♥ "Charcoal and Paint" for baroness_black 2/2 ♥
Title: Charcoal and Paint
Rating: R for sex
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary:“Why are you telling me this?” she asked. “Aren't you supposed to be all mysterious and coldhearted?”
“Aren't you supposed to be a good Gryffindor? Not one who goes around painting the walls of the school, kissing blokes in their dorm or making nude sketches of your exes?” Draco demanded.
A/N: Thank you betas! Tish, Joan and Amanda, you are all lifesavers and I love you.
( "Charcoal and Paint" 1/2 )
Charcoal and Paint
The next morning Ginny woke just before the sun rose. She didn’t know why, as she had stayed up late, tossing and turning while she tried to work out what she was going to paint next. While her mind tried to convince her that painting Malfoy was the next step, she wasn’t so sure. She had no connection to him, nothing other than recent humiliation, so she couldn’t see the point of adding him to her makeshift canvas.
Unable to fall back asleep, Ginny rolled from her bed to pulled on the same pants from the day before, noting that the elves had tried to get the paint stains out but failed, and tugged a cozy blue hoodie over her head. She yawned loudly on her way to the girl’s loo, brushed her teeth and washed her face before climbing out the portrait hole, her satchel slung over her shoulder.
She sat on the floor of the tower, her back towards the painting of Fred as she sipped coffee. Somehow she had expected that with the night's sleep, his face staring at her from the wall would be less powerful.
It wasn't.
She chose to ignore it that day, but she still couldn't decide what to paint so she ate slowly, enjoying the waffles she had brought up for breakfast. Only McGonagall was in the Great Hall that early, and she had given Ginny a curt nod, asking if she was enjoying the holidays. Ginny finished the waffles but still no great art epiphany arrived.
Instead of sitting there wasting daylight, Ginny uncapped all the paint jars and stuck her fingers in them, running the colours across the lower stones, experimenting with blending. While she loved the boldness of the colours, she missed the simplicity of her charcoal. With the charcoal she had to work harder to make things come to life.
Ginny had just gotten lost in the rhythm of colouring the stones when she heard the door open behind her. She whirled around, guilt written all over her face. Magic could remove her work but it was still defacing school property.
But it was only Malfoy.
Ginny scowled at him before brushing her hair back and returning to her work.
Her concentration was broken; she could feel him behind her, watching her. She coloured in one more stone, dragging her fingers through the deep green paint to give the block even more texture, and then turned around to face him again. “Did you bring my book?”
“No,” he told her mildly, looking at the blocks. “It's still in my room.”
“Then what do you want?” She used the back of her hand to wipe at a smudge of paint on her cheek that she could see out of the corner of her eye.
“I came up here last night,” he continued, stepping closer to her, “after I saw you in the hall. I wanted to see what you were doing.”
“Now you see it,” she told him crossly. “So go away.” She cursed herself again for being foolish enough to kiss him. She didn't like being around him; it made her constantly alert for the impending punch line she assumed was coming.
“No.” He turned his back to her, studying her portrait of Fred. He looked out of place in her mess of colours. His obviously expensive jeans were faded blue and his shirt was plain and black, standing out sharply against his skin.
Just like my charcoal, she thought, momentarily dreamy.
“I thought I knew what loss was,” he said, his voice so low she strained to hear him. “But I saw this and I realized I had no idea.” He turned back around, but he didn't look at her. “This is good. Amazing even. It hurts just to look at it. How do you get all of that into paint? And glass?”
She just stared at him. “How could you know anything at all about loss?”
He tilted his head ever so slightly, meeting her eyes. “Your mother killed my aunt. I lost my godfather. And Crabbe. My parents are both in Azkaban. I've lost things.”
Somehow, Ginny had managed to forget that she wasn't the only one who had suffered.
“I didn't love my aunt. She was completely mental. And Snape... he was different. But it was still loss. I didn't feel this though,” he told her, his voice matter-of-fact, as he motioned to her portrait. “I don't ever want to feel that.”
“I didn't know your parents were in Azkaban,” she told him finally. “Is that why you're back here?”
He nodded curtly. “Not my idea. The Ministry's. I suppose they think they can keep a better eye on me while I'm here.”
It seemed like the time to tell him she was sorry, but she wasn't. “Why are you talking to me?”
“I told you. You're the most interesting person here.”
“Considering there are not very many people here, I don't think that's a compliment.” She stuck her hand back in the green paint jar.
“I think you could be the most interesting person I've ever known,” Malfoy said slowly, shoving his hair out of his eyes. “You're nothing like I imagined. I didn't know you could draw. I still don't know why you chose to draw me.” A small smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. “And I had no idea you were such an amazing kisser.”
Ginny fought back the urge to turn bright red. “And I have no idea why you would want to kiss me.”
“And I have no idea why you ran out of the room and haven't even looked in my direction once.”
“I looked at you in the Great Hall yesterday,” she blurted out. “You didn't look at me.” Ginny shook her head, running her hand over the cold stones, painting the green into a wider canvas. She wanted to be angry that he was up here interrupting her work, but instead she found that she was calm, suddenly relaxed. She could feel it now; the painting would take on a life of its own and go places she had never intended to explore. She loved that feeling.
“I looked at you,” he told her, moving closer until he was standing right beside her. “I always look at you.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, dipping the fingers of her left hand into the jar of purple paint and rubbing her hands together, making the green of her canvas grow. “Aren't you supposed to be all mysterious and coldhearted?”
“Aren't you supposed to be a good Gryffindor? Not one who goes around painting the walls of the school, kissing blokes in their dorm or making nude sketches of your exes?”
She let out a small laugh, mixing yellow into the center of her painting. “I suppose so.”
There was silence as she lightened the green with yellow, suddenly realizing what she was painting.
“So why do you?”
Ginny was almost positive it wasn't the snow that sent chills rolling across her skin as he spoke. “Why do I what?” she asked, even though she was certain she knew what he was getting at. “You asked a lot of things.”
“Why did you run out of my room?” He was still facing her new painting, but he was standing so close to her that each time she moved to paint the wall their arms touched.
“Because I didn't know why you wanted to kiss me. And because it just seemed wrong somehow. We don't exactly have a cheerful history, not with our family and our friends.”
“But we don't have a history,” he said persistently. “Not the two of us. Besides, it didn't seem like anything even remotely close to wrong.”
“Is this some sort of set up?” she asked him sharply. “I swear to Merlin if it is-”
“No. It's not. I just wanted to get to know you.” He took a small step away from her and if she hadn't been paying attention, she might not have noticed the dejected look that flashed briefly across his face. “Never mind.”
“Can you blame me for being skeptical?”
“I suppose not.”
“What do you want to know about me?”
“Right now I want to know what you're painting.”
Ginny added a scoop of blue paint to the green in her hand, mixing them slowly. “Wanna help?”
He shook his head, his blond hair moving messily. “I don't paint. Plus it's cold out here.”
“I'll help you,” she said, feeling bold. “Unless you're afraid of getting a little dirty.”
He gave her a smirk, a look that was more familiar to her than the half smiles she had been getting from him. “I'm not afraid of anything.”
“I don't believe you,” she told him, “but for now I'll pretend I do.” Ginny picked up his hand, laughing to herself as the green paint immediately stained his pale skin. She rubbed the paint from the palm of her hand onto his before lifting his hand to the wall, guiding it as she pulled it down in long firm strokes. “We're painting bamboo.”
“Bamboo?” he asked doubtfully.
“This is going to be the peaceful side.”
They worked in silence and lost track of time, her hands guiding his as she chose the paint colours, mixing them in the palms of his hands and applying them with decisive strokes until she could see the foggy green-blues of a sky that blended into a deep green forest of vines and long, elegant shoots of bamboo.
“There,” she said, stepping back and speaking only when she was certain that they were finished. She used her forearm to wipe her bangs out of her eyes. “What do you think?”
“I think you just got paint on your forehead.”
“That's a hazard of the job. I meant about our piece.”
“It is peaceful,” he said sounding surprised and taking in the painting, which was a little taller than he was and spanned several metres. “You're good.”
“You did this,” she reminded him, digging a water bottle from her satchel and drinking deeply before offering it to him.
“No, you did. I was just your human brush.”
Ginny laughed. “We'll call it 50/50.” She sat down on the cold stones, staring up at their work.
He sat down next to her, passing the bottle back. “How do you do this? When I look at a blank wall, I only see a wall.”
“Usually I just start with whatever I'm feeling and try to see what happens. Yesterday I painted my brother with that in mind. I don't do that often.”
“Was it hard?”
She nodded. “Very. But I'm glad I did it.”
“You really do have paint,” he started to tell her, reaching out as if to brush it off her face. He stopped, glancing at his paint-covered hands. “I don't think I'm going to make it any better.”
“It's fine. I don't mind. It comes off.” She glanced over at him, studying his profile. His face was angular, almost sharp. His nose jutted out in a perfectly straight line, and once again she noticed how long his pale lashes were. There was a smudge of paint under his jaw. “Can I kiss you?”
He glanced at her, his silver eyes taking in the paint smears and the freckles, she was certain and she prepared for his refusal.
He nodded.
Ginny leaned over ready to touch her lips to his, but before she could move any further, Draco had cupped her face in his hands, pressing soft kisses into her mouth. She opened her mouth slightly, slowly pushing her tongue to taste the inside of his lower lip before letting it tangle with his. She forgot about the paint and moved her hands up his arms, leaning as close as she dared without crawling into his lap. The snow was falling harder now but Ginny could feel the heat radiating from him, and she was warm enough. She wanted to pull him closer, to stretch herself out over him and feel their bare skin pressed together but she didn't dare move in case she acted on those thoughts. Instead, she let her fingers move under the sleeves of his shirt, savoring his touch and his warm skin.
~*~
They worked together every day, painting the walls with their hands intertwined, and to Ginny's surprise, she found that she looked forward to meeting him in the tower early every morning and leaving with him in the evenings so they could eat while discussing what they might paint next.
“Tell me something I don't know about you,” he requested one afternoon as they worked on a giant iris blossom she had insisted that they paint in the middle of what may or may not have been the galaxy exploding behind it in shades ranging from pastel pinks to a violent cerulean colour.
“That's just about everything,” she said with a laugh, lacing her fingers through his to give the petals the texture they needed. “My favorite colour is green, I like to read Muggle books and I'm considering taking up Muggle photography as a hobby. I'm the youngest of seven and the only girl-”
“I already knew that.”
“You did not.”
“I know you were the youngest with far too many brothers,” he shot back with a smirk.
“Did you know Muggle photos don't move? They stay perfectly still, frozen forever in time. It's so strange. It just captures a single moment and it never changes. It could all just be a lie but you'd never know. I have no idea what I'm going to do when I leave here. McGonagall said I should consider a career in teaching, but that's not for me. As much as I like the holiday season, I don't think they'll ever be the same, not without Fred,” she said, nodding at the portrait that watched them with no eyes. “Maybe I'll go somewhere nice and warm and just draw on the beach. Hermione told me that Muggles can make a living that way. When they're in holiday spots they do things that the tourists pay for. They're called street performers. I think I'd have an edge because I have magic, you know?”
“Muggles?”
“They get by with no magic. They're interesting. I suppose I get that from my father. He was always fascinated at how they came up with such intriguing things.” Ginny tilted her head up at him as she felt him shift behind her, his chest pressing lightly into her back.
“I don't know anything about Muggles,” he told her unapologetic. “Obviously. My father wouldn't have allowed that.”
“Maybe I'll tell you the interesting stuff. If you stick around long enough.”
He dipped his head lower, his lips brushing against her ear. “I'm not going anywhere.”
The following day, she asked about him. “I talked about myself all day yesterday. Tell me about you.”
“What's there to tell?” he demanded, his gaze focused on the yellow they were spreading from the center of the iris.
“There's lots. Like why you would paint with me. You never struck me as the messy type.”
“I probably never struck you as the type to talk to you either, did I?”
She glanced up at him, pulling her hand away.
“I didn't mean that,” he said quickly. “Not the way it sounded anyway.”
“Then what did you mean?” She turned away from him, not willing to let him see the hurt on her face. They had spent so much time together it felt like she had known him for ages, but his remark only reminded her that she barely knew him at all.
“I mean that I had to spend so long,” he said, sounding like he was struggling for words, “trying to please someone else. My father, the Dark Lord, my aunt, Snape, everyone except me. I spent the past two years trying to make sure my parents lived. I didn't have time to get to know anyone, not even myself really. But now I do. And...”
“And what?” she prompted, turning back to him.
“And I'm glad.” He pulled her close, smearing yellow paint on her arms.
“Me too.”
“If anyone knows what that's like, it would be you,” he told her.
~*~
Three days before Christmas, they were steadily spreading thick layers of brilliant orange to the walls, dotting the landscape with dangerously crimson and yellow poppies.
“Why aren't you with him?”
“What?” Ginny stopped painting to stare at him, her stomach clenching. “I thought you didn't want to know about him.”
When he finally spoke, his words were slow and careful. “I don't want to know about him. I want to know about you. When we were in my room and you told me about him, you were angry.” He reached out to tuck a loose hair behind her ear. “I'm selfish. I want to know if there's any reason for me to act on my dislike of him.”
It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying. “Oh.” Her voice was smaller than she meant for it to be. “No. Not really.”
He gazed at her expectantly.
She sighed heavily. “You really wanna know?”
For a long moment, Draco was silent. “Yeah.”
She wasn't quite sure where to begin and what parts to leave out. “It was the summer before last. Everyone was at our house and I knew he was planning on leaving with Ron and Hermione. I knew they were planning on going off to find You-Know-Who somehow or another Also, I knew from spying on the Order that there was a really good chance he would die.” Ginny swallowed hard, biting at her lower lip and staring at the orange paint on her hands. “I asked him not to go. I begged him. I thought if I gave him something better, a reason to stay, that he would reconsider. It was so stupid. I assumed that he would want me enough to stay and leave the saving of the world to the Order. For a week I thought I had succeeded. But then at my brother's wedding we got word the Ministry had fallen, and just like that he was gone. I didn't see him again until he was here, during the battle. It was dangerous for them, I know, but he didn't even bother to try letting me know he was safe or that he missed me or anything. When it was all over he was the hero and I wasn't in love with him anymore. I guess I finally realized that Harry was never going to be able to do anything just for himself. It was always the greater good and I wanted someone who was a little selfish when it came to me. It's silly and thoughtless and inconsiderate but for a while I wanted someone who would choose me over everything else in the world. I used to think that's what love meant.”
“And now?”
Ginny glanced up. His eyes had grown dark, and while his expression was blank, she could see that his eyebrows were knit together in anger. “I don't know what I think now.”
“I think you were right. It's not selfish. That's just the way humans are made.” He reached out to tuck his fingers under her chin, tipping her face up. “I know how you feel about my parents, but they would agree with you - that's what love is. It might not have been the right thing but every single choice they made was to protect each other and me. If the person who loves you won't do that, then who will?”
She nearly sagged down onto the floor as relief flooded her. Never had she imaged being able to say those words aloud, and certainly she'd never dreamed there would be anyone who understood and agreed. She had kissed Harry on his seventeenth birthday even though he'd broken up with her at Dumbledore's funeral. Ron had caught them, but that didn't stop her. Late that night she caught him in the hallway, tugged him to her bedroom and locked the door behind them. Harry hadn't protested. He never tried to stop her and in the days that followed, he came to her two or three times each day, whenever he could sneak away. She was constantly sore and it hurt and it certainly wasn't the type of sex they wrote about in romance novels, but Ginny wanted Harry to stay, so she let him have her all he wanted.
Then he'd disappeared anyway without a word.
It was easier to understand why now, since it didn't hurt as much, but it didn't change the fact that she'd fallen out of love with him.
“Now you know my deepest, darkest secrets,” Ginny told him, trying to lighten the mood with a forced smile. “I might have to Obliviate you.”
“No,” Draco said slyly, pulling her back to the painting. “I bet you didn't know that a Slytherin's best trait is keeping secrets.”
~*~
The days sped by, faster than she would have liked. “We've covered almost everything,” she observed on Christmas Eve. “And it's amazing.”
Draco nodded in agreement, wiping his brow and leaving a long slash of blue paint on his forehead. He reached for his wand, casting another heating charm. “What are we going to paint when we run out of room? The floor?”
“We can,” she told him with a laugh. “Do you still want to meet tomorrow?”
He frowned. “Of course.”
“It's Christmas.”
“I don't have anywhere to be.”
She smiled up at him. “Good. Neither do I.”
Draco ran his long fingers around the edge of the green paint jar. “Maybe when we run out of room, I can just paint you.” His tone was playful, but the look in his eyes was completely serious as he slowly ran a finger up Ginny's arm.
They had spent the past two weeks painting by day and kissing by night, but nothing they'd done had felt as intimate as his fingers did in that moment.
“You look gorgeous in green,” he told her quietly, moving his fingers to her neck. “I can see why it's your favorite colour.”
Ginny stood perfectly still, letting him paint her neck and her arms, forcing herself to keep her eyes locked on him as he did. When she shivered, it had nothing to do with the snow. The heat that radiated between them as his fingers skimmed over her skin, leaving trails of green paint in their wake, should have been enough to warm her up, but she found herself trembling at his touch and realized her insides were already on fire. As Draco's hand moved to the hem of her shirt, Ginny swallowed hard. Twice before he had slowly explored the skin beneath her shirt, but this time was different. It felt like more than just an experiment between two sexually charged classmates; his fingers were so gentle, his expression nervous and vulnerable, his breathing so rapid that for a moment Ginny could believe that maybe, just maybe, he was falling in love. In that same moment, she knew that she was.
Summoning all her courage, Ginny pulled her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the stone floor.
Draco hesitated, his hand splayed flat against her stomach as his eyes searched hers.
“Don't stop,” she whispered, forcing herself to keep her eyes wide open, terrified of rejection.
Keeping his hand against her stomach, Draco reached for the jar of green paint and dipped his free hand into it. His hands moved up her sides, outlining her in green paint and then cautiously he moved his fingers into the V shape of her bra, tracing the edges and skating over the tops of her breasts. He continued to touch her, his fingers gentle against her skin until she could stand it no longer.
Ginny caught him by the wrists and tugged him closer, stretching up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
Later that evening, after Ginny had pulled her shirt back on and they had headed down to the Great Hall for dinner, she was glad that no one seemed to care why a Malfoy and a Weasley ate together or why they were covered in paint.
That night, Ginny could barely sleep. She'd been reluctant to wash his paint off of her when she'd showered, but she didn't want to explain to him why she hadn't. She rolled back and forth in her bed, wondering why she couldn't stop thinking about Draco Malfoy. She'd liked Harry for longer than she'd ever liked anyone, but she now realized that the way she felt about him was so different than the way she felt about Draco. Ginny wished he was lying beside her at that very moment. She wondered if she would be brave enough to strip off all of her clothes for him and let him paint her body. She imagined standing in her tower, completely naked and exposed, his fingers touching her everywhere.
The next morning, Ginny opened the few presents that were sitting near the foot of her bed, more interested in getting to the Great Hall than in her holiday jumper from her mum.
“Happy Christmas,” she told Draco brightly as she slid into the seat across from him.
“Happy Christmas to you,” he answered, looking up at her, his expression cautiously blank.
“Did you open your gifts?” She reached for the eggs, scooping them onto her plate.
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I didn't get any.”
Ginny froze before putting the serving spoon back in the egg bowl. “That's because I haven't given yours to you yet.”
A tiny smile curled his lips. “Oh really?”
“Yes really,” she said, even though she had no idea what she was talking about.
McGonagall and the other professors who had stayed behind greeted the few students as they trickled in, passing out Christmas crackers and telling them they would have a Christmas Feast that afternoon.
“Ready?” he asked as soon as she was done eating.
Ginny nodded, filling her mug with steaming water and grabbing another tea bag. She followed him from the Great Hall, down the hallway and to the base of the winding stairs, where he reached out to grab her hand, lacing their fingers together.
“What if someone sees?” she teased him.
“Then you can hex them,” he told her, one eyebrow arched haughtily. “If I recall correctly, you were rather good with the Bat Bogey hex.”
Ginny ducked her head as a warm blush flooded her cheeks. “Yes, well, you deserved it.”
“I suppose so,” he agreed dryly. “But of all the hexes you could have used, you chose that one?”
“It fit,” she said as they climbed the stairs. “You were a complete arse. And I know you touched my bum on purpose that day.”
He laughed, a sound she almost never heard but instantly loved. “Of course I did.”
“Then I'm not sorry,” she declared as they stepped into the tower.
Draco slipped his wand from his pocket, immediately casting a warming charm in all the corners of the room. “What are we painting today?”
There wasn't much room left on the stone walls. Nearly all the spaces in the round room were now filled with different portraits that seemed to lead to a full story. “You get to pick,” she said, motioning to the empty space. It was as tall as Draco and equally as wide. “That space is for your story.”
He looked at the wall for a long time. “I can paint anything I want?” he asked finally.
She nodded. “Anything.”
“I want to paint you.”
“Okay,” she told him, biting down on her lower lip. “Do you want me to pose?”
“No. I want to put the paint on you and then transfer it to the wall that way.” He picked up the jar of green and looked at her, as if daring her to protest. “You said anything.”
Ginny didn't want to object but she wasn't sure what to say. Her stomach churned wildly, as though she had eaten fairyflies instead of eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast. “Um...” She sucked in a deep breath, wondering what this meant, if it meant anything at all. “Okay. What should I do?”
“Undress,” he instructed, completely unabashed.
She tried to hide the trembling in her fingers as she reached for the hem of her top, pulling it over her head. As soon as she dropped it to the ground, she wished she had at least attempted to make the move look a little more sexy and a lot less like she was getting ready for bed.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked, his eyes glowing with interest.
“Yes,” she said, nodding as her fingers fumbled with the button of her painted jeans. She pushed them past her hips, fighting herself to keep the blush on her cheeks from spreading down her body, as Draco stood still, watching her. If she had known this would be the day Draco would see her knickers, she would have picked something sexier than the snowflake printed ones she currently had on. She stepped out her jeans, unable to speak as his eyes traveled the curves of her body. She could feel herself redden, heat spreading rapidly across her face as she thought of him taking in every imperfection that she had. She didn't know he if wanted her out of her bra and knickers. She didn't know if she was supposed to do anything. I don't even know what we are, she thought wildly, recalling her sketches of Dean and Michael. Maybe he thinks we are just friends, that I do this with all my friends. I told him it was just art.
“Stay like that,” Draco instructed, dipping his fingers into the paint jar. “You're perfect. I'm going to start with your back.”
“Okay,” she mumbled as he moved behind her. Her back was tense and completely straight as she felt his fingers on her skin.
“Is it okay if I paint this?” he asked, moving his free hand around her until his fingers were resting gently on the very bottom of her bra, lightly grazing her breast.
“It's fine,” she whispered.
Ginny lost herself in the motions of his hands. His breath was warm on her neck, tickling the sensitive skin. His fingers traced the length of her spine, spreading the paint before moving out across her back. She had never felt anything more sensual in her life, nor had she ever felt so vulnerable and exposed. It occurred to her that she might stop breathing, she might suffocate right there in an unused tower, all-but-naked for the person who had caused her family and friends so much grief and suffering, but she didn't care. It would be worth it. She would never be able to explain to anyone how two weeks with Draco Malfoy had sent her head over heels for him, how she had fallen for him with some sort of unfathomable, quiet passion, something that felt thicker and more stable than any way she'd ever loved before. She wondered if she would ever be able to bring herself to wash the paint off. She wondered if she left it long enough, was it possible for it to be permanently imprinted on her skin so that when people looked at her, they would think to themselves There was a moment when all she knew was love. She wondered if they would know it was him, if they would see her and be able to read his name, painted by hand into her skin. Draco. Draco. Draco.
His hands had moved to her bum, slowly painting her knickers and then he was on his knees, covering her legs in paint in a manner that she could only describe as worshipful. His hands were splayed wide open, touching her thighs and her calves.
“Okay,” he said slowly, breaking the spell Ginny would have sworn she was under. “Ready?”
She nodded, not ready to trust her voice.
He helped her to the wall, backing her right where he wanted her to be.
It was then Ginny realized that she'd kept her muscles tense and stiff then entire time, and she tried to allow herself to relax. “Like this?” she asked, finding her voice.
Draco didn't remove his hands from her shoulders as he nodded. “I'm just going to press you against the wall and try to do your hair. I'll try not to actually get paint in it.”
Relaxing was a lot hard than it should have been, especially since Draco was now moving across the front side of her body, pressing little sections at a time of her into the wall. She watched him as he did, noticing the way he would bite the inside of his lip as he concentrated and the way his eyes seemed to paint her just as much as his hands had.
When he was done, he wiped his hands on his pants - something she was certain he never, ever would have done before her - and dipped one hand in the jar of red paint. Draco looked at her for a long moment, and then poured a splash of yellow into the red. He rubbed his hands together until they were not quite mixed before beginning to paint the wall around her head.
“Can I look?” she asked when he finally stepped back.
“No. Not yet. I still have to do the front of you.”
This time it was even more sensual, if that were possible, because his hands touched the cups of her dark blue bra so gently and for one moment, she imagined that he was grateful to be allowed to touch her.
“Close your eyes,” he told her when he was done.
She did as he requested, letting him move her back to the wall and press her body into it. She rested her forehead against the icy stones as she felt him painting her hair, trying to cool herself down. Even with the falling snow and the fading heating charms, it wasn't working.
“Alright,” she heard him say. “I'm done.”
“I can look?”
“Keep your eyes closed for just another minute.”
She felt his arms on her biceps as he helped her step backwards. “Now.”
Ginny opened her eyes. The green woman on the wall couldn't have possibly been her. The person on the wall looked amazing, real enough to touch, all curves and seductive lines. The hair, which was almost an exact match to her own, waved around her head wildly, somehow carnal and so enticing she wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it.
“What do you think?” Draco sounded almost nervous. She wondered if she would have noticed the tiny waver that hid underneath his haughty words three weeks ago.
“It's amazing,” she told him honestly, tearing her eyes away so she could see him. “I can't believe it. I don't look that... good.”
He laughed, putting an arm around her to pull her closer. “No, you look better.”
He had positioned the two halves of her so that it took up the remaining space perfectly. “I wish we had saved room to paint you,” she told him.
“No. It's perfect this way.”
They stood side by side, looking at their creations and Ginny began to see the story in all. It had started with loss. She had lost Fred, and other people also - friends who weren't coming back, both by death and by choice. So had Draco. There was a long blue stretch of mourning, and then renewal. The two of them had painted almost everything together and she could see their tentative friendship blossom quickly into something more, just like the iris they had painted over the exploding galaxy.
Ginny reached over and put her hand in his, glancing up at him.
Draco leaned down to kiss her, and she no longer felt nervous that she was only in her bra and knickers, covered in green paint.
“I've been meaning to tell you how amazing you look in that shade of green,” Draco whispered into her ear as their kisses quickly grew heated.
“Slytherin green?” she whispered back.
He had one hand splayed against her chest, cupping her round breasts, while the other tugged her closer. “I'm amazed that you weren't put in Slytherin,” he said, his tongue flicking over her ear. “I'm quite certain that Gryffindor's don't deface school property or let Slytherin bloke’s body paint them.”
“Don't forget I also draw nudes,” she said, trying to make it sound like a retort, but letting out a low moan as his teeth grazed her earlobe. Ginny reached for his shirt, crumpling the hem in her fist as she moved it upwards, trying to get it over his head.
He helped her, leaving it discarded on the stone floor, moving his lips down her body with no apparent thought to the green paint that was now smearing across him. Much of it had already dried, but it was still leaving snowflakes of green on his pale skin.
Ginny ran her hands over his bare chest, breathing heavily as she was instantly determined to touch, kiss, lick and suck every spot on his body.
But when she moved her hands down his stomach, her fingers finding the top button of his jeans, he caught her wrist.
“Ginny,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes as if he could read all the way down into her soul, “do you want to come get your sketchbook? It's still in my room.”
She closed her eyes, humiliated. Merlin, she had let her emotions run away with her. She had always been so good at keeping them covered, at thinking logically about whatever situation she was in. For reasons she couldn't even begin to explain, she had let her guard down with Malfoy, let herself fall for him, thinking that he felt the same way about her. Ginny pulled away from him, grabbing her jeans and tugging them up over her painted hips. “Um, no. I'll get it later.”
He picked up his shirt as she tugged hers back on barely noticing that it was inside out.
“I have to go.” Ginny had her shoes in her hand as she bolted for the heavy door.
“Wait!” Draco reached out, grabbing her by the arm. “What are you doing?”
“I'm going, I have to, I mean, I just-”
“What's wrong?” he demanded hotly. “Am I going mad? I thought something was happening between us here.”
Ginny stared at him, confused. “So did I. But you stopped it. And that's okay. I don't want to do anything I would regret.”
His expression instantly turned cold, but his grip tightened. “I'm something you would regret?”
“No,” she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Definitely, no. I was ready for whatever it was we were about to do.”
He gazed at her so long she began to squirm in the heavy silence. “I really love being up here,” he said finally. “It's beautiful and I get to be with you. But I assumed that if we were going to do anything involving both of us being undressed, you deserved a bed instead of stone floor. I don't really want to give your sketchpad back. That was just a reason to get you to come with me.”
Ginny lifted her free hand to her mouth. “Why didn't you just say so?”
“Because you can't just put something out there like that. There should always be some…finesse." He scowled at her, making her giggle. “Because I didn't want to seem like I was just inviting you back to my room for a tumble.”
“Is that why you're inviting me there?”
“Merlin, Ginny.” Draco rubbed the back of his neck and as she watched, faint pink splotches on his cheeks began to grow brighter. “I would like you to come back with me but I don't want you to think that... And we've only been speaking to each other for a few weeks, but I feel...” He sighed, looking completely uncomfortable. “I won't ask. It's probably too soon.”
“It's not too soon. And you don't have to talk in riddles with me. I'm not a Slytherin. I don't need finesse to be convinced of who you are and if I want to be with you, then I can. It's my choice.” She bit her lower lip and stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had become just as attached to her as she had to him. “I want to go with you.”
Hand in hand, they hurried down the winding stairs, ignoring the looks of the few students they encountered in the hallways and tapping their feet impatiently as they waited for the moving staircases on their way to the dungeons.
Once they had reached his room, Draco locked the door behind them and immediately pulled her closer, pressing kisses all over her skin as he tugged her clothes back off. This time his fingers found the clasp of her bra, fumbling for a moment before it popped free. He slid the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, tossing it to the floor.
Her breasts stood out brightly, white and freckled and clean against the green paint that covered her. She was tempted to cross her arms over her chest, but Draco seemed to know that, and he grabbed her arms, pulling them down.
She removed his shirt for the second time in under an hour and was working on his trousers as he started nudging her towards his bed. Ginny tumbled backwards and he seized the moment, slipping his fingers under the sides of her knickers and moving them down her thighs. The gentle scrape of the fabric caused her to whimper, arching her back as he kissed her stomach. Draco pushed his own trousers off, kicking them to the floor as he crawled in on top of her.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Ginny reached up and pushed his blond hair from his eyes, nodding. “I'm sure.”
“Have you ever?”
“Not for the right reasons,” she whispered, gripping his arms.
Draco's eyes searched her face, as if he were trying to find the reasons hidden there. “And what are your reasons now?”
“Because I want to experience life. I'm tired of fending off death. And I know exactly how I feel about you.”
“How is that?”
She could feel him, hard and thick, gently pushing against her, sliding in her wetness. “I haven't felt like myself in a long time, but when I'm with you it's like you found the real me.”
“Like you're not afraid to be who you really are.” His words were a statement, not a question, and she knew he was referring to himself also.
“Like maybe I've wanted to know you forever, I just never had a clear enough vision.”
“Like I've seen you every day for most my life and never realized just how beautiful you are,” he whispered, his voice low and heavy against her fiery skin.
“Like I want to make up for all the time I wasted when I didn't know you.”
He was pushing at her entrance and Ginny was nearly panting with desire, her knees drawn up around his long, smooth body.
“Like maybe,” Draco whispered, sliding into her, gently pushing his way down into her tightness, “maybe I could be falling in love.”
When she looked back on it, she realized there was no fear or nervousness, no discomfort as he gently drove himself into her, but right then Ginny was caught up in the moment all she felt was the wonderful fullness that came from having Draco buried deep inside of her. “Exactly like that,” she whispered back.
They moved together uncertainly at first, but slowly they found a rhythm that made both of them whimper with pleasure. Ginny felt as if she was falling, falling for an eternity with nothing but a blanket of stars and Draco surrounding her, but she wasn't scared. She would gladly fall forever if it meant she could be with him. For the first time in over a year, she was happy. Their hands explored each other as they spread the sticky green paint all across their bodies and his bed, gently exploring each other.
Ginny used one hand to stroke his back, explore the muscles on his arms and stretch rivers of paint down the length of his spine. Her other hand she kept tucked against his neck, just under his ear, so that she could feel the reassuring, rapid beating of his pulse against her palm.
She drew her hand up his back, not knowing if she was dragging her fingers through the paint or the beads of sweat that were forming along his skin, and not caring.
Draco braced his hands against her hips and together they rolled over. Ginny paused, letting out a breathless groan at the new pressure that came from him throbbing inside of her. When she finally managed to gasp air back into her chest, Ginny opened her eyes so she could look at the man beneath her.
He was beautiful, she realized, and unfairly so. The narrow lines of his face were sharp and angular, as were the lean lines of muscle in his chest and arms; if not for the warmth of his body beneath her, she might have believed he'd been chiseled from marble. The long expanses of his perfect ivory skin were interrupted by streaks of wild green paint, but that paint had come from her body and so Ginny ran one hand up his chest as she began to move on him, leaving her own fingerprints on his flesh, the way he had done for her. Paint was everywhere, she realized. It spread between them messy and glorious, binding them together just as literally as the steady in-out motion of their bodies did. His fine black bedspread was going to be stained beyond repair. She could see paint in her own hair as she leaned down to kiss him, their lips brushing against each other as she rolled her hips. Beneath Draco's left eye was a slash of green that ran down to his jaw. Ginny kissed it, then kissed his neck and shoulders, leaving a trail.
The heat that roared between them was hotter than Ginny thought she'd ever be able to stand, but with Draco wrapped securely around her, she was confident she could abide it. She let go, allowing the red-hot fire, the paint and Draco to consume her completely.
And when it was over, they laid together, curled into each other.
This is what they write romance novels about, she thought drowsily.
“Now what?” Draco asked when they had caught their breath.
She looked up at him, her fingers against his bare chest. His expression was one she had never seen on him before - hopeful, nervous, vulnerable even. There was so much to consider. There was her family and friends, his family and friends, the bad blood that had cut deep between them for generations, and so much more that Ginny just couldn't bear to think about it all so soon after what may have been the best experience of her life. “Now, we just keep on,” she said finally. “We find out where this path is going to take us.”
“I think it's going to go somewhere good,” he said finally. “I'm positive.”
“Me too.”
~*~
Late that night, after they had eaten their Christmas feast with the other students and Ginny had silently marveled at how different the world felt now, they sat together on her ledge, watching the snow fall around them.
“You still didn't get your sketchpad,” Draco reminded her. His arms were tight around her waist and she was tucked comfortable between his legs, her back pressed against his chest.
“That's okay,” Ginny told him. “I will soon.”
“And I suppose you'll want your self-portrait back?” he asked dryly.
“No,” she said, after thinking for a moment. “It's yours. That's your Christmas present.”
He ducked his head, burying his face in her hair, chuckling. “I don't think I'll ever forget this Christmas.”
“How could we?” she asked softly, letting the snow carry her voice to the four corners of the world. This Christmas marked the first time she'd felt alive since the summer Harry left. There was a future ahead of her, and while all she could do was hope it would be bright, it was her own. In that moment, Ginny believed without a doubt that everything would work out, in some way or another.
Draco's chin was resting on her shoulder. “Gin?” he whispered quietly. “I'd choose you over anything else in the world. Just so you know.”
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic Draco is a closet softie who is surprised and won over by some/one of Ginny's more Slytherin attributes. Ginny is a bit of a bad girl but not dark or evil, their getting together should be sparked by a meeting while one/both of them is doing something that is against 'type'.
The tone/mood of the fic: Any so long as its not too soppy or sad D/G
An element/line of dialogue/object you would specifically like in your fic: Ginny is wearing something at some point that is 'Slytherin green' and Draco gets all hot and bothered over it
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: PG13 - NC17
Canon or AU? Cannonish until Book 6 but it can be set post-Hogwarts
Deal Breakers (anything you don't want?): Crack, Evil!Ginny/Draco,
non-magical, under-age (16) sex
Rating: R for sex
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary:“Why are you telling me this?” she asked. “Aren't you supposed to be all mysterious and coldhearted?”
“Aren't you supposed to be a good Gryffindor? Not one who goes around painting the walls of the school, kissing blokes in their dorm or making nude sketches of your exes?” Draco demanded.
A/N: Thank you betas! Tish, Joan and Amanda, you are all lifesavers and I love you.
( "Charcoal and Paint" 1/2 )
Charcoal and Paint
The next morning Ginny woke just before the sun rose. She didn’t know why, as she had stayed up late, tossing and turning while she tried to work out what she was going to paint next. While her mind tried to convince her that painting Malfoy was the next step, she wasn’t so sure. She had no connection to him, nothing other than recent humiliation, so she couldn’t see the point of adding him to her makeshift canvas.
Unable to fall back asleep, Ginny rolled from her bed to pulled on the same pants from the day before, noting that the elves had tried to get the paint stains out but failed, and tugged a cozy blue hoodie over her head. She yawned loudly on her way to the girl’s loo, brushed her teeth and washed her face before climbing out the portrait hole, her satchel slung over her shoulder.
She sat on the floor of the tower, her back towards the painting of Fred as she sipped coffee. Somehow she had expected that with the night's sleep, his face staring at her from the wall would be less powerful.
It wasn't.
She chose to ignore it that day, but she still couldn't decide what to paint so she ate slowly, enjoying the waffles she had brought up for breakfast. Only McGonagall was in the Great Hall that early, and she had given Ginny a curt nod, asking if she was enjoying the holidays. Ginny finished the waffles but still no great art epiphany arrived.
Instead of sitting there wasting daylight, Ginny uncapped all the paint jars and stuck her fingers in them, running the colours across the lower stones, experimenting with blending. While she loved the boldness of the colours, she missed the simplicity of her charcoal. With the charcoal she had to work harder to make things come to life.
Ginny had just gotten lost in the rhythm of colouring the stones when she heard the door open behind her. She whirled around, guilt written all over her face. Magic could remove her work but it was still defacing school property.
But it was only Malfoy.
Ginny scowled at him before brushing her hair back and returning to her work.
Her concentration was broken; she could feel him behind her, watching her. She coloured in one more stone, dragging her fingers through the deep green paint to give the block even more texture, and then turned around to face him again. “Did you bring my book?”
“No,” he told her mildly, looking at the blocks. “It's still in my room.”
“Then what do you want?” She used the back of her hand to wipe at a smudge of paint on her cheek that she could see out of the corner of her eye.
“I came up here last night,” he continued, stepping closer to her, “after I saw you in the hall. I wanted to see what you were doing.”
“Now you see it,” she told him crossly. “So go away.” She cursed herself again for being foolish enough to kiss him. She didn't like being around him; it made her constantly alert for the impending punch line she assumed was coming.
“No.” He turned his back to her, studying her portrait of Fred. He looked out of place in her mess of colours. His obviously expensive jeans were faded blue and his shirt was plain and black, standing out sharply against his skin.
Just like my charcoal, she thought, momentarily dreamy.
“I thought I knew what loss was,” he said, his voice so low she strained to hear him. “But I saw this and I realized I had no idea.” He turned back around, but he didn't look at her. “This is good. Amazing even. It hurts just to look at it. How do you get all of that into paint? And glass?”
She just stared at him. “How could you know anything at all about loss?”
He tilted his head ever so slightly, meeting her eyes. “Your mother killed my aunt. I lost my godfather. And Crabbe. My parents are both in Azkaban. I've lost things.”
Somehow, Ginny had managed to forget that she wasn't the only one who had suffered.
“I didn't love my aunt. She was completely mental. And Snape... he was different. But it was still loss. I didn't feel this though,” he told her, his voice matter-of-fact, as he motioned to her portrait. “I don't ever want to feel that.”
“I didn't know your parents were in Azkaban,” she told him finally. “Is that why you're back here?”
He nodded curtly. “Not my idea. The Ministry's. I suppose they think they can keep a better eye on me while I'm here.”
It seemed like the time to tell him she was sorry, but she wasn't. “Why are you talking to me?”
“I told you. You're the most interesting person here.”
“Considering there are not very many people here, I don't think that's a compliment.” She stuck her hand back in the green paint jar.
“I think you could be the most interesting person I've ever known,” Malfoy said slowly, shoving his hair out of his eyes. “You're nothing like I imagined. I didn't know you could draw. I still don't know why you chose to draw me.” A small smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. “And I had no idea you were such an amazing kisser.”
Ginny fought back the urge to turn bright red. “And I have no idea why you would want to kiss me.”
“And I have no idea why you ran out of the room and haven't even looked in my direction once.”
“I looked at you in the Great Hall yesterday,” she blurted out. “You didn't look at me.” Ginny shook her head, running her hand over the cold stones, painting the green into a wider canvas. She wanted to be angry that he was up here interrupting her work, but instead she found that she was calm, suddenly relaxed. She could feel it now; the painting would take on a life of its own and go places she had never intended to explore. She loved that feeling.
“I looked at you,” he told her, moving closer until he was standing right beside her. “I always look at you.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, dipping the fingers of her left hand into the jar of purple paint and rubbing her hands together, making the green of her canvas grow. “Aren't you supposed to be all mysterious and coldhearted?”
“Aren't you supposed to be a good Gryffindor? Not one who goes around painting the walls of the school, kissing blokes in their dorm or making nude sketches of your exes?”
She let out a small laugh, mixing yellow into the center of her painting. “I suppose so.”
There was silence as she lightened the green with yellow, suddenly realizing what she was painting.
“So why do you?”
Ginny was almost positive it wasn't the snow that sent chills rolling across her skin as he spoke. “Why do I what?” she asked, even though she was certain she knew what he was getting at. “You asked a lot of things.”
“Why did you run out of my room?” He was still facing her new painting, but he was standing so close to her that each time she moved to paint the wall their arms touched.
“Because I didn't know why you wanted to kiss me. And because it just seemed wrong somehow. We don't exactly have a cheerful history, not with our family and our friends.”
“But we don't have a history,” he said persistently. “Not the two of us. Besides, it didn't seem like anything even remotely close to wrong.”
“Is this some sort of set up?” she asked him sharply. “I swear to Merlin if it is-”
“No. It's not. I just wanted to get to know you.” He took a small step away from her and if she hadn't been paying attention, she might not have noticed the dejected look that flashed briefly across his face. “Never mind.”
“Can you blame me for being skeptical?”
“I suppose not.”
“What do you want to know about me?”
“Right now I want to know what you're painting.”
Ginny added a scoop of blue paint to the green in her hand, mixing them slowly. “Wanna help?”
He shook his head, his blond hair moving messily. “I don't paint. Plus it's cold out here.”
“I'll help you,” she said, feeling bold. “Unless you're afraid of getting a little dirty.”
He gave her a smirk, a look that was more familiar to her than the half smiles she had been getting from him. “I'm not afraid of anything.”
“I don't believe you,” she told him, “but for now I'll pretend I do.” Ginny picked up his hand, laughing to herself as the green paint immediately stained his pale skin. She rubbed the paint from the palm of her hand onto his before lifting his hand to the wall, guiding it as she pulled it down in long firm strokes. “We're painting bamboo.”
“Bamboo?” he asked doubtfully.
“This is going to be the peaceful side.”
They worked in silence and lost track of time, her hands guiding his as she chose the paint colours, mixing them in the palms of his hands and applying them with decisive strokes until she could see the foggy green-blues of a sky that blended into a deep green forest of vines and long, elegant shoots of bamboo.
“There,” she said, stepping back and speaking only when she was certain that they were finished. She used her forearm to wipe her bangs out of her eyes. “What do you think?”
“I think you just got paint on your forehead.”
“That's a hazard of the job. I meant about our piece.”
“It is peaceful,” he said sounding surprised and taking in the painting, which was a little taller than he was and spanned several metres. “You're good.”
“You did this,” she reminded him, digging a water bottle from her satchel and drinking deeply before offering it to him.
“No, you did. I was just your human brush.”
Ginny laughed. “We'll call it 50/50.” She sat down on the cold stones, staring up at their work.
He sat down next to her, passing the bottle back. “How do you do this? When I look at a blank wall, I only see a wall.”
“Usually I just start with whatever I'm feeling and try to see what happens. Yesterday I painted my brother with that in mind. I don't do that often.”
“Was it hard?”
She nodded. “Very. But I'm glad I did it.”
“You really do have paint,” he started to tell her, reaching out as if to brush it off her face. He stopped, glancing at his paint-covered hands. “I don't think I'm going to make it any better.”
“It's fine. I don't mind. It comes off.” She glanced over at him, studying his profile. His face was angular, almost sharp. His nose jutted out in a perfectly straight line, and once again she noticed how long his pale lashes were. There was a smudge of paint under his jaw. “Can I kiss you?”
He glanced at her, his silver eyes taking in the paint smears and the freckles, she was certain and she prepared for his refusal.
He nodded.
Ginny leaned over ready to touch her lips to his, but before she could move any further, Draco had cupped her face in his hands, pressing soft kisses into her mouth. She opened her mouth slightly, slowly pushing her tongue to taste the inside of his lower lip before letting it tangle with his. She forgot about the paint and moved her hands up his arms, leaning as close as she dared without crawling into his lap. The snow was falling harder now but Ginny could feel the heat radiating from him, and she was warm enough. She wanted to pull him closer, to stretch herself out over him and feel their bare skin pressed together but she didn't dare move in case she acted on those thoughts. Instead, she let her fingers move under the sleeves of his shirt, savoring his touch and his warm skin.
~*~
They worked together every day, painting the walls with their hands intertwined, and to Ginny's surprise, she found that she looked forward to meeting him in the tower early every morning and leaving with him in the evenings so they could eat while discussing what they might paint next.
“Tell me something I don't know about you,” he requested one afternoon as they worked on a giant iris blossom she had insisted that they paint in the middle of what may or may not have been the galaxy exploding behind it in shades ranging from pastel pinks to a violent cerulean colour.
“That's just about everything,” she said with a laugh, lacing her fingers through his to give the petals the texture they needed. “My favorite colour is green, I like to read Muggle books and I'm considering taking up Muggle photography as a hobby. I'm the youngest of seven and the only girl-”
“I already knew that.”
“You did not.”
“I know you were the youngest with far too many brothers,” he shot back with a smirk.
“Did you know Muggle photos don't move? They stay perfectly still, frozen forever in time. It's so strange. It just captures a single moment and it never changes. It could all just be a lie but you'd never know. I have no idea what I'm going to do when I leave here. McGonagall said I should consider a career in teaching, but that's not for me. As much as I like the holiday season, I don't think they'll ever be the same, not without Fred,” she said, nodding at the portrait that watched them with no eyes. “Maybe I'll go somewhere nice and warm and just draw on the beach. Hermione told me that Muggles can make a living that way. When they're in holiday spots they do things that the tourists pay for. They're called street performers. I think I'd have an edge because I have magic, you know?”
“Muggles?”
“They get by with no magic. They're interesting. I suppose I get that from my father. He was always fascinated at how they came up with such intriguing things.” Ginny tilted her head up at him as she felt him shift behind her, his chest pressing lightly into her back.
“I don't know anything about Muggles,” he told her unapologetic. “Obviously. My father wouldn't have allowed that.”
“Maybe I'll tell you the interesting stuff. If you stick around long enough.”
He dipped his head lower, his lips brushing against her ear. “I'm not going anywhere.”
The following day, she asked about him. “I talked about myself all day yesterday. Tell me about you.”
“What's there to tell?” he demanded, his gaze focused on the yellow they were spreading from the center of the iris.
“There's lots. Like why you would paint with me. You never struck me as the messy type.”
“I probably never struck you as the type to talk to you either, did I?”
She glanced up at him, pulling her hand away.
“I didn't mean that,” he said quickly. “Not the way it sounded anyway.”
“Then what did you mean?” She turned away from him, not willing to let him see the hurt on her face. They had spent so much time together it felt like she had known him for ages, but his remark only reminded her that she barely knew him at all.
“I mean that I had to spend so long,” he said, sounding like he was struggling for words, “trying to please someone else. My father, the Dark Lord, my aunt, Snape, everyone except me. I spent the past two years trying to make sure my parents lived. I didn't have time to get to know anyone, not even myself really. But now I do. And...”
“And what?” she prompted, turning back to him.
“And I'm glad.” He pulled her close, smearing yellow paint on her arms.
“Me too.”
“If anyone knows what that's like, it would be you,” he told her.
~*~
Three days before Christmas, they were steadily spreading thick layers of brilliant orange to the walls, dotting the landscape with dangerously crimson and yellow poppies.
“Why aren't you with him?”
“What?” Ginny stopped painting to stare at him, her stomach clenching. “I thought you didn't want to know about him.”
When he finally spoke, his words were slow and careful. “I don't want to know about him. I want to know about you. When we were in my room and you told me about him, you were angry.” He reached out to tuck a loose hair behind her ear. “I'm selfish. I want to know if there's any reason for me to act on my dislike of him.”
It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying. “Oh.” Her voice was smaller than she meant for it to be. “No. Not really.”
He gazed at her expectantly.
She sighed heavily. “You really wanna know?”
For a long moment, Draco was silent. “Yeah.”
She wasn't quite sure where to begin and what parts to leave out. “It was the summer before last. Everyone was at our house and I knew he was planning on leaving with Ron and Hermione. I knew they were planning on going off to find You-Know-Who somehow or another Also, I knew from spying on the Order that there was a really good chance he would die.” Ginny swallowed hard, biting at her lower lip and staring at the orange paint on her hands. “I asked him not to go. I begged him. I thought if I gave him something better, a reason to stay, that he would reconsider. It was so stupid. I assumed that he would want me enough to stay and leave the saving of the world to the Order. For a week I thought I had succeeded. But then at my brother's wedding we got word the Ministry had fallen, and just like that he was gone. I didn't see him again until he was here, during the battle. It was dangerous for them, I know, but he didn't even bother to try letting me know he was safe or that he missed me or anything. When it was all over he was the hero and I wasn't in love with him anymore. I guess I finally realized that Harry was never going to be able to do anything just for himself. It was always the greater good and I wanted someone who was a little selfish when it came to me. It's silly and thoughtless and inconsiderate but for a while I wanted someone who would choose me over everything else in the world. I used to think that's what love meant.”
“And now?”
Ginny glanced up. His eyes had grown dark, and while his expression was blank, she could see that his eyebrows were knit together in anger. “I don't know what I think now.”
“I think you were right. It's not selfish. That's just the way humans are made.” He reached out to tuck his fingers under her chin, tipping her face up. “I know how you feel about my parents, but they would agree with you - that's what love is. It might not have been the right thing but every single choice they made was to protect each other and me. If the person who loves you won't do that, then who will?”
She nearly sagged down onto the floor as relief flooded her. Never had she imaged being able to say those words aloud, and certainly she'd never dreamed there would be anyone who understood and agreed. She had kissed Harry on his seventeenth birthday even though he'd broken up with her at Dumbledore's funeral. Ron had caught them, but that didn't stop her. Late that night she caught him in the hallway, tugged him to her bedroom and locked the door behind them. Harry hadn't protested. He never tried to stop her and in the days that followed, he came to her two or three times each day, whenever he could sneak away. She was constantly sore and it hurt and it certainly wasn't the type of sex they wrote about in romance novels, but Ginny wanted Harry to stay, so she let him have her all he wanted.
Then he'd disappeared anyway without a word.
It was easier to understand why now, since it didn't hurt as much, but it didn't change the fact that she'd fallen out of love with him.
“Now you know my deepest, darkest secrets,” Ginny told him, trying to lighten the mood with a forced smile. “I might have to Obliviate you.”
“No,” Draco said slyly, pulling her back to the painting. “I bet you didn't know that a Slytherin's best trait is keeping secrets.”
~*~
The days sped by, faster than she would have liked. “We've covered almost everything,” she observed on Christmas Eve. “And it's amazing.”
Draco nodded in agreement, wiping his brow and leaving a long slash of blue paint on his forehead. He reached for his wand, casting another heating charm. “What are we going to paint when we run out of room? The floor?”
“We can,” she told him with a laugh. “Do you still want to meet tomorrow?”
He frowned. “Of course.”
“It's Christmas.”
“I don't have anywhere to be.”
She smiled up at him. “Good. Neither do I.”
Draco ran his long fingers around the edge of the green paint jar. “Maybe when we run out of room, I can just paint you.” His tone was playful, but the look in his eyes was completely serious as he slowly ran a finger up Ginny's arm.
They had spent the past two weeks painting by day and kissing by night, but nothing they'd done had felt as intimate as his fingers did in that moment.
“You look gorgeous in green,” he told her quietly, moving his fingers to her neck. “I can see why it's your favorite colour.”
Ginny stood perfectly still, letting him paint her neck and her arms, forcing herself to keep her eyes locked on him as he did. When she shivered, it had nothing to do with the snow. The heat that radiated between them as his fingers skimmed over her skin, leaving trails of green paint in their wake, should have been enough to warm her up, but she found herself trembling at his touch and realized her insides were already on fire. As Draco's hand moved to the hem of her shirt, Ginny swallowed hard. Twice before he had slowly explored the skin beneath her shirt, but this time was different. It felt like more than just an experiment between two sexually charged classmates; his fingers were so gentle, his expression nervous and vulnerable, his breathing so rapid that for a moment Ginny could believe that maybe, just maybe, he was falling in love. In that same moment, she knew that she was.
Summoning all her courage, Ginny pulled her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the stone floor.
Draco hesitated, his hand splayed flat against her stomach as his eyes searched hers.
“Don't stop,” she whispered, forcing herself to keep her eyes wide open, terrified of rejection.
Keeping his hand against her stomach, Draco reached for the jar of green paint and dipped his free hand into it. His hands moved up her sides, outlining her in green paint and then cautiously he moved his fingers into the V shape of her bra, tracing the edges and skating over the tops of her breasts. He continued to touch her, his fingers gentle against her skin until she could stand it no longer.
Ginny caught him by the wrists and tugged him closer, stretching up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
Later that evening, after Ginny had pulled her shirt back on and they had headed down to the Great Hall for dinner, she was glad that no one seemed to care why a Malfoy and a Weasley ate together or why they were covered in paint.
That night, Ginny could barely sleep. She'd been reluctant to wash his paint off of her when she'd showered, but she didn't want to explain to him why she hadn't. She rolled back and forth in her bed, wondering why she couldn't stop thinking about Draco Malfoy. She'd liked Harry for longer than she'd ever liked anyone, but she now realized that the way she felt about him was so different than the way she felt about Draco. Ginny wished he was lying beside her at that very moment. She wondered if she would be brave enough to strip off all of her clothes for him and let him paint her body. She imagined standing in her tower, completely naked and exposed, his fingers touching her everywhere.
The next morning, Ginny opened the few presents that were sitting near the foot of her bed, more interested in getting to the Great Hall than in her holiday jumper from her mum.
“Happy Christmas,” she told Draco brightly as she slid into the seat across from him.
“Happy Christmas to you,” he answered, looking up at her, his expression cautiously blank.
“Did you open your gifts?” She reached for the eggs, scooping them onto her plate.
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I didn't get any.”
Ginny froze before putting the serving spoon back in the egg bowl. “That's because I haven't given yours to you yet.”
A tiny smile curled his lips. “Oh really?”
“Yes really,” she said, even though she had no idea what she was talking about.
McGonagall and the other professors who had stayed behind greeted the few students as they trickled in, passing out Christmas crackers and telling them they would have a Christmas Feast that afternoon.
“Ready?” he asked as soon as she was done eating.
Ginny nodded, filling her mug with steaming water and grabbing another tea bag. She followed him from the Great Hall, down the hallway and to the base of the winding stairs, where he reached out to grab her hand, lacing their fingers together.
“What if someone sees?” she teased him.
“Then you can hex them,” he told her, one eyebrow arched haughtily. “If I recall correctly, you were rather good with the Bat Bogey hex.”
Ginny ducked her head as a warm blush flooded her cheeks. “Yes, well, you deserved it.”
“I suppose so,” he agreed dryly. “But of all the hexes you could have used, you chose that one?”
“It fit,” she said as they climbed the stairs. “You were a complete arse. And I know you touched my bum on purpose that day.”
He laughed, a sound she almost never heard but instantly loved. “Of course I did.”
“Then I'm not sorry,” she declared as they stepped into the tower.
Draco slipped his wand from his pocket, immediately casting a warming charm in all the corners of the room. “What are we painting today?”
There wasn't much room left on the stone walls. Nearly all the spaces in the round room were now filled with different portraits that seemed to lead to a full story. “You get to pick,” she said, motioning to the empty space. It was as tall as Draco and equally as wide. “That space is for your story.”
He looked at the wall for a long time. “I can paint anything I want?” he asked finally.
She nodded. “Anything.”
“I want to paint you.”
“Okay,” she told him, biting down on her lower lip. “Do you want me to pose?”
“No. I want to put the paint on you and then transfer it to the wall that way.” He picked up the jar of green and looked at her, as if daring her to protest. “You said anything.”
Ginny didn't want to object but she wasn't sure what to say. Her stomach churned wildly, as though she had eaten fairyflies instead of eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast. “Um...” She sucked in a deep breath, wondering what this meant, if it meant anything at all. “Okay. What should I do?”
“Undress,” he instructed, completely unabashed.
She tried to hide the trembling in her fingers as she reached for the hem of her top, pulling it over her head. As soon as she dropped it to the ground, she wished she had at least attempted to make the move look a little more sexy and a lot less like she was getting ready for bed.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked, his eyes glowing with interest.
“Yes,” she said, nodding as her fingers fumbled with the button of her painted jeans. She pushed them past her hips, fighting herself to keep the blush on her cheeks from spreading down her body, as Draco stood still, watching her. If she had known this would be the day Draco would see her knickers, she would have picked something sexier than the snowflake printed ones she currently had on. She stepped out her jeans, unable to speak as his eyes traveled the curves of her body. She could feel herself redden, heat spreading rapidly across her face as she thought of him taking in every imperfection that she had. She didn't know he if wanted her out of her bra and knickers. She didn't know if she was supposed to do anything. I don't even know what we are, she thought wildly, recalling her sketches of Dean and Michael. Maybe he thinks we are just friends, that I do this with all my friends. I told him it was just art.
“Stay like that,” Draco instructed, dipping his fingers into the paint jar. “You're perfect. I'm going to start with your back.”
“Okay,” she mumbled as he moved behind her. Her back was tense and completely straight as she felt his fingers on her skin.
“Is it okay if I paint this?” he asked, moving his free hand around her until his fingers were resting gently on the very bottom of her bra, lightly grazing her breast.
“It's fine,” she whispered.
Ginny lost herself in the motions of his hands. His breath was warm on her neck, tickling the sensitive skin. His fingers traced the length of her spine, spreading the paint before moving out across her back. She had never felt anything more sensual in her life, nor had she ever felt so vulnerable and exposed. It occurred to her that she might stop breathing, she might suffocate right there in an unused tower, all-but-naked for the person who had caused her family and friends so much grief and suffering, but she didn't care. It would be worth it. She would never be able to explain to anyone how two weeks with Draco Malfoy had sent her head over heels for him, how she had fallen for him with some sort of unfathomable, quiet passion, something that felt thicker and more stable than any way she'd ever loved before. She wondered if she would ever be able to bring herself to wash the paint off. She wondered if she left it long enough, was it possible for it to be permanently imprinted on her skin so that when people looked at her, they would think to themselves There was a moment when all she knew was love. She wondered if they would know it was him, if they would see her and be able to read his name, painted by hand into her skin. Draco. Draco. Draco.
His hands had moved to her bum, slowly painting her knickers and then he was on his knees, covering her legs in paint in a manner that she could only describe as worshipful. His hands were splayed wide open, touching her thighs and her calves.
“Okay,” he said slowly, breaking the spell Ginny would have sworn she was under. “Ready?”
She nodded, not ready to trust her voice.
He helped her to the wall, backing her right where he wanted her to be.
It was then Ginny realized that she'd kept her muscles tense and stiff then entire time, and she tried to allow herself to relax. “Like this?” she asked, finding her voice.
Draco didn't remove his hands from her shoulders as he nodded. “I'm just going to press you against the wall and try to do your hair. I'll try not to actually get paint in it.”
Relaxing was a lot hard than it should have been, especially since Draco was now moving across the front side of her body, pressing little sections at a time of her into the wall. She watched him as he did, noticing the way he would bite the inside of his lip as he concentrated and the way his eyes seemed to paint her just as much as his hands had.
When he was done, he wiped his hands on his pants - something she was certain he never, ever would have done before her - and dipped one hand in the jar of red paint. Draco looked at her for a long moment, and then poured a splash of yellow into the red. He rubbed his hands together until they were not quite mixed before beginning to paint the wall around her head.
“Can I look?” she asked when he finally stepped back.
“No. Not yet. I still have to do the front of you.”
This time it was even more sensual, if that were possible, because his hands touched the cups of her dark blue bra so gently and for one moment, she imagined that he was grateful to be allowed to touch her.
“Close your eyes,” he told her when he was done.
She did as he requested, letting him move her back to the wall and press her body into it. She rested her forehead against the icy stones as she felt him painting her hair, trying to cool herself down. Even with the falling snow and the fading heating charms, it wasn't working.
“Alright,” she heard him say. “I'm done.”
“I can look?”
“Keep your eyes closed for just another minute.”
She felt his arms on her biceps as he helped her step backwards. “Now.”
Ginny opened her eyes. The green woman on the wall couldn't have possibly been her. The person on the wall looked amazing, real enough to touch, all curves and seductive lines. The hair, which was almost an exact match to her own, waved around her head wildly, somehow carnal and so enticing she wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it.
“What do you think?” Draco sounded almost nervous. She wondered if she would have noticed the tiny waver that hid underneath his haughty words three weeks ago.
“It's amazing,” she told him honestly, tearing her eyes away so she could see him. “I can't believe it. I don't look that... good.”
He laughed, putting an arm around her to pull her closer. “No, you look better.”
He had positioned the two halves of her so that it took up the remaining space perfectly. “I wish we had saved room to paint you,” she told him.
“No. It's perfect this way.”
They stood side by side, looking at their creations and Ginny began to see the story in all. It had started with loss. She had lost Fred, and other people also - friends who weren't coming back, both by death and by choice. So had Draco. There was a long blue stretch of mourning, and then renewal. The two of them had painted almost everything together and she could see their tentative friendship blossom quickly into something more, just like the iris they had painted over the exploding galaxy.
Ginny reached over and put her hand in his, glancing up at him.
Draco leaned down to kiss her, and she no longer felt nervous that she was only in her bra and knickers, covered in green paint.
“I've been meaning to tell you how amazing you look in that shade of green,” Draco whispered into her ear as their kisses quickly grew heated.
“Slytherin green?” she whispered back.
He had one hand splayed against her chest, cupping her round breasts, while the other tugged her closer. “I'm amazed that you weren't put in Slytherin,” he said, his tongue flicking over her ear. “I'm quite certain that Gryffindor's don't deface school property or let Slytherin bloke’s body paint them.”
“Don't forget I also draw nudes,” she said, trying to make it sound like a retort, but letting out a low moan as his teeth grazed her earlobe. Ginny reached for his shirt, crumpling the hem in her fist as she moved it upwards, trying to get it over his head.
He helped her, leaving it discarded on the stone floor, moving his lips down her body with no apparent thought to the green paint that was now smearing across him. Much of it had already dried, but it was still leaving snowflakes of green on his pale skin.
Ginny ran her hands over his bare chest, breathing heavily as she was instantly determined to touch, kiss, lick and suck every spot on his body.
But when she moved her hands down his stomach, her fingers finding the top button of his jeans, he caught her wrist.
“Ginny,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes as if he could read all the way down into her soul, “do you want to come get your sketchbook? It's still in my room.”
She closed her eyes, humiliated. Merlin, she had let her emotions run away with her. She had always been so good at keeping them covered, at thinking logically about whatever situation she was in. For reasons she couldn't even begin to explain, she had let her guard down with Malfoy, let herself fall for him, thinking that he felt the same way about her. Ginny pulled away from him, grabbing her jeans and tugging them up over her painted hips. “Um, no. I'll get it later.”
He picked up his shirt as she tugged hers back on barely noticing that it was inside out.
“I have to go.” Ginny had her shoes in her hand as she bolted for the heavy door.
“Wait!” Draco reached out, grabbing her by the arm. “What are you doing?”
“I'm going, I have to, I mean, I just-”
“What's wrong?” he demanded hotly. “Am I going mad? I thought something was happening between us here.”
Ginny stared at him, confused. “So did I. But you stopped it. And that's okay. I don't want to do anything I would regret.”
His expression instantly turned cold, but his grip tightened. “I'm something you would regret?”
“No,” she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Definitely, no. I was ready for whatever it was we were about to do.”
He gazed at her so long she began to squirm in the heavy silence. “I really love being up here,” he said finally. “It's beautiful and I get to be with you. But I assumed that if we were going to do anything involving both of us being undressed, you deserved a bed instead of stone floor. I don't really want to give your sketchpad back. That was just a reason to get you to come with me.”
Ginny lifted her free hand to her mouth. “Why didn't you just say so?”
“Because you can't just put something out there like that. There should always be some…finesse." He scowled at her, making her giggle. “Because I didn't want to seem like I was just inviting you back to my room for a tumble.”
“Is that why you're inviting me there?”
“Merlin, Ginny.” Draco rubbed the back of his neck and as she watched, faint pink splotches on his cheeks began to grow brighter. “I would like you to come back with me but I don't want you to think that... And we've only been speaking to each other for a few weeks, but I feel...” He sighed, looking completely uncomfortable. “I won't ask. It's probably too soon.”
“It's not too soon. And you don't have to talk in riddles with me. I'm not a Slytherin. I don't need finesse to be convinced of who you are and if I want to be with you, then I can. It's my choice.” She bit her lower lip and stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had become just as attached to her as she had to him. “I want to go with you.”
Hand in hand, they hurried down the winding stairs, ignoring the looks of the few students they encountered in the hallways and tapping their feet impatiently as they waited for the moving staircases on their way to the dungeons.
Once they had reached his room, Draco locked the door behind them and immediately pulled her closer, pressing kisses all over her skin as he tugged her clothes back off. This time his fingers found the clasp of her bra, fumbling for a moment before it popped free. He slid the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, tossing it to the floor.
Her breasts stood out brightly, white and freckled and clean against the green paint that covered her. She was tempted to cross her arms over her chest, but Draco seemed to know that, and he grabbed her arms, pulling them down.
She removed his shirt for the second time in under an hour and was working on his trousers as he started nudging her towards his bed. Ginny tumbled backwards and he seized the moment, slipping his fingers under the sides of her knickers and moving them down her thighs. The gentle scrape of the fabric caused her to whimper, arching her back as he kissed her stomach. Draco pushed his own trousers off, kicking them to the floor as he crawled in on top of her.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Ginny reached up and pushed his blond hair from his eyes, nodding. “I'm sure.”
“Have you ever?”
“Not for the right reasons,” she whispered, gripping his arms.
Draco's eyes searched her face, as if he were trying to find the reasons hidden there. “And what are your reasons now?”
“Because I want to experience life. I'm tired of fending off death. And I know exactly how I feel about you.”
“How is that?”
She could feel him, hard and thick, gently pushing against her, sliding in her wetness. “I haven't felt like myself in a long time, but when I'm with you it's like you found the real me.”
“Like you're not afraid to be who you really are.” His words were a statement, not a question, and she knew he was referring to himself also.
“Like maybe I've wanted to know you forever, I just never had a clear enough vision.”
“Like I've seen you every day for most my life and never realized just how beautiful you are,” he whispered, his voice low and heavy against her fiery skin.
“Like I want to make up for all the time I wasted when I didn't know you.”
He was pushing at her entrance and Ginny was nearly panting with desire, her knees drawn up around his long, smooth body.
“Like maybe,” Draco whispered, sliding into her, gently pushing his way down into her tightness, “maybe I could be falling in love.”
When she looked back on it, she realized there was no fear or nervousness, no discomfort as he gently drove himself into her, but right then Ginny was caught up in the moment all she felt was the wonderful fullness that came from having Draco buried deep inside of her. “Exactly like that,” she whispered back.
They moved together uncertainly at first, but slowly they found a rhythm that made both of them whimper with pleasure. Ginny felt as if she was falling, falling for an eternity with nothing but a blanket of stars and Draco surrounding her, but she wasn't scared. She would gladly fall forever if it meant she could be with him. For the first time in over a year, she was happy. Their hands explored each other as they spread the sticky green paint all across their bodies and his bed, gently exploring each other.
Ginny used one hand to stroke his back, explore the muscles on his arms and stretch rivers of paint down the length of his spine. Her other hand she kept tucked against his neck, just under his ear, so that she could feel the reassuring, rapid beating of his pulse against her palm.
She drew her hand up his back, not knowing if she was dragging her fingers through the paint or the beads of sweat that were forming along his skin, and not caring.
Draco braced his hands against her hips and together they rolled over. Ginny paused, letting out a breathless groan at the new pressure that came from him throbbing inside of her. When she finally managed to gasp air back into her chest, Ginny opened her eyes so she could look at the man beneath her.
He was beautiful, she realized, and unfairly so. The narrow lines of his face were sharp and angular, as were the lean lines of muscle in his chest and arms; if not for the warmth of his body beneath her, she might have believed he'd been chiseled from marble. The long expanses of his perfect ivory skin were interrupted by streaks of wild green paint, but that paint had come from her body and so Ginny ran one hand up his chest as she began to move on him, leaving her own fingerprints on his flesh, the way he had done for her. Paint was everywhere, she realized. It spread between them messy and glorious, binding them together just as literally as the steady in-out motion of their bodies did. His fine black bedspread was going to be stained beyond repair. She could see paint in her own hair as she leaned down to kiss him, their lips brushing against each other as she rolled her hips. Beneath Draco's left eye was a slash of green that ran down to his jaw. Ginny kissed it, then kissed his neck and shoulders, leaving a trail.
The heat that roared between them was hotter than Ginny thought she'd ever be able to stand, but with Draco wrapped securely around her, she was confident she could abide it. She let go, allowing the red-hot fire, the paint and Draco to consume her completely.
And when it was over, they laid together, curled into each other.
This is what they write romance novels about, she thought drowsily.
“Now what?” Draco asked when they had caught their breath.
She looked up at him, her fingers against his bare chest. His expression was one she had never seen on him before - hopeful, nervous, vulnerable even. There was so much to consider. There was her family and friends, his family and friends, the bad blood that had cut deep between them for generations, and so much more that Ginny just couldn't bear to think about it all so soon after what may have been the best experience of her life. “Now, we just keep on,” she said finally. “We find out where this path is going to take us.”
“I think it's going to go somewhere good,” he said finally. “I'm positive.”
“Me too.”
~*~
Late that night, after they had eaten their Christmas feast with the other students and Ginny had silently marveled at how different the world felt now, they sat together on her ledge, watching the snow fall around them.
“You still didn't get your sketchpad,” Draco reminded her. His arms were tight around her waist and she was tucked comfortable between his legs, her back pressed against his chest.
“That's okay,” Ginny told him. “I will soon.”
“And I suppose you'll want your self-portrait back?” he asked dryly.
“No,” she said, after thinking for a moment. “It's yours. That's your Christmas present.”
He ducked his head, burying his face in her hair, chuckling. “I don't think I'll ever forget this Christmas.”
“How could we?” she asked softly, letting the snow carry her voice to the four corners of the world. This Christmas marked the first time she'd felt alive since the summer Harry left. There was a future ahead of her, and while all she could do was hope it would be bright, it was her own. In that moment, Ginny believed without a doubt that everything would work out, in some way or another.
Draco's chin was resting on her shoulder. “Gin?” he whispered quietly. “I'd choose you over anything else in the world. Just so you know.”
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic Draco is a closet softie who is surprised and won over by some/one of Ginny's more Slytherin attributes. Ginny is a bit of a bad girl but not dark or evil, their getting together should be sparked by a meeting while one/both of them is doing something that is against 'type'.
The tone/mood of the fic: Any so long as its not too soppy or sad D/G
An element/line of dialogue/object you would specifically like in your fic: Ginny is wearing something at some point that is 'Slytherin green' and Draco gets all hot and bothered over it
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: PG13 - NC17
Canon or AU? Cannonish until Book 6 but it can be set post-Hogwarts
Deal Breakers (anything you don't want?): Crack, Evil!Ginny/Draco,
non-magical, under-age (16) sex