A week had passed. Ginny had tried to do the practical thing and focus on sorting out her life. She had applied for some jobs, had dinner with her family, and she had even started exercising again. Even better, she hadn't thought about Draco Malfoy once … well, not a lot anyway.
…
Fine. She had thought about him all the time, but so what? He was interesting. It wasn't like she was mooning blindly over him like she had used to do with Harry back when she was eleven. Now that had just been sad. The bespectacled 'saviour' had been able to do no wrong in her eyes back then. Of course, as it turned out, it was her own inability to live up to expectations that had ruined their relationship. Funny how life worked.
In any case, Ginny had made an attempt to follow Hermione's advice and stop being such a hermit. The only thing that had really stayed the same was her midnight drinking and writing binges. She had always sworn that her best work happened when she was drunk. Her liver probably wasn't too happy with her, though.
Thud, thud, thud.
Ginny paused. She turned her music down and listened intently. Sure enough, someone was knocking at the front door.
"Oh, for the love of—"
Ginny stood up from her writing chair and stumbled her way to the front of the house, flicking on the lights as she went. She had no idea who was trying to visit her at this hour of night, but she was not appreciative of the interruption. Her fingers fumbled with the lock, and it was only after much cursing that she finally managed to unlock the bloody thing and open the door.
"Whad'ya want?" Ginny growled, planting a hand on her hip and squinting out into the dark.
"Umm."
Ginny blinked and had to grip the wall to steady herself. "Draco?"
Sure enough, the person standing in front of her was the same bastard who was always distracting her thoughts of late—every silvery-haired, grey-eyed inch of him. He kept shifting on his feet like he needed to piss, which her sleep-deprived brain decided to think was kind of cute. Gods, she really was drunk. Maybe it was time to stop drinking while writing.
"Why are you here?" Draco demanded with just the slightest hint of a slur.
Her eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean 'why am I here'? I live here!"
He blinked. She glared. There was much awkwardness.
Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. He scanned the contents, but the way he kept tilting his head and squinting at the words didn't make her have much faith in his reading abilities. She snatched it off him and read the note, which she saw had an address written on it that was almost identical to hers; the road name just had a few letters in the wrong place. Ginny snorted and handed the sheet back to him.
"You're at the wrong house, you idiot."
Draco scowled and shifted on his feet a bit faster, almost like he was doing an odd dance. "I gathered that."
Ginny thought that would be the end of the matter, but then Draco swore and ceased his jiggling.
"Look, this is going to sound weird, but can I use your loo?"
Ginny's jaw dropped. Draco Malfoy was asking to use her bathroom. She was tempted to pinch herself just to make sure she was awake. This was so bizarre that she was sure it had to be some weird, alcohol-fumed dream.
"Er, okay," she said, and held the door open for him.
He slipped inside and demanded to know where he could find the toilet. Ginny gave him the directions and then gave herself a surreptitious pinch. Huh, so it wasn't a dream. She frowned and followed him back into the house, wondering if this was some deity's idea of a joke. She'd spent days thinking about the blond since their last encounter, and now here he was—granted, using her toilet—but he was inside her house. The romantic part of her that had once thought she and Harry Potter were fated to be believed that this was too much of a coincidence to be ignored; the experienced, jaded half just hoped he didn't vomit all over her bathroom. She was pretty sure that Draco Malfoy was about as sober as she was—maybe less so.
The door to the bathroom opened and the blond exited to the sound of the chain flushing. There was an awkward moment as they looked at each other: Draco tugging at his collar and running a hand through his hair so it stuck up at the ends, while Ginny just examined him with her head tilted on the side like a sparrow.
"You are drunk," she suddenly announced, as if pleased with her deductive powers.
Draco's mouth thinned. "Speak for yourself, Slurry."
"Slurry? What kind of stupid name is that?"
He shrugged. The matter didn't seem to interest him overly much, which said far more about his sobriety levels than anything else. From what she remembered, Draco Malfoy prided himself on his comebacks.
The blond sprawled on one of her sofas and seemed quite content to make himself at home. Ginny could have told him to get out, but since her brain was also happily sloshing around in Phoenix Tail liqueur, she just curled up on the armchair opposite and watched him through owl-like eyes. He was a novelty in her usually hermit-oriented world. She was quite content to observe him, taking in his angular features—all cheekbones and slants. If she was an artist, she'd love to paint his profile. The slope of his nose, the point of his chin: it was like someone had taken a chisel to marble and wanted to find the beauty in cold sharpness. But she knew that there were moments when he could be warm; she'd seen it before during their random encounters.
Ginny propped her chin on her hands. "So, are you going to say anything? I mean, you did just barge into my house."
Draco threw an arm over his face, blocking out the light. "Hey, you invited me in."
She frowned. "Actually, I just didn't want you to piss on my porch."
He chuckled and lowered his arm so that he could look at her. "You really do have deplorable manners."
Ginny just grinned. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he hadn't meant it as an insult. Inspired by their brief moment of camaraderie, she stood up and got more alcohol.
"Want some?" She waved a glass at him in offering. He snatched the bottle and took a big swig. "Like that, huh?" she said, collapsing on the sofa next to him.
"It's been a—well, it's been an interesting night," he confided.
Ginny took the bottle from his hands and had a sip. "Tell me about it."
At any other time, she was sure that he would have raised his eyebrow and given her the cold shoulder. Hell, if he was more sober he probably would have Disaparrated on the spot upon seeing her face and realising he had got the wrong house. But Draco was drunk, she was drunk, and it seemed like a perfect idea to have a midnight heart to heart.
So he told her about the fact that his father was trying to make him take over the company, even though he had zero interest in the business. What he really wanted to do was become a healer.
Draco laughed. "Father definitely didn't like that. It's all about money and prestige with him. Used to be like that for me too," he admitted, "but ever since the war ended … well, everything is different now. I just want to live my own life."
Ginny twisted her lips. "I can't say I pegged you as a healer. No offence, but you don't seem the caring, cuddly type."
His eyebrow rose. "Who said healers have to be cuddly?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Healers just always remind me of Madam What's-Her-Face—dumpy, cuddly people who'll call you 'dear' and make you drink Pepper-up Potion when you have a cold."
Draco scowled at Ginny and snatched the bottle from her hands. "I don't think you should have any more alcohol. Your already lacking brain cells are clearly being impaired."
"Ha ha," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "But, seriously, you wanna be a healer? Then do it. Who cares what your dad says?"
"I guess." He went all broody and silent for a moment, then he blinked and turned to her. "What about you? You quit Quidditch and just vanished from the face of the earth one day. What was with that?"
Ginny took the bottle back from him. "I dunno. Hermione likes to call it my mid-life crisis. Maybe she's right; all I know is that I wasn't satisfied with my life anymore." She shrugged. "So I quit."
"And dumped Potter," Draco added.
"That, too," Ginny agreed. "I don't think society ever forgave me."
"Well, we can't go hurting precious Potter."
Ginny laughed, but her amusement faded a second later. "I do feel bad for him. He proposed to me, you know? I thought I'd be happy—I'd been waiting for him to propose for so long—but I just felt this weird sort of resignation, like I'd just tied a noose around my neck and signed my own execution. I broke up with him that night."
Draco blinked. "I never thought I'd say this, but I actually feel sorry for the guy. You are definitely a piece of work, Ginny Weasley."
She shrugged. "So I've been told. If I had a Galleon for every time I felt more emotion for a fictional character than people in real life, I could pay for the psychiatric help that I obviously need."
He laughed long and hard at that comment. Ginny just gave him a blank stare as if to say "what? I'm serious?", which only made him laugh harder. She didn't understand what was so amusing, but she liked the way his eyes crinkled when he chuckled, all unguarded and boyish. He looked less like carved marble and more like an especially sloshed angel.
"You are one interesting woman," Draco observed after a while.
Ginny snorted. "And you are very drunk."
"I think I am," he admitted.
As if deciding something, he leaned closer and stared at her through his grey, grey eyes. She waited for him to speak—maybe say something philosophical, like he had been for most of his drunk ramblings—but all he said was that she had lots of freckles. This epiphany seemed to fascinate him, judging by his intent gaze, but Ginny was just confused.
"What?"
He tapped her nose. "Like little dots of cinnamon. I'd ask if they go all over your body, except I know they don't."
Ginny's eyebrow lifted. She might be drunk, but she was definitely not sloshed enough to miss the fact he had admitted that he knew what she looked like without clothes. Sadly, it was also true. That stupid calendar really was the bane of her existence.
Draco's eyes met hers. "So, do you often pose with just a Quaffle for photos?"
Her cheeks burned pink. "Don't you even start!"
"What? It's a serious question."
Except his eyes were glinting mischievously, and that crooked grin was anything but serious. Ginny retaliated by hitting him with a cushion. He just laughed and asked her how it felt to know that twelve-year-old boys all around the world were probably getting their jollies from her picture.
"You know," he said, "cause their mums probably don't let them buy actual porn."
"That's it!" she cried, holding the pillow above her head. "You asked for it!"
The next moment she was attacking every inch of him with the cushion. Somehow, she managed to knock them both to the floor so that they landed in a tangle of limbs. Draco was still laughing as he rolled them over in an almost lazy way, pinning her underneath him and trapping her wrists against the ground with his hands. Suddenly, her heart quickened. She could feel the tips of his hair tickling her cheek and his breath fanning her face. He was so close. Too close. She could see all the different shades of grey that coloured his irises. His mouth seemed very inviting, despite the alcohol fumes surrounding him.
"I have something to confess," Draco murmured, holding her gaze.
Ginny swallowed. "What's that?"
"It wasn't Blaise who chose that desktop picture."
She blinked. Wait, was this a confession? Suddenly, she was not in the mood for … er, whatever this was.
"Are you seriously telling me that you like me by admitting that you willingly put a naked picture of me up on your screen?" she demanded.
Draco scrunched his face, as if just realising the implications of what he had done. "Uh, yeah." He gave another shrug. "I'm drunk."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, whatever. Just kiss me."
So he did. The kiss wasn't exactly magical, but then she'd learnt long ago that romance wasn't all fireworks and rainbows. Sometimes, it was messy, dramatic and random. Sometimes, it also tasted like a brewery and expressed itself in bordering creepy stalking and the displaying of naked pictures.
Really, the both of them were a little messed up, but that was okay. Ginny thought that if anyone could handle her brand of crazy, it would be Draco Malfoy. She was quite content to let her dreams of knights in shining armour fade away to the land of fairy tales where they belonged. It was time to live in the real world, even if that meant having a snarky blond at her side.
…
Fine. She had thought about him all the time, but so what? He was interesting. It wasn't like she was mooning blindly over him like she had used to do with Harry back when she was eleven. Now that had just been sad. The bespectacled 'saviour' had been able to do no wrong in her eyes back then. Of course, as it turned out, it was her own inability to live up to expectations that had ruined their relationship. Funny how life worked.
In any case, Ginny had made an attempt to follow Hermione's advice and stop being such a hermit. The only thing that had really stayed the same was her midnight drinking and writing binges. She had always sworn that her best work happened when she was drunk. Her liver probably wasn't too happy with her, though.
Thud, thud, thud.
Ginny paused. She turned her music down and listened intently. Sure enough, someone was knocking at the front door.
"Oh, for the love of—"
Ginny stood up from her writing chair and stumbled her way to the front of the house, flicking on the lights as she went. She had no idea who was trying to visit her at this hour of night, but she was not appreciative of the interruption. Her fingers fumbled with the lock, and it was only after much cursing that she finally managed to unlock the bloody thing and open the door.
"Whad'ya want?" Ginny growled, planting a hand on her hip and squinting out into the dark.
"Umm."
Ginny blinked and had to grip the wall to steady herself. "Draco?"
Sure enough, the person standing in front of her was the same bastard who was always distracting her thoughts of late—every silvery-haired, grey-eyed inch of him. He kept shifting on his feet like he needed to piss, which her sleep-deprived brain decided to think was kind of cute. Gods, she really was drunk. Maybe it was time to stop drinking while writing.
"Why are you here?" Draco demanded with just the slightest hint of a slur.
Her eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean 'why am I here'? I live here!"
He blinked. She glared. There was much awkwardness.
Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. He scanned the contents, but the way he kept tilting his head and squinting at the words didn't make her have much faith in his reading abilities. She snatched it off him and read the note, which she saw had an address written on it that was almost identical to hers; the road name just had a few letters in the wrong place. Ginny snorted and handed the sheet back to him.
"You're at the wrong house, you idiot."
Draco scowled and shifted on his feet a bit faster, almost like he was doing an odd dance. "I gathered that."
Ginny thought that would be the end of the matter, but then Draco swore and ceased his jiggling.
"Look, this is going to sound weird, but can I use your loo?"
Ginny's jaw dropped. Draco Malfoy was asking to use her bathroom. She was tempted to pinch herself just to make sure she was awake. This was so bizarre that she was sure it had to be some weird, alcohol-fumed dream.
"Er, okay," she said, and held the door open for him.
He slipped inside and demanded to know where he could find the toilet. Ginny gave him the directions and then gave herself a surreptitious pinch. Huh, so it wasn't a dream. She frowned and followed him back into the house, wondering if this was some deity's idea of a joke. She'd spent days thinking about the blond since their last encounter, and now here he was—granted, using her toilet—but he was inside her house. The romantic part of her that had once thought she and Harry Potter were fated to be believed that this was too much of a coincidence to be ignored; the experienced, jaded half just hoped he didn't vomit all over her bathroom. She was pretty sure that Draco Malfoy was about as sober as she was—maybe less so.
The door to the bathroom opened and the blond exited to the sound of the chain flushing. There was an awkward moment as they looked at each other: Draco tugging at his collar and running a hand through his hair so it stuck up at the ends, while Ginny just examined him with her head tilted on the side like a sparrow.
"You are drunk," she suddenly announced, as if pleased with her deductive powers.
Draco's mouth thinned. "Speak for yourself, Slurry."
"Slurry? What kind of stupid name is that?"
He shrugged. The matter didn't seem to interest him overly much, which said far more about his sobriety levels than anything else. From what she remembered, Draco Malfoy prided himself on his comebacks.
The blond sprawled on one of her sofas and seemed quite content to make himself at home. Ginny could have told him to get out, but since her brain was also happily sloshing around in Phoenix Tail liqueur, she just curled up on the armchair opposite and watched him through owl-like eyes. He was a novelty in her usually hermit-oriented world. She was quite content to observe him, taking in his angular features—all cheekbones and slants. If she was an artist, she'd love to paint his profile. The slope of his nose, the point of his chin: it was like someone had taken a chisel to marble and wanted to find the beauty in cold sharpness. But she knew that there were moments when he could be warm; she'd seen it before during their random encounters.
Ginny propped her chin on her hands. "So, are you going to say anything? I mean, you did just barge into my house."
Draco threw an arm over his face, blocking out the light. "Hey, you invited me in."
She frowned. "Actually, I just didn't want you to piss on my porch."
He chuckled and lowered his arm so that he could look at her. "You really do have deplorable manners."
Ginny just grinned. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he hadn't meant it as an insult. Inspired by their brief moment of camaraderie, she stood up and got more alcohol.
"Want some?" She waved a glass at him in offering. He snatched the bottle and took a big swig. "Like that, huh?" she said, collapsing on the sofa next to him.
"It's been a—well, it's been an interesting night," he confided.
Ginny took the bottle from his hands and had a sip. "Tell me about it."
At any other time, she was sure that he would have raised his eyebrow and given her the cold shoulder. Hell, if he was more sober he probably would have Disaparrated on the spot upon seeing her face and realising he had got the wrong house. But Draco was drunk, she was drunk, and it seemed like a perfect idea to have a midnight heart to heart.
So he told her about the fact that his father was trying to make him take over the company, even though he had zero interest in the business. What he really wanted to do was become a healer.
Draco laughed. "Father definitely didn't like that. It's all about money and prestige with him. Used to be like that for me too," he admitted, "but ever since the war ended … well, everything is different now. I just want to live my own life."
Ginny twisted her lips. "I can't say I pegged you as a healer. No offence, but you don't seem the caring, cuddly type."
His eyebrow rose. "Who said healers have to be cuddly?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Healers just always remind me of Madam What's-Her-Face—dumpy, cuddly people who'll call you 'dear' and make you drink Pepper-up Potion when you have a cold."
Draco scowled at Ginny and snatched the bottle from her hands. "I don't think you should have any more alcohol. Your already lacking brain cells are clearly being impaired."
"Ha ha," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "But, seriously, you wanna be a healer? Then do it. Who cares what your dad says?"
"I guess." He went all broody and silent for a moment, then he blinked and turned to her. "What about you? You quit Quidditch and just vanished from the face of the earth one day. What was with that?"
Ginny took the bottle back from him. "I dunno. Hermione likes to call it my mid-life crisis. Maybe she's right; all I know is that I wasn't satisfied with my life anymore." She shrugged. "So I quit."
"And dumped Potter," Draco added.
"That, too," Ginny agreed. "I don't think society ever forgave me."
"Well, we can't go hurting precious Potter."
Ginny laughed, but her amusement faded a second later. "I do feel bad for him. He proposed to me, you know? I thought I'd be happy—I'd been waiting for him to propose for so long—but I just felt this weird sort of resignation, like I'd just tied a noose around my neck and signed my own execution. I broke up with him that night."
Draco blinked. "I never thought I'd say this, but I actually feel sorry for the guy. You are definitely a piece of work, Ginny Weasley."
She shrugged. "So I've been told. If I had a Galleon for every time I felt more emotion for a fictional character than people in real life, I could pay for the psychiatric help that I obviously need."
He laughed long and hard at that comment. Ginny just gave him a blank stare as if to say "what? I'm serious?", which only made him laugh harder. She didn't understand what was so amusing, but she liked the way his eyes crinkled when he chuckled, all unguarded and boyish. He looked less like carved marble and more like an especially sloshed angel.
"You are one interesting woman," Draco observed after a while.
Ginny snorted. "And you are very drunk."
"I think I am," he admitted.
As if deciding something, he leaned closer and stared at her through his grey, grey eyes. She waited for him to speak—maybe say something philosophical, like he had been for most of his drunk ramblings—but all he said was that she had lots of freckles. This epiphany seemed to fascinate him, judging by his intent gaze, but Ginny was just confused.
"What?"
He tapped her nose. "Like little dots of cinnamon. I'd ask if they go all over your body, except I know they don't."
Ginny's eyebrow lifted. She might be drunk, but she was definitely not sloshed enough to miss the fact he had admitted that he knew what she looked like without clothes. Sadly, it was also true. That stupid calendar really was the bane of her existence.
Draco's eyes met hers. "So, do you often pose with just a Quaffle for photos?"
Her cheeks burned pink. "Don't you even start!"
"What? It's a serious question."
Except his eyes were glinting mischievously, and that crooked grin was anything but serious. Ginny retaliated by hitting him with a cushion. He just laughed and asked her how it felt to know that twelve-year-old boys all around the world were probably getting their jollies from her picture.
"You know," he said, "cause their mums probably don't let them buy actual porn."
"That's it!" she cried, holding the pillow above her head. "You asked for it!"
The next moment she was attacking every inch of him with the cushion. Somehow, she managed to knock them both to the floor so that they landed in a tangle of limbs. Draco was still laughing as he rolled them over in an almost lazy way, pinning her underneath him and trapping her wrists against the ground with his hands. Suddenly, her heart quickened. She could feel the tips of his hair tickling her cheek and his breath fanning her face. He was so close. Too close. She could see all the different shades of grey that coloured his irises. His mouth seemed very inviting, despite the alcohol fumes surrounding him.
"I have something to confess," Draco murmured, holding her gaze.
Ginny swallowed. "What's that?"
"It wasn't Blaise who chose that desktop picture."
She blinked. Wait, was this a confession? Suddenly, she was not in the mood for … er, whatever this was.
"Are you seriously telling me that you like me by admitting that you willingly put a naked picture of me up on your screen?" she demanded.
Draco scrunched his face, as if just realising the implications of what he had done. "Uh, yeah." He gave another shrug. "I'm drunk."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, whatever. Just kiss me."
So he did. The kiss wasn't exactly magical, but then she'd learnt long ago that romance wasn't all fireworks and rainbows. Sometimes, it was messy, dramatic and random. Sometimes, it also tasted like a brewery and expressed itself in bordering creepy stalking and the displaying of naked pictures.
Really, the both of them were a little messed up, but that was okay. Ginny thought that if anyone could handle her brand of crazy, it would be Draco Malfoy. She was quite content to let her dreams of knights in shining armour fade away to the land of fairy tales where they belonged. It was time to live in the real world, even if that meant having a snarky blond at her side.
The End.
Boogum is the author of 21 other stories.
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