The chance to begin the game came several weeks later. During this time, Ginny had been subtly watching Malfoy in order to attempt to figure out his biggest weakness. While her brothers had been the mischievous ones, the trouble makers, Ginny had become somewhat of an expert at dissembling. She loved life, loved people and being with them – but at the same time, she noticed things more than other people. She’d used this talent of hers before now, for more altruistic reasons. Now she was putting everything she had to use on this quest for revenge.
She’d thought it all through, had weighed both the pros and the cons – after she’d made up her mind during that Muggle Studies class, of course. She understood that she could get into trouble with Ron over this. She also knew she’d need to be careful around Malfoy. She knew it would be hard to put up with him long enough for him to think he was in love – something she highly doubted that was actually possible of him. She was sure, however, that she could control her loathing enough to lure him in. And the repression of her hatred would only make it so much sweeter when it burst out of her at the end of the game.
She smiled. She’d been watching Malfoy for a while now, and she’d quickly noticed he had an affinity for neatness, favoured classically elegant clothes rather than fashionable ones, and he had a sweet tooth. His favourite dessert seemed to be chocolate pudding.
There had been a couple of moments in the past weeks where Ginny had been slightly intimidated by her task. By her target. There had been times when he seemed so aloof and ominous that she’d considered backing out. But her discoveries about his preferences had brought back the fact that he was just a person; her fears were allayed.
Draco Malfoy was hers. At least, until she discarded him.
Now, how to begin the game? It had to be attention grabbing, had to make him think about her, but not to forward or –
His eyes caught hers. She’d been staring at him, absently, as she had been for weeks. For the first time he was staring back. No, she thought. This wasn’t right. It was too soon, it was too revealing, it was –
A beginning.
His eyes were grey. That explained his affinity for grey and charcoal coloured clothes. Ginny let her eyelashes hide her eyes slightly, raising one eyebrow as if he had initiated the contact.
His eyes swept over her in a slow, thorough inspection. His eyes wondered over her mouth, over her neck, her shoulders – as far down as the table would allow – and then back up. He met her eyes again. Without any expression, any acknowledgement or challenge, he turned away.
Ginny smiled to herself.
The game had begun.
Ginny spent the next few days attempting to take that exchange of glances a step further. On the Tuesday she looked for any chance to talk to him or even to snark. On Wednesday, she almost got a chance to speak to him; she was walking towards him in a deserted corridor, opened her mouth – and Pansy appeared next to him. On the Thursday he was flanked constantly by Crabbe and Goyle. On the Friday, she was seething with frustrated energy. She’d wanted to get further than this by now; had wanted to arrange a secret meeting with him at Hogsmeade this weekend. It was the first Hogsmeade of the year; an event she always looked forward to as a taste of freedom. Though she loved Hogwarts and her lessons, the rules and regulations sometimes got to her. She’d been willing to give that up to be with Malfoy, loathsome as he was – and now she wouldn’t be able to, she was oddly disappointed.
Ginny woke early Saturday morning and dressed quickly in jeans and a warm, bulky-knit green jumper. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and went down to the common room, bringing her Potions book with her – Snape had required them to write a two foot essay on the dangers of sleeping draughts and the measures taken to stop them, to be handed in on Monday. Personally, Ginny was not especially fond of Potions, however, she seemed to do okay in it. Her favourite subjects were transfigurations and charms – to her, they seemed more like the enchanting world she’d imagined when she’d watched brother after brother go off to the magic school.
The common room was a bustling hub of activity, even at this time of the morning. Groups of sixth and seventh years were bunched together over tables and hunched over parchment. Some looked slightly the worse for wear – Hermione and Neville wore crumpled clothes that indicated they hadn’t gone to bed at all, and Ginny bit back a comment that they should go and join the Ravenclaws. Ron and Harry were conspicuous in their absences – no doubt still in bed. She doubted the pair had ever been up this early – saving the world excepted.
The students would leave until around 10. The track to Hogsmeade was along low plains and fields; when it rained it meant that students needed to trek through mud – unless one of the teachers cast spells on their clothes and shoes to repel it. Today, however, seemed to be a lovely day, if a bit windy.
It was 9 before Ginny put down her quill and looked up. Hermione’s voice carried to her from the portrait hole. “Are you coming to breakfast, Ginny?” Hermione looked especially pretty today, now that she was out of the crumpled clothes; she was wearing a maroon sweater that complimented her complexion, her eyes were sparkling with excitement and she had a small smile on her face. She was flanked on either side by Harry and Ron who had somehow dragged themselves out of bed, although quite recently, by the looks of things: Harry’s hair was messier than usual (if that was possible), and Ron’s clothes were obviously pulled on with no regard as to how neat they were.
Ginny accompanied them down to the Great Hall, chatting and laughing with them. She sat with her back to the wall, observing the hall while still participating in the discussion with the trio. She helped herself to some breakfast, eyes slowly canning the room. Her eyes passed Ernie McMillan talking in depth with Hannah Abbot, past Zacharias Smith, and straight into the gaze of –
-- she sat in electrified silence as she realised he’d been watching her. Those stormy grey eyes held hers for a long minute, and it seemed to her that the surrounding noise faded away. She felt heavy, aware and dulled all at the same time. Their gazes locked for a minute more, then he smiled slightly and looked away.
Ginny and the trio left for Hogsmeade just after 10, as predicted. Ron and Hermione had found something to bicker over as usual. Harry, looking slightly awkward, walking alongside the pair, had his hands in his pockets and head down. Ginny realised how far Harry went to avoid attention; if it weren’t for the scar, he’d be nothing more than a face in the crowd. Quite a good-looking face, but nothing more. She felt a flash of pity for the boy she’d been taught to worship since a young age. “So, Harry, who do you expect to win the Kingdom Cup?” she asked, referring to the Quidditch League within Britain and Ireland. Immediately, Harry launched into a long and complex analysis of each team in the league and their current chances of winning. When he mentioned that he favoured the Kenmare Kestrels, even though the Montrose Magpies were currently favourites – Ron snapped to attention. “Kenmare?” he scoffed. “Kenmare’s offence is centred on Caleb Fortune, and he’s been terrible lately.”
“But their defence has steadily improved all season. This match will be the decider for them. They’ll really get to show their mettle against Windborne.”
And thus began the great debate. Hermione smiled wryly at the boys, just a touch of affection tinging her expression.
They reached Hogsmeade in good time, and the boys declared a truce at Hermione’s “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” burst of exasperation. Hogsmeade was lovely; the burst of Autumn weather was reflected among the quaint little village, gold and brown adorned the trees, people huddled in their warm clothes against the cold breeze, and streams of smoke puffed out the chimneys of houses in short bursts. Lots of people had chosen to come today – Ginny waved at Neville (who had dark rings under his eyes), Dean and Seamus, then at Luna, who was standing interestedly outside a news stand.
It was when the group stopped to look at Honeydukes’ that Ginny realised they were being followed, very subtly, by Draco Malfoy and his friends. It wasn’t that they attempted to hide, but every time her group paused to look at something, so did his, just a little further away. Or they’d continue on, and stop at a store ahead of the trio, staying there until they passed. This continued for some time, until Ginny suggested that the head into the Three Broomsticks, for a seat and a drink.
Ginny was frantic. What if she’d been reading the signals incorrectly? An angry Malfoy was not someone she wanted to mess with, especially when he was escorted by those two lumps. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she was just deluding herself. She had a very active imagination, and no doubt it was running away with her. If Malfoy didn’t walk in within three minutes, then she was obviously –
-- Draco Malfoy walked in. He and his cronies immediately gravitated towards a corner. He sat with his back to the wall, the dim light casting shadows over his face. His expression was totally guarded; an ominous, forbidding face.
It didn’t help that there were two, very large, men on either side of him, their arms folded across their chests and their expressions downright menacing. They locked eyes for the second time that day, but this time there was more; a message. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and his head tipped back slightly. It was an imperious demand for her to meet him. She should refuse. Instead, she gave the tiniest of nods and turned back to her friends. She saw him leave from the corner of her eye moments later. With an excuse along the lines of looking at the price of an owl home to send her Christmas presents, Ginny extracted herself. He was waiting just down the street for her. When he saw her, he gave her a significant look and walked away.
She followed him for a distance, stopping every now and then to look in a display window. Stores already had their Christmas decorations and present ideas up, brightly lit windows filled with singing owls and hovering mistletoe (“Choose who you’ll find under the mistletoe!”) She saw him enter an alleyway and walked past it, staring at a shop window filled with kitchen appliances as if it was the most entrancing thing in the world. Moments later, with a casual glance at her surroundings, she slipped into the dark side street. He was standing in the shadows, his hands in his pockets. He seemed so ominous, standing there. Arrogance was bred into him, as natural to him as breathing. She paused. She must never underestimate her adversary.
“So tell me. What’s a girl like you doing making eyes at me?”
“I was doing no such thing, Malfoy.”
His grin was mocking. “Surely I’m more than Malfoy to you, what with that hot little look in your eyes every time you look at me.”
“I do not have a ‘hot’ look in my eyes,” she replied stiffly. “How dare you insinuate such a thing?” Inside, she was giddy with happiness. Her moves had been well noted by her opponent. That was a good thing.
He stepped closed to her. “I didn’t insinuate, princess, I stated explicitly.”
She turned to leave, but his hand covered her arm and stopped her in her tracks. “Let go of me.” She could barely believe this prim and proper voice was coming from her. Ginny had to keep him chasing her, keep him thinking it was his choice.
He turned her around, grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Miss Weasley. Don’t turn that prissy attitude on me. I am a Malfoy, I am better than you and your dirt-poor family, and even touching you right now degrades me.” She stared up at him, the passion of hatred naked in her eyes. She was better than his family; she had ethics, and morals, something could never have.
He stared into her eyes for a second longer, then pulled her close to him.
The kiss was explosive. His arms were still around her, urging her closer, and she felt her hands slide over his chest. One level of her, the small part that was able to stay sane, was telling her to take control and turn the kiss around so it was him, not her, than would give way. She kissed him back, using everything stored up inside her in order to draw him out. This was a game of wits and wills, and she was not going to lose.
They pulled away slowly, reluctantly. Ginny tried to feel triumphant that she’d pushed and gained ground; instead she was disappointed that they were no longer touching each other.
She smirked at him to cover the confusion that caused. “Feel degraded?”
He stared at her for a minute, then turned away from her. He was silent for so long, especially when he comment had been so easy to insult. Finally, he spoke. His voice was solemn. “You should leave. Neither of us can afford to be seen associating with each other.”
Since keeping silent about the game was in her own interests (why would she want someone like Ron knowing she was going to seduce Draco Malfoy?), she didn’t argue the point. What surprised her, however, was that he’d thought about her and her reputation at all. She thought about her opponent, who was growing more worthy by the minute; about the boy with a sweet tooth, the same person as that man who was so ominous just minutes ago. He intrigued her. Without thinking, she commented on it. “Who are you, Draco Malfoy?”
He didn’t face her. “Nothing but myself.”
She liked that answer. “You are what you are.” Just as she was. “I have to go.” He nodded, back still to her.
Ginny hurried down the alleyway. “Ginny,” he called. She paused to listen. “Neither of us can afford to be seen.” She understood the message. With a smile, she left the alley and rejoined the others.
She’d thought it all through, had weighed both the pros and the cons – after she’d made up her mind during that Muggle Studies class, of course. She understood that she could get into trouble with Ron over this. She also knew she’d need to be careful around Malfoy. She knew it would be hard to put up with him long enough for him to think he was in love – something she highly doubted that was actually possible of him. She was sure, however, that she could control her loathing enough to lure him in. And the repression of her hatred would only make it so much sweeter when it burst out of her at the end of the game.
She smiled. She’d been watching Malfoy for a while now, and she’d quickly noticed he had an affinity for neatness, favoured classically elegant clothes rather than fashionable ones, and he had a sweet tooth. His favourite dessert seemed to be chocolate pudding.
There had been a couple of moments in the past weeks where Ginny had been slightly intimidated by her task. By her target. There had been times when he seemed so aloof and ominous that she’d considered backing out. But her discoveries about his preferences had brought back the fact that he was just a person; her fears were allayed.
Draco Malfoy was hers. At least, until she discarded him.
Now, how to begin the game? It had to be attention grabbing, had to make him think about her, but not to forward or –
His eyes caught hers. She’d been staring at him, absently, as she had been for weeks. For the first time he was staring back. No, she thought. This wasn’t right. It was too soon, it was too revealing, it was –
A beginning.
His eyes were grey. That explained his affinity for grey and charcoal coloured clothes. Ginny let her eyelashes hide her eyes slightly, raising one eyebrow as if he had initiated the contact.
His eyes swept over her in a slow, thorough inspection. His eyes wondered over her mouth, over her neck, her shoulders – as far down as the table would allow – and then back up. He met her eyes again. Without any expression, any acknowledgement or challenge, he turned away.
Ginny smiled to herself.
The game had begun.
Ginny spent the next few days attempting to take that exchange of glances a step further. On the Tuesday she looked for any chance to talk to him or even to snark. On Wednesday, she almost got a chance to speak to him; she was walking towards him in a deserted corridor, opened her mouth – and Pansy appeared next to him. On the Thursday he was flanked constantly by Crabbe and Goyle. On the Friday, she was seething with frustrated energy. She’d wanted to get further than this by now; had wanted to arrange a secret meeting with him at Hogsmeade this weekend. It was the first Hogsmeade of the year; an event she always looked forward to as a taste of freedom. Though she loved Hogwarts and her lessons, the rules and regulations sometimes got to her. She’d been willing to give that up to be with Malfoy, loathsome as he was – and now she wouldn’t be able to, she was oddly disappointed.
Ginny woke early Saturday morning and dressed quickly in jeans and a warm, bulky-knit green jumper. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and went down to the common room, bringing her Potions book with her – Snape had required them to write a two foot essay on the dangers of sleeping draughts and the measures taken to stop them, to be handed in on Monday. Personally, Ginny was not especially fond of Potions, however, she seemed to do okay in it. Her favourite subjects were transfigurations and charms – to her, they seemed more like the enchanting world she’d imagined when she’d watched brother after brother go off to the magic school.
The common room was a bustling hub of activity, even at this time of the morning. Groups of sixth and seventh years were bunched together over tables and hunched over parchment. Some looked slightly the worse for wear – Hermione and Neville wore crumpled clothes that indicated they hadn’t gone to bed at all, and Ginny bit back a comment that they should go and join the Ravenclaws. Ron and Harry were conspicuous in their absences – no doubt still in bed. She doubted the pair had ever been up this early – saving the world excepted.
The students would leave until around 10. The track to Hogsmeade was along low plains and fields; when it rained it meant that students needed to trek through mud – unless one of the teachers cast spells on their clothes and shoes to repel it. Today, however, seemed to be a lovely day, if a bit windy.
It was 9 before Ginny put down her quill and looked up. Hermione’s voice carried to her from the portrait hole. “Are you coming to breakfast, Ginny?” Hermione looked especially pretty today, now that she was out of the crumpled clothes; she was wearing a maroon sweater that complimented her complexion, her eyes were sparkling with excitement and she had a small smile on her face. She was flanked on either side by Harry and Ron who had somehow dragged themselves out of bed, although quite recently, by the looks of things: Harry’s hair was messier than usual (if that was possible), and Ron’s clothes were obviously pulled on with no regard as to how neat they were.
Ginny accompanied them down to the Great Hall, chatting and laughing with them. She sat with her back to the wall, observing the hall while still participating in the discussion with the trio. She helped herself to some breakfast, eyes slowly canning the room. Her eyes passed Ernie McMillan talking in depth with Hannah Abbot, past Zacharias Smith, and straight into the gaze of –
-- she sat in electrified silence as she realised he’d been watching her. Those stormy grey eyes held hers for a long minute, and it seemed to her that the surrounding noise faded away. She felt heavy, aware and dulled all at the same time. Their gazes locked for a minute more, then he smiled slightly and looked away.
Ginny and the trio left for Hogsmeade just after 10, as predicted. Ron and Hermione had found something to bicker over as usual. Harry, looking slightly awkward, walking alongside the pair, had his hands in his pockets and head down. Ginny realised how far Harry went to avoid attention; if it weren’t for the scar, he’d be nothing more than a face in the crowd. Quite a good-looking face, but nothing more. She felt a flash of pity for the boy she’d been taught to worship since a young age. “So, Harry, who do you expect to win the Kingdom Cup?” she asked, referring to the Quidditch League within Britain and Ireland. Immediately, Harry launched into a long and complex analysis of each team in the league and their current chances of winning. When he mentioned that he favoured the Kenmare Kestrels, even though the Montrose Magpies were currently favourites – Ron snapped to attention. “Kenmare?” he scoffed. “Kenmare’s offence is centred on Caleb Fortune, and he’s been terrible lately.”
“But their defence has steadily improved all season. This match will be the decider for them. They’ll really get to show their mettle against Windborne.”
And thus began the great debate. Hermione smiled wryly at the boys, just a touch of affection tinging her expression.
They reached Hogsmeade in good time, and the boys declared a truce at Hermione’s “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” burst of exasperation. Hogsmeade was lovely; the burst of Autumn weather was reflected among the quaint little village, gold and brown adorned the trees, people huddled in their warm clothes against the cold breeze, and streams of smoke puffed out the chimneys of houses in short bursts. Lots of people had chosen to come today – Ginny waved at Neville (who had dark rings under his eyes), Dean and Seamus, then at Luna, who was standing interestedly outside a news stand.
It was when the group stopped to look at Honeydukes’ that Ginny realised they were being followed, very subtly, by Draco Malfoy and his friends. It wasn’t that they attempted to hide, but every time her group paused to look at something, so did his, just a little further away. Or they’d continue on, and stop at a store ahead of the trio, staying there until they passed. This continued for some time, until Ginny suggested that the head into the Three Broomsticks, for a seat and a drink.
Ginny was frantic. What if she’d been reading the signals incorrectly? An angry Malfoy was not someone she wanted to mess with, especially when he was escorted by those two lumps. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she was just deluding herself. She had a very active imagination, and no doubt it was running away with her. If Malfoy didn’t walk in within three minutes, then she was obviously –
-- Draco Malfoy walked in. He and his cronies immediately gravitated towards a corner. He sat with his back to the wall, the dim light casting shadows over his face. His expression was totally guarded; an ominous, forbidding face.
It didn’t help that there were two, very large, men on either side of him, their arms folded across their chests and their expressions downright menacing. They locked eyes for the second time that day, but this time there was more; a message. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and his head tipped back slightly. It was an imperious demand for her to meet him. She should refuse. Instead, she gave the tiniest of nods and turned back to her friends. She saw him leave from the corner of her eye moments later. With an excuse along the lines of looking at the price of an owl home to send her Christmas presents, Ginny extracted herself. He was waiting just down the street for her. When he saw her, he gave her a significant look and walked away.
She followed him for a distance, stopping every now and then to look in a display window. Stores already had their Christmas decorations and present ideas up, brightly lit windows filled with singing owls and hovering mistletoe (“Choose who you’ll find under the mistletoe!”) She saw him enter an alleyway and walked past it, staring at a shop window filled with kitchen appliances as if it was the most entrancing thing in the world. Moments later, with a casual glance at her surroundings, she slipped into the dark side street. He was standing in the shadows, his hands in his pockets. He seemed so ominous, standing there. Arrogance was bred into him, as natural to him as breathing. She paused. She must never underestimate her adversary.
“So tell me. What’s a girl like you doing making eyes at me?”
“I was doing no such thing, Malfoy.”
His grin was mocking. “Surely I’m more than Malfoy to you, what with that hot little look in your eyes every time you look at me.”
“I do not have a ‘hot’ look in my eyes,” she replied stiffly. “How dare you insinuate such a thing?” Inside, she was giddy with happiness. Her moves had been well noted by her opponent. That was a good thing.
He stepped closed to her. “I didn’t insinuate, princess, I stated explicitly.”
She turned to leave, but his hand covered her arm and stopped her in her tracks. “Let go of me.” She could barely believe this prim and proper voice was coming from her. Ginny had to keep him chasing her, keep him thinking it was his choice.
He turned her around, grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Miss Weasley. Don’t turn that prissy attitude on me. I am a Malfoy, I am better than you and your dirt-poor family, and even touching you right now degrades me.” She stared up at him, the passion of hatred naked in her eyes. She was better than his family; she had ethics, and morals, something could never have.
He stared into her eyes for a second longer, then pulled her close to him.
The kiss was explosive. His arms were still around her, urging her closer, and she felt her hands slide over his chest. One level of her, the small part that was able to stay sane, was telling her to take control and turn the kiss around so it was him, not her, than would give way. She kissed him back, using everything stored up inside her in order to draw him out. This was a game of wits and wills, and she was not going to lose.
They pulled away slowly, reluctantly. Ginny tried to feel triumphant that she’d pushed and gained ground; instead she was disappointed that they were no longer touching each other.
She smirked at him to cover the confusion that caused. “Feel degraded?”
He stared at her for a minute, then turned away from her. He was silent for so long, especially when he comment had been so easy to insult. Finally, he spoke. His voice was solemn. “You should leave. Neither of us can afford to be seen associating with each other.”
Since keeping silent about the game was in her own interests (why would she want someone like Ron knowing she was going to seduce Draco Malfoy?), she didn’t argue the point. What surprised her, however, was that he’d thought about her and her reputation at all. She thought about her opponent, who was growing more worthy by the minute; about the boy with a sweet tooth, the same person as that man who was so ominous just minutes ago. He intrigued her. Without thinking, she commented on it. “Who are you, Draco Malfoy?”
He didn’t face her. “Nothing but myself.”
She liked that answer. “You are what you are.” Just as she was. “I have to go.” He nodded, back still to her.
Ginny hurried down the alleyway. “Ginny,” he called. She paused to listen. “Neither of us can afford to be seen.” She understood the message. With a smile, she left the alley and rejoined the others.
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