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The Gala Ball, the ball of the year, the ball of the century, the dazzling, enchanting event that only happened once a year. Every time a person said those words I felt like wringing their necks or feeding them to a wild group of hyenas and letting them feel the worst pain of their lives. If only that were possible, if only the wizarding world didn’t have a law that stated, “No wild magical or ordinary animals are allowed inside a residence without a permit.” Life would be great, awesome, and I could stop going to these horrible balls and dances. I would no longer have to listen to those arrogant, snobbish, aristocratic, imperial, conceited, egotistical, important people make their supposedly witty comments on others’ dress or looks in their annoying, whining voices. I swore that I would personally make sure they died slow, painful deaths if I heard one more fricking complaint.
Of course, as luck would have it, I ended up stuck at another such “awesome” ball with not only those people but also common people such as the Weasleys, Muggle-borns, and half-bloods. I shivered at the thought of them using the same glass I drank from, eating the same foods I ate, and walking on the same ground where I walked. I sighed, thinking this would be a long night.
Suddenly I heard someone clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention. I rolled my eyes at the thought of Saint Potter making his long, unnecessary speech for the whole world to hear. Who really cared what he thought about the latest invention, Visible, an experiment by the Weasel twins? It was a type of experiment that should be banned world wide, in my opinion. But I was just a person whose last name didn’t start with a P and end with an R.
“Ahem, may I have your attention, please?” A boy of about seventeen and five feet, seven inches tall stood in front of the crowd. It was The Boy Who Wouldn’t Just F**king Die. Even after a fight with You-Know-Who, he wouldn’t just die with his foe. Of course even if he had died, the world would probably have created a day just to pay tribute to our great hero. To make it even worse, they probably would have named a street or a city after him. Actually, they did name a fricking street after him: Harry Street. The name sounded wonderful to these people, although I supposed the name Saint Potter Street would have sounded even better. But of course I was just a person whose last name didn’t start with a P and end with an R.
“Thank you for coming to this wonderful, enchanting Gala. We never knew so many people cared about this donation.” By this time I realized that the perfect Granger had probably written the speech, and to make it worse, she probably had made him memorize the whole thing. No doubt Potter’s little girlfriend, the Weaselette, was somewhere gagging at his speech instead of standing next to him so they looked like the perfect couple. What a crap way to start a ball. By the way, no one cared about the fricking donation. The only reason these people had come was to get onto the front page of the Daily Prophet. They should have known by now that Perfect Potter was the only face they would see for the next few years. Ever since Potter had defeated You-Know-Who, his face had been plastered across the front page. Not only was this becoming annoying, but Potter seemed to be enjoying his victory more than he needed to.
By the time I had got my thoughts under control, Potter had finished his speech. That was the only part I enjoyed, the moment when Potter was no longer in the limelight every fricking minute. That is, it was the only thing I had enjoyed until I saw her.
When I saw a flash of red go by, I turned to see what it was. There she stood, looking so small. Ginevra Weasley at the age of sixteen looked like a woman of twenty. She was a little vixen who had captured my mind since I first saw her at Hogwarts, sitting on the stool while the Sorting Hat decided her fate. I knew she’d been a Weasley forever, but I couldn’t get her off my mind. She haunted my sleep, my soul, and my mind, but I could never tell her what she meant to me.
Only one person knew about my fantasy: Blaise Zabini. Granted, he’d been my best friend since I was five. Zabini knew everything about me and had the decency to keep it between us, not being interested in the death I threatened should he reveal my secret.
“Well, look who decided to come after all,” Zabini drawled when he had caught my attention.
“Shouldn’t you be looking for the flavour of the week?” I sneered.
“Don’t worry, I did find her. She’s looking bloody fantastic compared to the other girls,” Zabini said, looking at a girl near the edge of the porch. Not only was he checking out my girl, he was saying he wanted to court her. She wore a green dress, and my heart pounded like a drum at the thought of her liking my favourite color.
“Do you want me to kill you?” I growled, but he just laughed—a big mistake, in my opinion, but Zabini takes more risks than I do.
“You’ll never have her if you keep scowling, but then again rumour has it that Potter will be asking her to be his wife soon. Who knows—they might have adorable babies with black hair and green eyes,” said Zabini, laughing half-heartedly.
I grimaced as I tried to shake the horrible image of them, an image where she cried out his name as she climaxed in a large four-poster bed. The image where they lived happily ever after with kids that have jet-black hair and green eyes. Darn Zabini for ruining my evening.
“Don’t worry, mate, all you have to do is go insult her family until you both have some sexual tension to let go of. Then take it out on each other. It would be a wild one tonight, for sure,” he said encouragingly.
“Zabini, if I wasn’t surrounded by people right now, I’d hex you until you couldn’t remember your own name. Be grateful these people are here to save you,” I muttered before I left his side to go see her. Zabini was probably wetting his pants from laughing. But I didn’t care; the only thing that mattered right now was seeing her—the woman that I would marry one day, if I had anything to say about it.
“You know, green wouldn’t look so bad on you if you’d stop tugging at it.” I finally got up the courage to say something. Ginny turned around and scowled when she realized who it was.
“True, but then green looked so disgusting to me that I wondered why the hell I chose this in the first place,” she said, stealing my smirk for her own use.
“Maybe because it’s the only decent thing you’ve had since you were born. But that’s all right, Weaselette, you can always wear hand-me-down robes when all else fails.” I stepped closer to her.
She sneered at me but stopped when she saw someone coming.
“Malfoy, get away from my sister. Gin, are you all right?” said a knowing voice. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“Weasley, I wouldn’t touch her if she was the last girl left to shag,” I imagined telling him with a sneer. But my girl said something that I had been dying to hear.
“Ron, what we’re doing is none of your business. I’m not your baby sister any more,” she said. (Well, that wasn’t the part I’d been dying to hear. Just wait a bit.)
“But he was going to touch you, I saw it,” Ron said.
“Ron, I couldn’t care less if he wanted to touch me. In fact, I would let him touch me even if I wasn’t drugged.” There it was, the most beautiful sentence I’d heard since the first day I saw her.
“Also,” she added, “I was just suggesting that we should snog in a more private place. Draco, would you like to come with me or would you like to stay with this prat?” she asked in such an angelic voice that I couldn’t help but grin. With every word she said, my confidence grew—and the nightmare vision of Ginny and Potter sharing a future receded a little more.
“But you wouldn’t—he’s a Malfoy,” Ron said in a knowing voice.
“Very good, Ron. Now if only you could understand girls, everything would be peachy,” Ginny said sarcastically as she grabbed my hand. If the whole crowd hadn’t been watching us, I would have fainted just because she’d said that, and she had touched my hand, not Potter’s.
She pulled me out of the crowd to a quiet room where there was no one but us. I couldn’t help but smirk at Zabini, who had watched the whole thing, as we passed him. Ginny drew me into the room and let go of my hand, locked the door, and sat in a nearby chair. She let out a frustrated groan and put her face in her hands. I heard the words “big prat”, “idiotic brother”, and “moron”, amidst other comments too muffled to understand.
“Weasley, shall we get started? I tend to give great shag, if you think you can handle it,” I said with a smirk.
“Shut it, Malfoy. I’m not in the mood for your comments. God, I hate him so much. I wish he had died in that stupid war. He could just mind his own business like my other brothers, but no, he’s decided to try to run my life for me,” she said in a frustrated voice.
“You should be grateful he hasn’t tried to pair you up with anyone,” I said encouragingly—which was weird, as I’ve never done that before.
“Oh, please. He decided a Hufflepuff was such a great match for me. He set me up with these awful dates and then asked me what I thought of them on a scale from one to ten. He even asked whether they were bad dates because they didn’t know how to please me sexually. And he asked in front of my friends! Sometimes I want to choke him to death with my own hands. Even Mum thinks I should settle down with a boyfriend. Please—like a boyfriend is even on my mind these days.” She blurted out more information than I could handle; I couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked when she was angry.
“What?” she asked me belligerently, with her hands on her hips. She’d caught me staring at her face.
“Nothing. I’m just wondering whether you’re always this feisty,” I said casually.
“Why? So you can taunt me about how I complain about everything that’s happening in my life?”
“No, so I can choose between telling you how sexy you look or that I want to kiss you,” I blurted out. Her reaction was priceless. Her mouth was opened and she looked at me like I was crazy.
Before she could react, I stepped closer to her and did something I’ve wanted to do ever since I was twelve years old. I cupped her chin, lifted her head, and captured her lips with mine. I kissed her softly before tracing her bottom lip with my tongue. She relaxed her body as I slowly let my tongue into her mouth. Before I knew it, she was kissing me back. I wrapped my other arm around her and let my hands wander up to her neck, then to her hair. I tugged at a curl and played with her hair for a long time before I slid one hand back down to hold hers, using my other hand to rub small circles on her back while tracing her lower spine. We broke apart as we both tried to breathe again after a long snog. She looked at me with steady eyes. I looked back at her lovingly as I traced her jaw.
“I thought you hated me,” she whispered.
“I tried to, but it was so hard. Every time I taunted you I kept thinking how nice it would be to kiss your lips,” I said as I tugged another curl.
“So you like me,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
“I’ve liked you ever since I saw you with Potter in Flourish and Blotts. I’ve always wanted to tell you how I felt, but we were so different. Not because of our names, but because you were this innocent girl and I was a bad boy,” I said to her, confessing my feelings.
“But you came to the Order and asked for help.”
“Only because I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. Besides, seeing you there every day was another plus for me.”
“But what about everything you said about my family?”
“That’s just how I showed my feelings. Boys have strange ways of telling you how they feel, just like your idiotic and moronic brother.”
“So you never meant it?” she said hopefully.
I shook my head as I took her hand and gently rubbed it.
“Do you like me?” I asked it shyly, which is never a Malfoy thing to do, but be damned to my courage and pride if I could have a chance with this beautiful lady, one who tasted so sweet that I couldn’t get enough of her.
In response, she kissed me. She wrapped her arms around my neck. She made the first move, putting her tongue into my mouth. God, this was heaven. Then she let me go.
“But what about Potter?” I asked, breathing heavily.
“What about him?” she replied, playing with my hair.
“Isn’t he courting you, or something?” I looked into her mesmerizing eyes.
“No, that was just a rumour my brother started. I wanted someone whose last name wasn't Potter” she said, thereby making me the happiest man in the world.
In the background, I could hear the sound of people counting down the last few seconds of the old year. As the New Year began, my journey began with my favourite girl, Ginny Weasley—or Red, as I like to call her. I kissed her and vowed to keep her forever. For once I was glad that my last name didn’t start with a P and end with an R.
Of course, as luck would have it, I ended up stuck at another such “awesome” ball with not only those people but also common people such as the Weasleys, Muggle-borns, and half-bloods. I shivered at the thought of them using the same glass I drank from, eating the same foods I ate, and walking on the same ground where I walked. I sighed, thinking this would be a long night.
Suddenly I heard someone clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention. I rolled my eyes at the thought of Saint Potter making his long, unnecessary speech for the whole world to hear. Who really cared what he thought about the latest invention, Visible, an experiment by the Weasel twins? It was a type of experiment that should be banned world wide, in my opinion. But I was just a person whose last name didn’t start with a P and end with an R.
“Ahem, may I have your attention, please?” A boy of about seventeen and five feet, seven inches tall stood in front of the crowd. It was The Boy Who Wouldn’t Just F**king Die. Even after a fight with You-Know-Who, he wouldn’t just die with his foe. Of course even if he had died, the world would probably have created a day just to pay tribute to our great hero. To make it even worse, they probably would have named a street or a city after him. Actually, they did name a fricking street after him: Harry Street. The name sounded wonderful to these people, although I supposed the name Saint Potter Street would have sounded even better. But of course I was just a person whose last name didn’t start with a P and end with an R.
“Thank you for coming to this wonderful, enchanting Gala. We never knew so many people cared about this donation.” By this time I realized that the perfect Granger had probably written the speech, and to make it worse, she probably had made him memorize the whole thing. No doubt Potter’s little girlfriend, the Weaselette, was somewhere gagging at his speech instead of standing next to him so they looked like the perfect couple. What a crap way to start a ball. By the way, no one cared about the fricking donation. The only reason these people had come was to get onto the front page of the Daily Prophet. They should have known by now that Perfect Potter was the only face they would see for the next few years. Ever since Potter had defeated You-Know-Who, his face had been plastered across the front page. Not only was this becoming annoying, but Potter seemed to be enjoying his victory more than he needed to.
By the time I had got my thoughts under control, Potter had finished his speech. That was the only part I enjoyed, the moment when Potter was no longer in the limelight every fricking minute. That is, it was the only thing I had enjoyed until I saw her.
When I saw a flash of red go by, I turned to see what it was. There she stood, looking so small. Ginevra Weasley at the age of sixteen looked like a woman of twenty. She was a little vixen who had captured my mind since I first saw her at Hogwarts, sitting on the stool while the Sorting Hat decided her fate. I knew she’d been a Weasley forever, but I couldn’t get her off my mind. She haunted my sleep, my soul, and my mind, but I could never tell her what she meant to me.
Only one person knew about my fantasy: Blaise Zabini. Granted, he’d been my best friend since I was five. Zabini knew everything about me and had the decency to keep it between us, not being interested in the death I threatened should he reveal my secret.
“Well, look who decided to come after all,” Zabini drawled when he had caught my attention.
“Shouldn’t you be looking for the flavour of the week?” I sneered.
“Don’t worry, I did find her. She’s looking bloody fantastic compared to the other girls,” Zabini said, looking at a girl near the edge of the porch. Not only was he checking out my girl, he was saying he wanted to court her. She wore a green dress, and my heart pounded like a drum at the thought of her liking my favourite color.
“Do you want me to kill you?” I growled, but he just laughed—a big mistake, in my opinion, but Zabini takes more risks than I do.
“You’ll never have her if you keep scowling, but then again rumour has it that Potter will be asking her to be his wife soon. Who knows—they might have adorable babies with black hair and green eyes,” said Zabini, laughing half-heartedly.
I grimaced as I tried to shake the horrible image of them, an image where she cried out his name as she climaxed in a large four-poster bed. The image where they lived happily ever after with kids that have jet-black hair and green eyes. Darn Zabini for ruining my evening.
“Don’t worry, mate, all you have to do is go insult her family until you both have some sexual tension to let go of. Then take it out on each other. It would be a wild one tonight, for sure,” he said encouragingly.
“Zabini, if I wasn’t surrounded by people right now, I’d hex you until you couldn’t remember your own name. Be grateful these people are here to save you,” I muttered before I left his side to go see her. Zabini was probably wetting his pants from laughing. But I didn’t care; the only thing that mattered right now was seeing her—the woman that I would marry one day, if I had anything to say about it.
“You know, green wouldn’t look so bad on you if you’d stop tugging at it.” I finally got up the courage to say something. Ginny turned around and scowled when she realized who it was.
“True, but then green looked so disgusting to me that I wondered why the hell I chose this in the first place,” she said, stealing my smirk for her own use.
“Maybe because it’s the only decent thing you’ve had since you were born. But that’s all right, Weaselette, you can always wear hand-me-down robes when all else fails.” I stepped closer to her.
She sneered at me but stopped when she saw someone coming.
“Malfoy, get away from my sister. Gin, are you all right?” said a knowing voice. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“Weasley, I wouldn’t touch her if she was the last girl left to shag,” I imagined telling him with a sneer. But my girl said something that I had been dying to hear.
“Ron, what we’re doing is none of your business. I’m not your baby sister any more,” she said. (Well, that wasn’t the part I’d been dying to hear. Just wait a bit.)
“But he was going to touch you, I saw it,” Ron said.
“Ron, I couldn’t care less if he wanted to touch me. In fact, I would let him touch me even if I wasn’t drugged.” There it was, the most beautiful sentence I’d heard since the first day I saw her.
“Also,” she added, “I was just suggesting that we should snog in a more private place. Draco, would you like to come with me or would you like to stay with this prat?” she asked in such an angelic voice that I couldn’t help but grin. With every word she said, my confidence grew—and the nightmare vision of Ginny and Potter sharing a future receded a little more.
“But you wouldn’t—he’s a Malfoy,” Ron said in a knowing voice.
“Very good, Ron. Now if only you could understand girls, everything would be peachy,” Ginny said sarcastically as she grabbed my hand. If the whole crowd hadn’t been watching us, I would have fainted just because she’d said that, and she had touched my hand, not Potter’s.
She pulled me out of the crowd to a quiet room where there was no one but us. I couldn’t help but smirk at Zabini, who had watched the whole thing, as we passed him. Ginny drew me into the room and let go of my hand, locked the door, and sat in a nearby chair. She let out a frustrated groan and put her face in her hands. I heard the words “big prat”, “idiotic brother”, and “moron”, amidst other comments too muffled to understand.
“Weasley, shall we get started? I tend to give great shag, if you think you can handle it,” I said with a smirk.
“Shut it, Malfoy. I’m not in the mood for your comments. God, I hate him so much. I wish he had died in that stupid war. He could just mind his own business like my other brothers, but no, he’s decided to try to run my life for me,” she said in a frustrated voice.
“You should be grateful he hasn’t tried to pair you up with anyone,” I said encouragingly—which was weird, as I’ve never done that before.
“Oh, please. He decided a Hufflepuff was such a great match for me. He set me up with these awful dates and then asked me what I thought of them on a scale from one to ten. He even asked whether they were bad dates because they didn’t know how to please me sexually. And he asked in front of my friends! Sometimes I want to choke him to death with my own hands. Even Mum thinks I should settle down with a boyfriend. Please—like a boyfriend is even on my mind these days.” She blurted out more information than I could handle; I couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked when she was angry.
“What?” she asked me belligerently, with her hands on her hips. She’d caught me staring at her face.
“Nothing. I’m just wondering whether you’re always this feisty,” I said casually.
“Why? So you can taunt me about how I complain about everything that’s happening in my life?”
“No, so I can choose between telling you how sexy you look or that I want to kiss you,” I blurted out. Her reaction was priceless. Her mouth was opened and she looked at me like I was crazy.
Before she could react, I stepped closer to her and did something I’ve wanted to do ever since I was twelve years old. I cupped her chin, lifted her head, and captured her lips with mine. I kissed her softly before tracing her bottom lip with my tongue. She relaxed her body as I slowly let my tongue into her mouth. Before I knew it, she was kissing me back. I wrapped my other arm around her and let my hands wander up to her neck, then to her hair. I tugged at a curl and played with her hair for a long time before I slid one hand back down to hold hers, using my other hand to rub small circles on her back while tracing her lower spine. We broke apart as we both tried to breathe again after a long snog. She looked at me with steady eyes. I looked back at her lovingly as I traced her jaw.
“I thought you hated me,” she whispered.
“I tried to, but it was so hard. Every time I taunted you I kept thinking how nice it would be to kiss your lips,” I said as I tugged another curl.
“So you like me,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
“I’ve liked you ever since I saw you with Potter in Flourish and Blotts. I’ve always wanted to tell you how I felt, but we were so different. Not because of our names, but because you were this innocent girl and I was a bad boy,” I said to her, confessing my feelings.
“But you came to the Order and asked for help.”
“Only because I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. Besides, seeing you there every day was another plus for me.”
“But what about everything you said about my family?”
“That’s just how I showed my feelings. Boys have strange ways of telling you how they feel, just like your idiotic and moronic brother.”
“So you never meant it?” she said hopefully.
I shook my head as I took her hand and gently rubbed it.
“Do you like me?” I asked it shyly, which is never a Malfoy thing to do, but be damned to my courage and pride if I could have a chance with this beautiful lady, one who tasted so sweet that I couldn’t get enough of her.
In response, she kissed me. She wrapped her arms around my neck. She made the first move, putting her tongue into my mouth. God, this was heaven. Then she let me go.
“But what about Potter?” I asked, breathing heavily.
“What about him?” she replied, playing with my hair.
“Isn’t he courting you, or something?” I looked into her mesmerizing eyes.
“No, that was just a rumour my brother started. I wanted someone whose last name wasn't Potter” she said, thereby making me the happiest man in the world.
In the background, I could hear the sound of people counting down the last few seconds of the old year. As the New Year began, my journey began with my favourite girl, Ginny Weasley—or Red, as I like to call her. I kissed her and vowed to keep her forever. For once I was glad that my last name didn’t start with a P and end with an R.
The End.
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This story is a favorite of 15 members. Members who liked It Doesn't Start With a "P" or End With an "R" also liked 1416 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 15 members. Members who liked It Doesn't Start With a "P" or End With an "R" also liked 1416 other stories.
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