noise it made. A Weasley wasn’t generally known for their grace, and I was no exception.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Draco was still asleep. I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the thought that he, the One-who-was-always-in-control, was completely oblivious to what was going on around him. Smirking slightly, I turned, taking particular joy in yanking off my boots and—finally!—my bunched up socks. As I wondered where to put the items, I took the opportunity to examine the small room more closely.
A single bed draped in several thick blankets lay in the corner, and a desk—the one I had not so gracefully slammed into—sat on the wall several feet from the foot of the bed. A large, frayed rug covered the cold wooden floor, and a spindly coat rack was standing in the corner opposite the bed, not far from the small staircase leading to the door at the top of it. Finally, a rather worn armchair lay carelessly against the wall opposite the desk. From what I could tell, the room was below ground level, as there were no windows and the door at the top of the stairs indicated that we were surely below the rest of the pub.
I walked a bit unsteadily over to the coat rack and placed my boots against the stairs, hanging my damp cloak up on one of the hooks along with my equally wet socks, hat, scarf and mittens. Although the rest of my clothing was a bit damp as well, I really had no other option than to keep it on, and thus decided to make do.
This caused me to turn to Draco almost piteously. The chap was still fully clothed in his coat and boots, and from the awkward angle of his back hanging off the bed, he didn’t look too comfortable. Debating whether or not I dared using my efforts to help him, I couldn’t help but feel obligated as I looked back on what he had done for me today. Yes, he had given me numerous near heart attacks. Yes, he had set my skin on fire. Yes, he had thrown me into a snow bank. But he had also done more than his share of the shoveling, not to mention hauled me across the entire bleeding village.
I felt obligated. And grateful, too, I suppose. Either way, my mind was made up, and I marched purposefully over to the bedside; I had an unsettling feeling that the longer I debated on the matter, the more likely I was to lose my nerve. I didn’t really blame myself for that one. Undressing Draco Malfoy was a right bit intimidating, for reasons that need not be mentioned. I clasped my hands methodically as I took a moment to examine the er…situation. It really wasn’t my fault that my eyes thought it entirely necessary to glue themselves momentarily to his arse. Not that it was bad looking, mind you, but—well that’s really not the point. After my apparent hunger for eye-candy was sated, I decided that the best approach would probably be to simply lift his feet onto the bed, sort of turning him in the process.
I grabbed one booted foot in each hand and gave a hefty pull, but after my back nearly had a spasm under the strain, I realized I had probably best remove the boots and then move the idiot. As I undid the silver snaps on each, I couldn’t help but grin as I wondered if Draco had someone who did this for him when he was at home. Surely the prat was spoiled enough. I pulled off the boots, which was no easy task as I soon learned that the ruddy things were quite heavy, and placed them alongside my own behind the coat rack. This time when I lifted his legs I encountered no pressing problem other than the fact that the feel of his ankles beneath his stockings was something to be noted, and I didn’t fail to notice the definition of his calf muscles either. After situating him satisfactorily, I gathered his scattered hat and carefully removed a Slytherin green scarf from his neck, placing them on the coat rack to dry. I wasn’t nearly gutsy enough—or stupid, depending on how you looked at it—to attempt to remove his coat.
He still looked quite asleep after the whole ordeal, and after a final glance around the room, I decided to wander upstairs in search of a bathroom. My hair felt limp and matted, and I shuddered to think of what state my clothing must be in. Freshening-up definitely sounded like a good idea.
I ascended the small, wooden staircase and pushed open the door to find myself in a short, warmly lit hallway. Candlesticks adorned the walls, and I walked past several doors and around a corner before a larger, swinging door came into view. I stepped through and found myself in the familiar back hallway of the pub; the door I had entered from was marked “Employees Only” on this side. Entering a bathroom gratefully, I recognized that Rosmerta must have been letting us use a spare bedroom she kept in case of emergencies. Travelers often passed through, and the pub owner made a fair profit by sometimes administering rooms to folks in need when the Inn was full.
I stared long and hard into the mirror at the somewhat horrific sight before me. My hair was indeed matted into clumps from the frozen snow, and my eyes looked somewhat puffy from sleep. My lips were chapped and cracked from the cold, and perhaps oddest of all, a bit of dirt was on my left cheek. I was glad to know that Draco wasn’t awake to see this, let me say. After quickly using the facilities and washing my hands, I returned to the mirror and ran a bit of warm water over my face. I attempted to rake my fingers through my hair, but my efforts proved futile.
A desperate, brief examination of the bathroom revealed a “Friendly Wizard Travel Station” mounted on the far wall. I was elated to see that the remarkable device contained such things as toothpaste and toothbrushes, lotions, soaps and shampoos, nail files, and most blessedly of all, cheap plastic combs. I wasn’t too thrilled when I noticed that I’d have to pay two sickles and a knut for the damned thing, but for the second time since I’d woken up, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I reached into my trouser pocket grumpily for the required amount, amazed that I even had change floating around in there to begin with and officially pissed at the fact that if I had my wand a simple charm would have sufficed.
My disposition improved, however, after I had ran the thing through my hair, my locks now considerably softer than before. Well, no one can say that Ginny Weasley didn’t give it her all, eh? Waving a hand in dismissal, I left the bathroom and continued down the hallway to the main pub area, though the room was much different than it normally looked.
Most all of the tables and chairs were gone, save for a half-dozen small ones along the outside of the space. The large stone fireplace in the middle of the area danced with life and lamps burned on the walls, basking the room in a cheerful orange glow. I noticed three or four people sitting amongst the room as I stepped out from the hallway.
“You’re awake, then. Feeling better, are you?” Rosmerta greeted me from behind the bar, where it appeared that she was hastily working on the beginnings of a meal.
“Yes Ma’am. Well, I am, anyway. Can’t speak much for the other one as he’s still passed out downstairs,” I answered, watching as she stopped to send a seemingly pleased nod in my direction before turning once again to her barely started cooking.
“I imagine you’re hungry, eh? You look it. I can always tell when a witch or wizard is hungry.” She pursed her lips, her eyes smiling as she began to pull more ingredients out from cupboards I hadn’t known existed. “S'pose it comes from the business.”
At the mere mention of food my body suddenly became aware of the fact that it hadn’t eaten since ten o’clock that morning, and my frame suddenly became weak and shaky.
“I’m starved,” I admitted, glancing over the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help? I’m no gourmet chef, but I can chop vegetables and grill chicken.” To be honest, I felt it was the least I could do seeing as she had let the pair of us lodge up in one of her rooms for awhile. And hey, if it got the food cooked faster, why not help? It’s not like I had anything else to do at the moment. Sadly, I was kind of lost without Draco’s companionship. Not that I’d ever let him know that.
Rosmerta sent me a wary glance and then shrugged. “Why not?”
I smiled and moved behind the counter. “What exactly are we making?”
“Supplies are a bit short, I’m afraid. We’ve to make do with a fair amount of steaks, some onions and carrots—” Oh, marvelous. “—and a whole sack of potatoes,” she finished, kicking a large bag gently. “I figured we could throw all of it in some roasting pans with the onions for a bit of seasoning and end up with some pot roast and assorted cooked vegetables.” She looked to me and shrugged again.
“Sounds good to me,” I replied, pushing up the sleeves of my jumper in earnest. I wasn’t about to try my luck and admit that I hated carrots. Hell, I was so hungry I may even contemplate eating the damned things.
Rosmerta sent me a small grin in return. “I’ve also got a bit of whipping cream and marshmallows for hot chocolate later on, too. I reckon that’ll fill everyone up at least,” she said. She placed her hands on her hips and looked out at the various people gathered in the pub.
“I think you’re right,” I answered, following her gaze. It then occurred to me that most people would be in during a storm as bad as this, and suddenly wondered what on earth they were doing in the pub.
“Madam Rosemerta,” I asked curiously, “what are people doing in here on a night like this? I mean, with the storm and all, I’d have thought they’d stayed off at home.” I watched as she waved a hand, summoning two large cutting boards from thin air. I felt a pang of envy wash over me at her use of magic, and my fingers twitched longingly for the wand that was back in McGonagall’s room. If only we had been allowed our wands on detention this one time….
“Well, dear,” she said, pulling four large roasting pots out from low cupboards, “this lot here was among the last to leave the pub today when the storm began getting really nasty. They went straight off when I shooed them out, you see, a few going to the Inn for rooms, and the other pair heading off towards home, wherever that was. Some village about twenty miles from here, I think,” she mused, her eyebrows furrowing. “Anyway, by then all the rooms at the Inn had been up and taken, and it was far too disastrous to travel anywhere, so they came clobbering back here and I offered them to spend the night.”
“It’s that bad out? Everywhere, I mean?” I asked in disbelief.
She only nodded gravely as a means of response before turning to me with a potato peeler in one hand, and a knife in the other. “Which do you prefer?” She asked, raising her eyebrows, a small smile on her face.
“Potatoes please,” I said, reaching for the peeler. “I’ve had enough eye-watering for today. That wind outside is right nasty.”
Rosmerta chuckled, then turned to her cutting board as she reached for an onion. “I believe it. You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ve gotta say, it’s nice to have some female company around here.”
“It’s the least I could do to repay you for dinner,” I shrugged, viciously attacking a potato with the peeler.
“Don’t fret on it. It’s more than your male friend is doing, anyway.”
“Hardly surprising,” I answered under my breath, tossing the first potato into one of the roasters.
“Oh? He seemed like a nice boy, the way he lugged you through here, refusing to accept help when one of the other blokes offered to carry you downstairs, even though it was clear as day that the poor dear was exhausted. Seems to me he was pretty concerned for you.”
I snorted. Draco? A poor dear? I took a moment to be briefly astounded by how quickly Draco had managed to get Rosmerta wound around his finger. How disgusting.
“The day Draco Malfoy becomes concerned about anything other than his own hide—me especially, well the very idea is just…just…” I waved the potato peeler around in exasperation as I searched for a word worthy of the situation.
“Romantic?”
I nicked my thumb on the potato peeler.
“I was actually thinking more along the lines of unlikely,” I muttered, now feeling completely idiotic. I chose not to reveal to her that I was waiting for any indication that it was even possible. Was I that bloody obvious?
Rosmerta clicked her tongue. “You know what else this job has taught me?”
I stilled my peeling for a moment and glanced over at her.
“It’s taught me how to interpret first impressions. It takes other people days to learn what I can detect in minutes. That’s probably because that’s all I get. I have to learn quick. I’ve been wrong before, and I may have been wrong earlier when I said what I did about that boy of yours, but the last time I was wrong a bloke left me nine sickles instead of the ten I’d expected, if you know what I mean.” She looked meaningfully at me then, and gave a small wink.
I broke eye contact uneasily and continued the potato peeling. The woman honestly didn’t know Draco Malfoy if she thought he could care for me. Still, she had noticed that I had a romantic interest in him, a scary thought considering I hadn’t even mentioned him. Perhaps she wasn’t exaggerating when she said she wasn’t wrong often.
The whole thing was something to ponder as we worked, the winds outside still howling, the fire still dancing forcefully in the middle of the room. If I hadn’t been wearing slightly damp clothing I think the room would have been almost warm, if not cozy. I really didn’t mind preparing dinner with Rosmerta. After she had mentioned Draco initially she—thankfully—dropped the subject, and I discovered that she was a fairly funny lady as she told me story after story about her various adventures at the pub. Her words from earlier still echoed in the back of my mind despite the distraction, though, and a small part of me wasn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention. I felt bad about it, too. Not to mention I was a little worried I was going to slice off a finger.
Soon enough the roasting pans were all filled, and the only thing left to do was to put them in the ovens. Rosmerta waved me off when I offered to help her with anything else, and after I washed my hands I told her I was going to wake Draco for dinner. A lie—I had no intention of waking the boy, instead simply intent on finding out if he was still asleep—but I also had no intention on making it any more clear to Rosemerta that I might fancy Draco, and making it sound like I was afraid to wake him made me sound like a right pansy. It very well may have been too little too late as far as that subject was concerned, but forgive me if I felt the need to scrape that together as means of self-assurance.
I escaped from her presence with little more than a small smile on her part and padded down the hallways towards the door leading to our room. Our room—Christ almighty, I made it out to sound like the two of us were living together willingly, on bloody holiday or something. I ran a hand over my face as I neared our—the, yes the door, thinking rather morosely that I had never felt so completely and utterly hopeless in my entire life.
And then I turned the door handle.
Now I’m only going to say this once in hopes of minimizing the embarrassment that I endured within the next few moments, so pay attention so you can just get your laughs over and done with.
I turned the door handle and pushed open the silent door to the small room, eyes cast downward as I focused on the stairwell. As I started to descend, however, I glanced up casually, anticipating Draco to be asleep on the bed, or sitting in the armchair in that cool, detached manner of his.
That expectation was…well, it was shot to hell, really.
Draco was not asleep on the small, blanketed bed. Nor was he lounging about in the tattered armchair. He wasn’t even looking about in disgust at his humble surroundings. No, Draco was instead standing in the center of the room, his back to the doorway, removing his sweater. It wasn’t really the act of seeing a male shed clothing that I found startling—I had grown up with far too much of that to find it alarming. There would have been no problem whatsoever—or so I liked to think—if his white button-up shirt hadn’t stuck to his sweater and revealed a very long, very lean back as he pulled it over his head. I couldn’t stop my eyes from roaming from his exposed waist to the hypnotic way his shoulder blades moved as he shed the garment. Yes, it was only a glimpse, as the shirt quickly fell back into place, but a glimpse was all it took. One glimpse. One second.
And in my case, one missed stair. To this day I swear he did it on purpose. I mean honestly, people, nobody, not even Draco himself, could have planned it better. In the precise moment my foot moved to the next stair, I got an eyeful of a semi-shirtless young man, and it hit me like a slap in the face. As the shirt fell back into place I too fell, though not nearly as gracefully. No, my fall was more comparable to the earlier shock I had felt. Boom, down. Like cement. A cement block that was rolled down a flight a stairs.
I cringed as one of my knees slammed into the wood of the stairs, sending me sideways down the steps at a breakneck speed and into the wall opposite them with a deafening thud. Somewhere in the process a flailing arm had collided with something hard, and my back ached something fierce. One of my legs was twisted underneath me, and the other was pressed painfully against the wall. I couldn’t really breathe without risking my chest collapsing in on itself, so I did the only logical thing given my situation: I remained on my back, staring at the ceiling with wide, panicked eyes.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have remained there like that, but at the time, I figured I had nothing to lose. And then a blond head appeared above me and all the embarrassment came crashing down on my like a ton of bricks. The git didn’t even speak, instead raising a usual eyebrow—though his eyes were unusually wide, as if startled—and making enduring the moment all the worse. It was that moment that replaced the ‘our room’ instance as the most hopeless in my entire life. I had tripped down the stairs at the mere sight of him. My gods, if that didn’t make me a hopeless case, I didn’t know what would.
“Ow,” I managed to breathe through burning lungs.
He looked at me a moment, eyes flickering about my disoriented form, and I was pretty sure he shook his head a little, but I couldn’t be quite sure, for I was still a little dizzy.
“Weasley?”
“Uh?”
“For fucks sake, are you trying to kill us both?” His voice remained calm, but nonetheless I blinked quite distinctly as his normally pristine speech became dirtied with curses. “First you try to give me a heart attack by means of that huge cacophony of a noise, and what’s more, you try to break your neck in the process.”
I continued to look up at him, a sudden gratitude washing over me as he lightened the mood. I can’t be entirely sure, but I am fairly certain I would have died had he submitted me to ridicule.
“Point taken,” I grunted as I strained to lift myself up from the floor. I felt a hand reach down and assist my back while another slipped under a shoulder, pulling me up. I couldn’t help but lean against him as he lifted me, seeing as my knees were a bit quaky and it felt like someone was driving an elbow into my spine.
“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily and that you chose to fall down a rather short staircase,” his drawled bemusedly.
I chose not to comment back, as I was far too furious with the fact that he was touching me and I was too preoccupied with trying to discern right from left to enjoy it. Why, whenever he touched me, did it have to be under circumstances in which I couldn’t get the full experience? I took a few slow breaths, closing my eyes in hopes of regaining control over my equilibrium and temper, and for what felt like the first time in years, something happened the way I expected it to, both things effectively assuaged when I reopened my eyes.
“I think I can stand now, thanks,” I said in what I thought to be a stoic manner, pointedly annoying the voice telling me to prolong his touch.
He simply raised an eyebrow, his hands unmoved. “I don’t believe you.”
I experienced a small bout of déjà vu at his words, as they were nearly identical to the ones he had used after I had trashed my ankle on the potatoes.
“Really, it’s okay,” I assured, taking a timid step forward. ” I’ve just got a little kink in my—“ I gasped a little as I tried to straighten my back more fully, the aforementioned kink more apparent than I had originally thought.
“Kink, eh?” Draco grinned wickedly.
I tried to glare, but it didn’t work quite as well when I was gasping for breath.
“I thought as much,” he said smugly. The hand that was bracing my shoulder wrapped around to between my shoulder blades, the other resting at the small of my back. Quite suddenly he ushered me to him, the front of my body nearly pressed against his.
“Draco what’re you—”
“Arch your back.”
“Why—“
“That wasn’t a question,” he advised, voice dropping an octave as his lower hand slid up to the curve of my spine and began applying pressure when I didn’t do as he demanded. Immediately I felt a heat well up inside me at his insistent, powerful manner, and when his low, commanding voice reached my ears I couldn’t help but obey. I swallowed as I felt the hard lines of his body against my own.
“Like this?” I asked unsteadily.
“Yes,” he answered quietly and absentmindedly, a hand gently applying pressure with lean fingers as it trailed up and down my spine as if in search of something. This continued for a few moments until his fingers reached a sensitive spot, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from me. I jerked my head back slightly in pain, my gaze shifting from his chest to his eyes. Unbeknownst to the rest of my being, I stilled completely, more than a little lost at the vision he made. His eyes had transformed again, flaring with intensity as his lips quirked to one side. I was captivated. Go figure.
“Aha,” he mused, fingers treading delicately along the tender area. “That’s quite the kink.” I didn’t respond, as my voice was lost somewhere in the gray of his eyes and the soft circles his fingers were beginning to make. He increased the pressure slightly, and I winced.
“Relax,” he said in the same quiet voice, eyes softening. I complied, and felt the tension lessen as his fingers, which were now making deep, deliberate movements, worked. “Now arch your back again.”
I did, a firm hand jerking forward as I conformed, a single vertebra cracking from the movement. I couldn’t help refrain from gasping in shock, and I realized with wide eyes that the ache was no longer there at all.
His face became serious at my outburst, his gaze now steady and unwavering as it held my own. After a few moments I saw him swallow slightly, and he gave an almost undetectable nod before removing his hands from my back.
I didn’t know what to say. Can you blame me? I mean honestly, what do you say when a bloke massages your back and makes your pain vanish into thin air? Somehow a simple thank-you doesn’t quite fit the bill, and my response was only slightly—if at all—better.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked stupidly, and then immediately wondered if I really wanted to know the answer. “Thank you, Draco,” I added quickly, cringing inwardly as I resorted to it. Hey, it was all I had, alright?
His face turned impassive, and he turned away from me then, nodding to himself and running a hand through his hair. I couldn’t help but wonder innocently if Draco had a problem accepting gratitude. When his shoulders tensed I tried my best not to recall how they had looked divested of any clothing, and despite my valiant efforts, lost the fight.
Fortunately, Draco seemed to regain his composure, and turned around once more, smirk intact. “Well haven’t you been the happy little homemaker,” he commented, waving a hand in the direction of the coat rack, which was now knocked to the ground. I vaguely remembered coming into contact with something on my ‘stroll’ down the stairs and made a mental note to move the bastardly thing later.
“Yes, well…” I shrugged, masking my embarrassment as his gaze fell to his boots, “I certainly didn’t want to lounge about in my snow things, and I figured you’d feel the same.” I considered apologizing about the intrusion of personal space, but trashed that idea as I remembered how his ankles had felt beneath my fingertips. Oh no, I wasn’t sorry for that one bit.
Draco didn’t respond, a lopsided grin and slight lift of eyebrows my only indication as to what he was thinking. I should get a medal for all the bloody malarkey I go through to understand the moron, really.
“Anyhow, the whole reason I came down here in the first place was to see if you were awake, and you—” I lost my train of thought momentarily as the image of his back flashed across my mind again. Yes, he most surely had been awake. “You are. Madam Rosmerta and I just finished dinner and I came to fetch you. If you’re hungry, that is.”
“You cooked dinner, Weasel?”
“I assisted, yes,” I replied, pointedly ignoring his use of the nickname.
His golden eyebrows arched yet again. “Excellent. I’m sure you’ve had loads of practice with that sort of thing? Can’t be all bad, then, I’d imagine.”
My eyes narrowed slightly. If it hadn’t been for his barely snotty tone, the statement would have been almost friendly, and in normal circumstances, it probably wouldn’t have bothered me at all. Perhaps I overreacted a bit, but in my defense, I was one very, very food-deprived witch.
“Oh come off it. If you don’t want to eat my cooking, fine. I thought I was doing you a favor by coming to see if you were hungry—“
“Who said I wasn’t hungry?”
“You—“
“I didn’t.”
“You—oh sod this. I’m starving, and if you’re going to insist on being a—“
“Wonderful, I’m famished myself. Though this isn’t quite right…by our little wager earlier, I should be the one giving dinner,” he trailed off, and I suddenly felt like a fool. I had just let Draco Malfoy lure me into a trap. He had intentionally gotten me riled up, yet I was astonished that he even remembered that part of our conversation.
I stood there for a moment, during which I continued to feel incredibly foolish, not saying anything. Draco crossed his arms.
“Isn’t dinner upstairs?”
“It is, yeah.”
I felt a hand touch my back.
“Well then lead the way. Can’t have you nearly breaking your neck again, and at least this way you’ll run into me and not the wall if you fall, which I’m beginning to think is inevitable.” He rolled his eyes and guided me towards the stairs, which I dazedly climbed. Caught somewhere in the midst of bewilderment and surprise, I decided right then that I couldn’t rule anything out when it came to Draco Malfoy, Madam Rosmerta’s thoughts included.
END CHAPTER 11
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