scarletangel68 wrote 'Drinks' for paradise_loved
Title: Drinks
Author: scarletangel68
Rating: PG-13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary: Post-War. Draco and Ginny go out for drinks.
Beta: zweelum & raebb4ever
A berry-red drop quivered momentarily on the rim of her wine glass. It only took the tiny tink of a gentle tap on glass for the drop to tumble over the edge. Ginny halted the wine's trickling journey with a swipe of her finger up the side of the glass. She pressed her fingers together, expecting them to stick from the wine. They came apart, however, as if it were water, and a bit dripped off and left a scarlet stain on the creamy white tablecloth. A glance about the table, and then she surreptitiously sucked the wine off the tips of her fingers with a private smile.
Ginny'd been sure Mum was gazing with rapt attention as Scrimgeour spoke somberly at the podium as if he'd had anything to do with, well, anything. But of course Mum, mother of seven children and thwarter of ne'er-do-wells, batted at her hand without even looking.
"Ow!" Ginny muttered loudly enough for Mum to hear, but the disapproving line of her mouth was the only hint, aside from Ginny's stinging hand, that Mum's attention had been diverted for even a moment.
Ginny clutched her hand indignantly and glared at Mum. "I am not a child anymore," she was tempted to tell her, but realized the childlike pout on her face and the petulant tone she just knew her voice would take on wouldn't help her cause. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and swiftly rearranged her features into those of one positively captivated by the speaker at the front, who had somehow changed from Scrimgeour to Professor Moody in the short minute she'd been nursing the red mark that she was sort of hoping would turn into a bruise, just to make Mum feel guilty. She peeked down and was rather disappointed to see the redness fade quite quickly, leaving the usual freckled white skin.
She only managed to sit still for a few minutes. Certainly Moody was a more...gripping speaker than Scrimgeour, but honestly. Would this night ever end? She'd thought the banquet would have ended hours ago. Ginny sighed and unfolded her hands again, pushing at the base of her wine glass listlessly. She propped her elbow on the table and rested her cheek against her hand, catching the stray "CONSTANT vigilance!" as she scanned the room. She smiled politely whenever she inadvertently made eye contact. Then she spotted a shock of blonde hair two tables over and sat up, wondering if she should try to catch his attention. She realized rather belatedly that he had already seen her, as he was apparently snickering at her behind his wine glass. He made no pretence of hiding it, didn't even pretend it wasn't her he was laughing at. Had he been watching her? What the hell was so funny? Ginny flushed red and, courtesy forgotten, frowned and mouthed, "What?"
With an overt glance at Ginny's Mum, he batted at an invisible hand - which, presumably, was having the wine lapped off it by one Ginny Weasley - and then made the patented Mrs. Molly Weasley Does Not Approve Face, complete with tightly pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. The impression of Mum had a startling accuracy that she'd thought only George could achieve - and that had been only after years of practice - and she wasn't sure whether to be affronted for Mum's sake or simply keel over laughing. The utter surrealism of Mum's expression on his face pushed her toward the latter option.
"...that you read in the papers, but the other wizards and witches that showed astounding bravery and skill in the face of war at that young age. Take Miss Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, who were caught in an ambush while patrolling Hogsmeade. They held eight Death Eaters at bay themselves for nearly an hour until reinforcements arrived. The kind of vigilance any person worth their wand ought to show!"
A smatter of applause, and Ginny, caught in mid-giggle, coughed heartily into a napkin. Malfoy coolly raised his wine glass in thanks for Moody's acknowledgement, as if he hadn't just been doing imitations of someone's mother. The Weasley matriarch's unforgiving finger poked Ginny sharply in the ribs, so she forced a smile and waved briefly at the stage. More clapping, and she was free to sit back in humiliation.
Malfoy leaned back and smirked smugly at her. She glowered darkly, but he suddenly sat up, looking about the room as if surprised, and waved goofily in what she could only assume was a mockery of her own waving. Ginny rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted spite of herself.
"To the ones that got their hands dirty," finished Moody, raising his flask.
Malfoy met her eyes and tilted his glass at her. She did the same, and they both drank deeply.
On her way out, she passed his table. He pressed a crushed napkin into her hand. She turned, about to tell him she didn't want his discarded rubbish and half-expecting a comment about Weasley trash despite everything, but he only pointed and said, "Be there." There was no time for anything else before Mum pulled her away, telling her if they didn't hurry they'd miss the visiting hours for Ron.
Later, Ginny sat drowsily in a too-hard chair, lulled by Ron's slow sleep-breathing and waiting for Mum to finish rearranging the rainbow of flowers on his nightstand. She smoothed the napkin out on her knee.
Leaky Cauldron, tomorrow, 8.
Draco craned his neck and found her alone at a table in the back, first spotting her by her hair, gleaming orange under the tired yellow lights of the pub.
"Can I help you, sir?" called Tom from the bar. A rather elderly witch at a nearby table winked saucily at Draco and, to his great horror, murmured something that he could swear was along the lines of "I bet I could help him."
“Oh, Merlin, no - ah, no, I'm fine, thank you," he said loudly. He hastily retreated as far from the bar as possible, attempting to find a route to Ginny through the maze of people and rickety tables. He wrinkled his nose distastefully at the roomful of pub-goers before him, many clad in tattered or faded robes, some shouting drunkenly across the room at their friends at the bar or perhaps sitting alone like Ginny, but clearly not expecting company. She'd accuse him of putting on airs or some rubbish if he'd chosen some place of the caliber he was accustomed to, but perhaps he could have got away with something a bit more high class than the Leaky Cauldron. Not to mention that, on a Saturday evening, it was far more crowded than he was used to seeing the pub during his daytime visits to Diagon Alley.
He slithered through the tangle of tables and chairs with perhaps slightly less grace than he liked to admit, relieved that she didn't look up until he sat across from her. She nursed a colorful, fruity-looking drink with an orange stuck on the edge. Draco eyed it curiously, wondering what the granular stuff around the rim was. Sugar, he guessed.
She misread his confused look, tilted her head. "Thought I wouldn't show?"
"Oh, no, of course I knew you'd show." Draco sniffed. "Who could resist my company?"
She snorted, but he chose to ignore this and instead indicated the walls with a suspicious nod. "Does this place seem...larger, to you, than usual?"
"Oh, yes, there are charms when it gets crowded. You've never been here at night, have you?" She laughed, and she had such a distinctly unsurprised tone that he felt rather defensive.
"Of course I haven't! It's full of dodgy people at the best times of day. Who knows what horrors could transpire here in the dead of night?"
"Hm. And you're relying on the little Weasley girl to protect you from the ruffians, I imagine." She snickered and held up a fist, as if she would knock away opponents with one hand and sip her funny fruity drink with the other.
"Worked before, didn't it? In any case, I'm just starting you off gently and eventually I’ll work you up to higher-class places. Places where it is not impossible to navigate a room because everyone keeps charming the furniture around." As if to prove his point, a chair scurried by to seat one member of a rapidly growing group of Chudley Cannon fans, who, in Draco's opinion, were far too loud for fans of a team who hadn't won in what might as well be eons. He tripped the running chair out of spite.
"What? ‘Gently,’ how?"
"I just thought you'd be more comfortable at first around your..." He made a vague gesture that was meant to include the pub at large, but mostly ended up indicating the large man dressed in violent orange who was uprighting his chair, which had been futilely kicking at the air after Draco tripped it. The man glared at him, silently accusing him of chair-tripping. Draco smiled charmingly and turned back to Ginny.
"...Your...people. Peers? No? Fellow less fortunate? Oh, don't look at me like that. I just want to expand your horizons."
"What a guy." She rolled her eyes and plucked the orange off the rim of the funny drink. "My gratitude abounds." She split the slice, sucked on one half. He looked for too long. She raised her eyebrows and handed him the other half, which he stuck in his mouth.
"Hey," he said around the orange, which he supposed was horrible manners, but what the hell? When in Rome, after all. "Where on earth are the waitresses? I haven't got a drink yet."
"What?" She spit her own orange slice out. "Oh, the bar. Go up."
"This is horrid," Draco declared. "Honestly. I don't know how you put up with it, Weasley."
"I think," she said, grinning, "you're entirely too spoiled. You can't even walk up to a bar?"
"It's the principle of the thing. They've only brainwashed you into thinking this is normal. This is why the broadening of horizons is obviously, desperately necessary. Horizons that end someplace where there are waitresses, preferably. It will be beautiful. You may cry."
He winced as the fans behind them let loose a particularly uproarious cheer. "Stupid Cannons. Everyone knows the Tornadoes are ten times better."
She grinned. "Ron loved - Ron loves the Cannons. His room is orange, it's absolutely terrible. You can't go in there unless you don't mind being blind the rest of your life."
"You're not helping the Cannons' case at all," Draco snorted. "I should have known he was a Cannons fan. Your brother's ridiculous. The Cannons are ridiculous. Perfect match."
"Ridiculous?"
"Always lurching about after Potter in school like some sort of buffoonish body guard, yeah. ‘Malfoy' this, and 'Malfoy' that. Didn't take much to set him off, either. So much as mention Granger, or his family, and he looked like a bright red jelly bean. Bet it was his temper that got him cur…" Horrifyingly, he remembered who he was speaking to, and the current condition of the person he was speaking of, and he wondered why no one had invented a spell for swallowing words. Wordus swallowus, he thought desperately. Visions of bat bogey hexes danced in his head. He shrunk in his seat. "Ah."
Her knuckles looked rather white as they clutched her glass. "At least, at least he wasn't a spoiled little child who needed his dad to offer bribes before he could even get on the Quidditch team," she snapped. “Probably too busy killing people to teach poor little Draco how to play!”
“At least he didn’t get himself killed,” Draco said snidely.
“He died with honor,” she breathed. “Rather than slowly, in prison, with the rats.”
Draco realized that he was standing when his chair, teetering gingerly on its back legs, finally fell. Ginny had thrust her in her pocket for her wand.
His chair flailed and one leg kicked him in the back of the knee, probably out of spite.
“Waugh!” was the undignified noise he made as he fell. “Of course that would happen,” he said sullenly from under the table.
A scrape of the chair sliding back, and he saw Weasley feet come around the table and stop in front of him.
She sighed and offered her hand.
“No. I refuse your hand. Hand-taking means defeat, Weasley,” he said with little passion, the discouragement of being trounced by a chair having defused the situation somewhat, mostly through crushing his honor.
“You’re a jerk. You’re a spoiled, awful person who has no sensitivity whatsoever. But I consider you my friend, and I’m sorry I said that if you’re sorry as well.”
Draco glanced up, and her face was rather reminiscent of one who had been forced to swallow several rusty nails. Then again, apologies had never been his forte, either.
“You’re much meaner than you look, Weasley. The rat thing, and…if you talk about my father again, there will be problems.”
“The same goes for you.”
“Fair enough,” he said with a wrinkle of his nose, and took her hand.
She didn’t pull him up. “Shake on it,” she demanded. “We can forget this. And no more mentions of…family. Or I’ll kick you. And you can kick me as well, though I don’t think it will hurt so much for me, so perhaps something else, like a jinx, or just a full-out duel if one of us does something really appalling,” she added thoughtfully, and Draco rolled his eyes.
“Shall we have an Unbreakable Oath while we’re at it?” he said sarcastically. “You Gryffindors and your justice.” All the same, he shook her hand briefly and she pulled him off the floor.
He dusted himself off meticulously while she stood by rather impatiently, tapping her foot and rolling her eyes and such.
“I’m sorry I’m a neat person,” he sniffed. “No need to get uppity, Weasley.” He grinned and deliberately brushed himself off a few more times.
“Are you quite done?”
“Quite.”
They stood awkwardly for a moment. “So,” she finally said.
“Well.”
“Drinks?”
“God, yes.”
“I have to say, these odd fruity drinks are something. Are they new?”
“Muggle.” Ginny smirked.
He eyed the glass in front of him distastefully. “Oh.”
“But you’re going to drink it anyway,” she said knowingly.
Draco shrugged. “Don’t ever say I wasn’t open-minded,” he said, and downed it. “But it explains the salt on the rim instead of sugar. What were they thinking? Do they think?” Forlornly, he swirled the minute amount of red drink still residing at the bottom. “Tom? Tom, do you think you could…?”
“Malfoy, you just finished your third in thirty minutes. Think you should slow it down?”
“Lightweight,” he commented, dropping some Sickles on the bar.
Her ears got red. “I am not!”
Draco smiled slyly up at her as she sat up straight. “I know it for a fact. Don’t think I don’t know about the incident with the Muggle fellynote.”
“It’s fellytone, Malfoy, at least make the effort to remem-” She gasped. “I told Dean that in confidence.”
“Thank you, Tom.” He held up his new drink in cheers. “No cat in the world can hold Thomas’s tongue once some whisky has loosened it, it seems. Not that I don’t let a few things slip myself now and again, but as far as I can remember it was only something vaguely embarrassing about pants that time. Night after Hogsmeade and all, I had a bit more than usual.” He took a calm sip.
She squinted at him. “Just how often is usual for you?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. A few glasses at home, usually. Father has a collection. Had, rather. Don’t give me that look, Weasley. I can’t let it go to waste. I don’t wallow alone at home all evening, drinking myself into a coma with only the House Elves to watch or something, if that’s what you think.”
“That…is so depressing to imagine,” said Ginny. She took his fruity drink away and had a gulp of it.
He smiled tightly. “And I sort of enjoy envisioning the look on his face if I knew I was having the three-hundred year old Almerick’s. Father didn’t even let Dobby dust it, had to do it himself. Hey, give that back.”
Ginny slid the drink over and giggled. “Dad was always like that whenever Mum came near his Muggle stuff. ‘Molly, you can’t throw the rubber duck away, I have yet discovered its purpose!’” She bit her lip. “All his stuff is still out in the shed.”
“It’s difficult,” he agreed. “I haven’t cleaned out Mother’s room yet, either.”
They sat quietly for a moment, shoulders pressed against each other.
“We visited Ron this afternoon.” She scowled. “No signs of improvement. And Hermione was there again today, just sitting. Never says anything.”
“Weird, for Granger.”
Ginny didn’t even muster up a retort, but simply nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”
Draco nudged his drink over to her again and she tossed it back. He hailed the bartender for more. “After considering our situations at length, I believe we need to get desperately drunk.” He pulled some Galleons from his pocket.
“I can bloody pay for my own drinks, Malfoy,” she said suddenly.
“You know I’m not one for charity,” he said. “I’m the one who asked you here, it’s only the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Ginny snorted. “Because you are known for your manners and virtues, of course. Nothing but charming all the time.”
“Just because I found it beneath me to bother adding any finesse when dealing with Wea-working, ah, working class individuals,” Draco amended with what he thought rather proudly was great finesse on his part.
Ginny did not agree, if her sour look - which had a disturbing similarity to her mother’s, as Draco decided not to point out - was any indication. But her lack of a verbal beating for his slip showed that she appreciated his effort, he thought optimistically.
“Ah. Obviously. So, I’m curious, did I simply miss the Hogwarts course on astounding jackassery, or is it just another one of the perks of being one of the upper class?”
Or not.
“You always need to be the center of attention, don’t you?”
“Rubbish. As if you’re not exactly the same,” she laughed, a whirlwind of red pulling him in the direction of the makeshift dance floor.
Curse those Cannon fans, their apparent love of dancing, and their ability to haul enormous tables out of the way whenever it was convenient. Damn them.
“No - I - well, that’s completely just - perhaps I like attention a bit, but-” He floundered mentally about, then finally said petulantly, “I don’t dance.”
“What? You did at the Yule Ball! I remember the hilariously unnecessary collar. It was wonderful,” she told him, and held her hands high above her head as if to indicate the height of the collar. He sniffed. It had been quite dignified, he’d thought.
She took hold of his robes again and pulled, literally putting all her weight into dragging him along. It was at the point where if he let go of her she’d tumble headlong to the floor. In this way the two moved, though reluctantly on Draco’s part, toward the dreaded swarm of bodies.
“That’s completely different,” he desperately argued, “This is - I’ll look a fool! There are no dancing lessons for that type of dancing!” He pointed at the writhing group in the center of the pub.
She’d been nearly parallel to the floor attempting to lug him forward, but now she paused, cocked her head, and proceeded to use his arm to pull herself up to an upright position. She ended with both hands on his shoulders, swaying slightly. He found himself trying to remember how many drinks she’d had, and was rather alarmed to see, now that they were standing so lose, just how small she was. Perhaps the amount of liquor she’d consumed was a bit unwise for one of her stature. Honestly, she barely reached his chin. Had her brother stolen all the genes for Tall and Gangly?
He opened his mouth, not sure what part of his train of thought he was about to blurt out. He hoped it would be something useful about the copious amounts of alcohol and the basket of bread on the nearby table that might help, rather than about Tall Gangly Bastards, since that would be decidedly unhelpful and likely to qualify for the Draco Gets Kneed Compromise, as he had come to call it.
All trains of thought careened violently off the tracks when she pressed a finger to his lips.
“Um,” he said, lips moving against the pad of her finger. The trains sputtered and died.
Ginny didn’t seem to notice anything. Instead, she grinned. It was rather brilliant, he thought vaguely. “No words!” she declared. “Only dancing.”
“…Dancing?” he asked out loud, before remembering they had been having a conversation just now. He cursed the fruity drinks.
“Just copy me and you’ll be fine, right?” She didn’t appear to need an answer, as she nigh flew to the center of the pub with him in tow.
It wasn’t much longer until Draco, attempting to turn his knowledge of the waltz into something semi-acceptable, decided that this was torture.
She threw another brilliant smile at him. He supposed that he could live through the torture, somehow.
Strands of blonde tickled his nose. He pushed a hand through his hair, knowing his artfully arranged coif had already met a bad end. He felt rather mournful.
“You know, Malfoy,” Ginny said just under the fiddling and cheering, hooking an arm through his and bringing him around in a leap, “I really do consider you my friend, I wasn’t just saying. You’re not such a bad sort. Mostly.”
It was then that the song ended. They were left facing each other, actually nearly too far for normal dancing, but with the music gone, suddenly far too close. Ginny’s breath seemed to hitch for a moment. She stepped forward.
Draco’s stomach chose that inopportune moment to twist inside out, too full of the stupid fruity stuff and bothered by that last spin they’d done.
“Ohbloodycocksuckinghell,” he said rather loudly, and bolted.
He didn’t know where the lavatories were - he never thought there’d be a need, ever, really, to use the restrooms in this establishment - and so he was reduced to curling miserably in a random but thankfully empty parlor room off a dark corridor in the back.
He almost expected footsteps, a hand on his shoulder. Nothing. He suddenly wondered what she must think, about to - whatever she had been going to do, and then him running off. He wondered if this ruined everything. It was spectacularly unfair, the timing.
He was overreacting, obviously. Stupid - infatuation - thing, he didn’t know, and there wasn’t anything to ruin in the first place anyway. He decided the pain clouded his judgment and put of all thinking until further notice.
Draco lay there wretchedly until the nausea passed, then found himself much calmer.
He stepped out, saw her dancing rather closely with the bulky Cannons fan whose chair he’d tripped, and promptly felt sick again.
Another five minutes before he came out a second time, and she was still dancing with him. He noticed a bit jealously that the other fellow was a far better dancer.
He put his hand on Ginny’s bottom, and Draco froze, wondered just how soundly a man twice his size could bash him, and then surged forward to defend her honor, or at least pull her away as well as he could while at the same time dodging.
A very red Ginny punched the man in the jaw.
“Oh,” said Draco, who’d stopped again.
“Ow,” said Ginny, who sucked on her knuckles. “Your chin is like brick.” The man rubbed his jaw ruefully. “Sorry,” she apologized, then staggered toward Draco.
“Weasley. Weasley? Ginny. Look at me. You’re doing that swaying sort of thing again, you look like a sailor.”
“Draco,” she said, and leaned on him. “I think I’m going to be sick on you.”
He was wearing his favorite shirt, and she’d been dancing with a Cannons fan. He had half a mind to leave her there.
“Take me home?” she mumbled into the shoulder of his prized shirt.
“Oh, fine.”
Ginny jerked awake in Draco Malfoy’s bed.
She wrenched off the sheets and found herself fully clothed, minus jacket and shoes. She fell back into the squashy pillows in relief and breathed in the soothing smell of coffee deeply.
“Coffee, miss?” squeaked a voice next to her arm. She shrieked and nearly fell off the bed.
“Nothankyou,” she gasped in one breath to the startled House Elf. “Actually, no. Yes. Please. Cream?”
“Of course, miss!” it squeaked cheerfully, heaping generous amounts into the mug. “Master drinks it black, it is a delight to do it differently for Master’s miss Weezy!”
Ginny winced at the tiny elf’s high voice, touching her head to her temple and wondering how much she’d had the night before. “That’s - that’s wonderful, I’m sure. Thank you.” She grasped the warm cup, warming her fingertips, the only part of her not buried in thick, comfortable bedding. “Where’s Malfoy? Draco.”
“Master is breakfasting in the dining room, miss! Shall Tippy fetch miss some slippers?”
“It’s all right, I have my shoes, thanks. Could you show me to him?”
“Of course!”
They found him seated at a ridiculously long table with a glass in his hand and looking quite refreshed. “Good morning,” he said.
“Do I have to sit over there?” She pointed to the chair at the other end of the table. “I wouldn’t mind shouting across the table, but I seem to have a splitting headache.”
Draco held up the glass. “Hair of the dog?” he offered, summoning the chair.
She sat, took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t think that’s so healthy, Draco.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Ginny.” He took a defiant swig.
Ginny held out the cup, giving him a look.
He leaned forward as if despite himself and breathed in the aroma. He seemed to waver. “Coffee isn’t much better, you know.”
She smiled, remembering the night before. “But you’re going to drink it anyway.”
He snorted. “I suppose coffee’s something else Muggles did right. Shockingly.” He borrowed hers and sipped. “Though apparently not this particular cup. Tippy, what did you do?”
Tippy pulled at her ears. “Tippy is so sorry, master! Miss asked for cream, and Tippy only wanted to please the miss, Tippy should have known Master would mind!”
“Cream? Weasley, you traitor. It’s all right, Tippy,” he said magnanimously. “It’s all her fault. Get me some of that, would you? A decent cup, not one like this. Merlin.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and took her mug back. “How did we get back here?”
“I keep a Portkey to the manor in my pocket in case I can’t Apparate home. I would’ve Flooed you back to your apartment from here, but you fell dead asleep on a chair while I was getting out the powder. You snore, by the way. And you apparently go into an alcohol coma when inebriated. You really are terrible at holding your drink, you realize. Therefore, I win.”
“Am I really that bad?”
He paused. “Do you remember?”
Ginny bit her lip. “The Cannons guy?” Then she actually flinched at what came to mind next. Perhaps she could get away with not remembering it at all. “Oh, damn.”
“That sounds ominous. Wish Tippy hadn’t taken away my drink.”
“I’m so sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have…it was weird, wasn’t it? Of course it was weird. You swore and ran away.” She tried to laugh it off when she saw the stricken look on his face. “It’s okay. At least you’re honest.”
“No, it’s, ah. I just felt nauseous. From the drinks,” Draco added hastily. “I just didn’t want to be sick on you. Bad manners and all, or so I’ve heard.”
She smiled into her drink. “That’s very sweet, thank you.” Her insides swirled around like Professor Trelawney’s tea leaves, but they were sending mixed messages. Relief, amusement, embarrassment, hope.
“I’ll forget it if you will. But I’d rather not.” He leaned forward.
“Coffee, sir!” Tippy chirped.
“Oh. Brilliant,” Draco said. He sighed and took the cup.
Ginny kissed him.
“Mm,” he said. “Coffee breath.” He kissed her again, negligent of the coffee in his hand spilling onto the table.
She smiled into the kiss. “I think we’re probably doomed,” she decided. “My tea leaf insides are giving me a distinct feeling of doom.” She kept kissing him anyway.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, and I don’t really care. It’s not surprising, anyway. You did date Potter. I’m surprised you’re even considering getting into another relationship again, really.”
“What? Harry was fine.” He whined a little when she pulled away to frown at him.
He took the opportunity to have what was left of his coffee. “But the trauma. I mean, just how terrible a kisser was he? It’s okay, you can tell me.”
She covered her face with one hand and shoved him with the other. “You’re a bad person.”
She peeked through her fingers as he grinned. “I know.” He pulled her in for a kiss again.
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to recieve: I really love Ginny/Draco romance fics.
The tone/mood of the fic: Black humor, sarcastic.
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: I love the idea of the two going out for a drink, I'm not really sure why. I wrote a fic like that once where they were just sitting at the Leaky Cauldron and that idea is still with me.
Canon of AU? Either.
Rating of the fic you want: Soft R, most likely.
Deal breakers (what don’t you want): Uber-angst, fluff, violence.
Author: scarletangel68
Rating: PG-13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary: Post-War. Draco and Ginny go out for drinks.
Beta: zweelum & raebb4ever
A berry-red drop quivered momentarily on the rim of her wine glass. It only took the tiny tink of a gentle tap on glass for the drop to tumble over the edge. Ginny halted the wine's trickling journey with a swipe of her finger up the side of the glass. She pressed her fingers together, expecting them to stick from the wine. They came apart, however, as if it were water, and a bit dripped off and left a scarlet stain on the creamy white tablecloth. A glance about the table, and then she surreptitiously sucked the wine off the tips of her fingers with a private smile.
Ginny'd been sure Mum was gazing with rapt attention as Scrimgeour spoke somberly at the podium as if he'd had anything to do with, well, anything. But of course Mum, mother of seven children and thwarter of ne'er-do-wells, batted at her hand without even looking.
"Ow!" Ginny muttered loudly enough for Mum to hear, but the disapproving line of her mouth was the only hint, aside from Ginny's stinging hand, that Mum's attention had been diverted for even a moment.
Ginny clutched her hand indignantly and glared at Mum. "I am not a child anymore," she was tempted to tell her, but realized the childlike pout on her face and the petulant tone she just knew her voice would take on wouldn't help her cause. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and swiftly rearranged her features into those of one positively captivated by the speaker at the front, who had somehow changed from Scrimgeour to Professor Moody in the short minute she'd been nursing the red mark that she was sort of hoping would turn into a bruise, just to make Mum feel guilty. She peeked down and was rather disappointed to see the redness fade quite quickly, leaving the usual freckled white skin.
She only managed to sit still for a few minutes. Certainly Moody was a more...gripping speaker than Scrimgeour, but honestly. Would this night ever end? She'd thought the banquet would have ended hours ago. Ginny sighed and unfolded her hands again, pushing at the base of her wine glass listlessly. She propped her elbow on the table and rested her cheek against her hand, catching the stray "CONSTANT vigilance!" as she scanned the room. She smiled politely whenever she inadvertently made eye contact. Then she spotted a shock of blonde hair two tables over and sat up, wondering if she should try to catch his attention. She realized rather belatedly that he had already seen her, as he was apparently snickering at her behind his wine glass. He made no pretence of hiding it, didn't even pretend it wasn't her he was laughing at. Had he been watching her? What the hell was so funny? Ginny flushed red and, courtesy forgotten, frowned and mouthed, "What?"
With an overt glance at Ginny's Mum, he batted at an invisible hand - which, presumably, was having the wine lapped off it by one Ginny Weasley - and then made the patented Mrs. Molly Weasley Does Not Approve Face, complete with tightly pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. The impression of Mum had a startling accuracy that she'd thought only George could achieve - and that had been only after years of practice - and she wasn't sure whether to be affronted for Mum's sake or simply keel over laughing. The utter surrealism of Mum's expression on his face pushed her toward the latter option.
"...that you read in the papers, but the other wizards and witches that showed astounding bravery and skill in the face of war at that young age. Take Miss Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, who were caught in an ambush while patrolling Hogsmeade. They held eight Death Eaters at bay themselves for nearly an hour until reinforcements arrived. The kind of vigilance any person worth their wand ought to show!"
A smatter of applause, and Ginny, caught in mid-giggle, coughed heartily into a napkin. Malfoy coolly raised his wine glass in thanks for Moody's acknowledgement, as if he hadn't just been doing imitations of someone's mother. The Weasley matriarch's unforgiving finger poked Ginny sharply in the ribs, so she forced a smile and waved briefly at the stage. More clapping, and she was free to sit back in humiliation.
Malfoy leaned back and smirked smugly at her. She glowered darkly, but he suddenly sat up, looking about the room as if surprised, and waved goofily in what she could only assume was a mockery of her own waving. Ginny rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted spite of herself.
"To the ones that got their hands dirty," finished Moody, raising his flask.
Malfoy met her eyes and tilted his glass at her. She did the same, and they both drank deeply.
On her way out, she passed his table. He pressed a crushed napkin into her hand. She turned, about to tell him she didn't want his discarded rubbish and half-expecting a comment about Weasley trash despite everything, but he only pointed and said, "Be there." There was no time for anything else before Mum pulled her away, telling her if they didn't hurry they'd miss the visiting hours for Ron.
Later, Ginny sat drowsily in a too-hard chair, lulled by Ron's slow sleep-breathing and waiting for Mum to finish rearranging the rainbow of flowers on his nightstand. She smoothed the napkin out on her knee.
Leaky Cauldron, tomorrow, 8.
Draco craned his neck and found her alone at a table in the back, first spotting her by her hair, gleaming orange under the tired yellow lights of the pub.
"Can I help you, sir?" called Tom from the bar. A rather elderly witch at a nearby table winked saucily at Draco and, to his great horror, murmured something that he could swear was along the lines of "I bet I could help him."
“Oh, Merlin, no - ah, no, I'm fine, thank you," he said loudly. He hastily retreated as far from the bar as possible, attempting to find a route to Ginny through the maze of people and rickety tables. He wrinkled his nose distastefully at the roomful of pub-goers before him, many clad in tattered or faded robes, some shouting drunkenly across the room at their friends at the bar or perhaps sitting alone like Ginny, but clearly not expecting company. She'd accuse him of putting on airs or some rubbish if he'd chosen some place of the caliber he was accustomed to, but perhaps he could have got away with something a bit more high class than the Leaky Cauldron. Not to mention that, on a Saturday evening, it was far more crowded than he was used to seeing the pub during his daytime visits to Diagon Alley.
He slithered through the tangle of tables and chairs with perhaps slightly less grace than he liked to admit, relieved that she didn't look up until he sat across from her. She nursed a colorful, fruity-looking drink with an orange stuck on the edge. Draco eyed it curiously, wondering what the granular stuff around the rim was. Sugar, he guessed.
She misread his confused look, tilted her head. "Thought I wouldn't show?"
"Oh, no, of course I knew you'd show." Draco sniffed. "Who could resist my company?"
She snorted, but he chose to ignore this and instead indicated the walls with a suspicious nod. "Does this place seem...larger, to you, than usual?"
"Oh, yes, there are charms when it gets crowded. You've never been here at night, have you?" She laughed, and she had such a distinctly unsurprised tone that he felt rather defensive.
"Of course I haven't! It's full of dodgy people at the best times of day. Who knows what horrors could transpire here in the dead of night?"
"Hm. And you're relying on the little Weasley girl to protect you from the ruffians, I imagine." She snickered and held up a fist, as if she would knock away opponents with one hand and sip her funny fruity drink with the other.
"Worked before, didn't it? In any case, I'm just starting you off gently and eventually I’ll work you up to higher-class places. Places where it is not impossible to navigate a room because everyone keeps charming the furniture around." As if to prove his point, a chair scurried by to seat one member of a rapidly growing group of Chudley Cannon fans, who, in Draco's opinion, were far too loud for fans of a team who hadn't won in what might as well be eons. He tripped the running chair out of spite.
"What? ‘Gently,’ how?"
"I just thought you'd be more comfortable at first around your..." He made a vague gesture that was meant to include the pub at large, but mostly ended up indicating the large man dressed in violent orange who was uprighting his chair, which had been futilely kicking at the air after Draco tripped it. The man glared at him, silently accusing him of chair-tripping. Draco smiled charmingly and turned back to Ginny.
"...Your...people. Peers? No? Fellow less fortunate? Oh, don't look at me like that. I just want to expand your horizons."
"What a guy." She rolled her eyes and plucked the orange off the rim of the funny drink. "My gratitude abounds." She split the slice, sucked on one half. He looked for too long. She raised her eyebrows and handed him the other half, which he stuck in his mouth.
"Hey," he said around the orange, which he supposed was horrible manners, but what the hell? When in Rome, after all. "Where on earth are the waitresses? I haven't got a drink yet."
"What?" She spit her own orange slice out. "Oh, the bar. Go up."
"This is horrid," Draco declared. "Honestly. I don't know how you put up with it, Weasley."
"I think," she said, grinning, "you're entirely too spoiled. You can't even walk up to a bar?"
"It's the principle of the thing. They've only brainwashed you into thinking this is normal. This is why the broadening of horizons is obviously, desperately necessary. Horizons that end someplace where there are waitresses, preferably. It will be beautiful. You may cry."
He winced as the fans behind them let loose a particularly uproarious cheer. "Stupid Cannons. Everyone knows the Tornadoes are ten times better."
She grinned. "Ron loved - Ron loves the Cannons. His room is orange, it's absolutely terrible. You can't go in there unless you don't mind being blind the rest of your life."
"You're not helping the Cannons' case at all," Draco snorted. "I should have known he was a Cannons fan. Your brother's ridiculous. The Cannons are ridiculous. Perfect match."
"Ridiculous?"
"Always lurching about after Potter in school like some sort of buffoonish body guard, yeah. ‘Malfoy' this, and 'Malfoy' that. Didn't take much to set him off, either. So much as mention Granger, or his family, and he looked like a bright red jelly bean. Bet it was his temper that got him cur…" Horrifyingly, he remembered who he was speaking to, and the current condition of the person he was speaking of, and he wondered why no one had invented a spell for swallowing words. Wordus swallowus, he thought desperately. Visions of bat bogey hexes danced in his head. He shrunk in his seat. "Ah."
Her knuckles looked rather white as they clutched her glass. "At least, at least he wasn't a spoiled little child who needed his dad to offer bribes before he could even get on the Quidditch team," she snapped. “Probably too busy killing people to teach poor little Draco how to play!”
“At least he didn’t get himself killed,” Draco said snidely.
“He died with honor,” she breathed. “Rather than slowly, in prison, with the rats.”
Draco realized that he was standing when his chair, teetering gingerly on its back legs, finally fell. Ginny had thrust her in her pocket for her wand.
His chair flailed and one leg kicked him in the back of the knee, probably out of spite.
“Waugh!” was the undignified noise he made as he fell. “Of course that would happen,” he said sullenly from under the table.
A scrape of the chair sliding back, and he saw Weasley feet come around the table and stop in front of him.
She sighed and offered her hand.
“No. I refuse your hand. Hand-taking means defeat, Weasley,” he said with little passion, the discouragement of being trounced by a chair having defused the situation somewhat, mostly through crushing his honor.
“You’re a jerk. You’re a spoiled, awful person who has no sensitivity whatsoever. But I consider you my friend, and I’m sorry I said that if you’re sorry as well.”
Draco glanced up, and her face was rather reminiscent of one who had been forced to swallow several rusty nails. Then again, apologies had never been his forte, either.
“You’re much meaner than you look, Weasley. The rat thing, and…if you talk about my father again, there will be problems.”
“The same goes for you.”
“Fair enough,” he said with a wrinkle of his nose, and took her hand.
She didn’t pull him up. “Shake on it,” she demanded. “We can forget this. And no more mentions of…family. Or I’ll kick you. And you can kick me as well, though I don’t think it will hurt so much for me, so perhaps something else, like a jinx, or just a full-out duel if one of us does something really appalling,” she added thoughtfully, and Draco rolled his eyes.
“Shall we have an Unbreakable Oath while we’re at it?” he said sarcastically. “You Gryffindors and your justice.” All the same, he shook her hand briefly and she pulled him off the floor.
He dusted himself off meticulously while she stood by rather impatiently, tapping her foot and rolling her eyes and such.
“I’m sorry I’m a neat person,” he sniffed. “No need to get uppity, Weasley.” He grinned and deliberately brushed himself off a few more times.
“Are you quite done?”
“Quite.”
They stood awkwardly for a moment. “So,” she finally said.
“Well.”
“Drinks?”
“God, yes.”
“I have to say, these odd fruity drinks are something. Are they new?”
“Muggle.” Ginny smirked.
He eyed the glass in front of him distastefully. “Oh.”
“But you’re going to drink it anyway,” she said knowingly.
Draco shrugged. “Don’t ever say I wasn’t open-minded,” he said, and downed it. “But it explains the salt on the rim instead of sugar. What were they thinking? Do they think?” Forlornly, he swirled the minute amount of red drink still residing at the bottom. “Tom? Tom, do you think you could…?”
“Malfoy, you just finished your third in thirty minutes. Think you should slow it down?”
“Lightweight,” he commented, dropping some Sickles on the bar.
Her ears got red. “I am not!”
Draco smiled slyly up at her as she sat up straight. “I know it for a fact. Don’t think I don’t know about the incident with the Muggle fellynote.”
“It’s fellytone, Malfoy, at least make the effort to remem-” She gasped. “I told Dean that in confidence.”
“Thank you, Tom.” He held up his new drink in cheers. “No cat in the world can hold Thomas’s tongue once some whisky has loosened it, it seems. Not that I don’t let a few things slip myself now and again, but as far as I can remember it was only something vaguely embarrassing about pants that time. Night after Hogsmeade and all, I had a bit more than usual.” He took a calm sip.
She squinted at him. “Just how often is usual for you?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. A few glasses at home, usually. Father has a collection. Had, rather. Don’t give me that look, Weasley. I can’t let it go to waste. I don’t wallow alone at home all evening, drinking myself into a coma with only the House Elves to watch or something, if that’s what you think.”
“That…is so depressing to imagine,” said Ginny. She took his fruity drink away and had a gulp of it.
He smiled tightly. “And I sort of enjoy envisioning the look on his face if I knew I was having the three-hundred year old Almerick’s. Father didn’t even let Dobby dust it, had to do it himself. Hey, give that back.”
Ginny slid the drink over and giggled. “Dad was always like that whenever Mum came near his Muggle stuff. ‘Molly, you can’t throw the rubber duck away, I have yet discovered its purpose!’” She bit her lip. “All his stuff is still out in the shed.”
“It’s difficult,” he agreed. “I haven’t cleaned out Mother’s room yet, either.”
They sat quietly for a moment, shoulders pressed against each other.
“We visited Ron this afternoon.” She scowled. “No signs of improvement. And Hermione was there again today, just sitting. Never says anything.”
“Weird, for Granger.”
Ginny didn’t even muster up a retort, but simply nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”
Draco nudged his drink over to her again and she tossed it back. He hailed the bartender for more. “After considering our situations at length, I believe we need to get desperately drunk.” He pulled some Galleons from his pocket.
“I can bloody pay for my own drinks, Malfoy,” she said suddenly.
“You know I’m not one for charity,” he said. “I’m the one who asked you here, it’s only the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Ginny snorted. “Because you are known for your manners and virtues, of course. Nothing but charming all the time.”
“Just because I found it beneath me to bother adding any finesse when dealing with Wea-working, ah, working class individuals,” Draco amended with what he thought rather proudly was great finesse on his part.
Ginny did not agree, if her sour look - which had a disturbing similarity to her mother’s, as Draco decided not to point out - was any indication. But her lack of a verbal beating for his slip showed that she appreciated his effort, he thought optimistically.
“Ah. Obviously. So, I’m curious, did I simply miss the Hogwarts course on astounding jackassery, or is it just another one of the perks of being one of the upper class?”
Or not.
“You always need to be the center of attention, don’t you?”
“Rubbish. As if you’re not exactly the same,” she laughed, a whirlwind of red pulling him in the direction of the makeshift dance floor.
Curse those Cannon fans, their apparent love of dancing, and their ability to haul enormous tables out of the way whenever it was convenient. Damn them.
“No - I - well, that’s completely just - perhaps I like attention a bit, but-” He floundered mentally about, then finally said petulantly, “I don’t dance.”
“What? You did at the Yule Ball! I remember the hilariously unnecessary collar. It was wonderful,” she told him, and held her hands high above her head as if to indicate the height of the collar. He sniffed. It had been quite dignified, he’d thought.
She took hold of his robes again and pulled, literally putting all her weight into dragging him along. It was at the point where if he let go of her she’d tumble headlong to the floor. In this way the two moved, though reluctantly on Draco’s part, toward the dreaded swarm of bodies.
“That’s completely different,” he desperately argued, “This is - I’ll look a fool! There are no dancing lessons for that type of dancing!” He pointed at the writhing group in the center of the pub.
She’d been nearly parallel to the floor attempting to lug him forward, but now she paused, cocked her head, and proceeded to use his arm to pull herself up to an upright position. She ended with both hands on his shoulders, swaying slightly. He found himself trying to remember how many drinks she’d had, and was rather alarmed to see, now that they were standing so lose, just how small she was. Perhaps the amount of liquor she’d consumed was a bit unwise for one of her stature. Honestly, she barely reached his chin. Had her brother stolen all the genes for Tall and Gangly?
He opened his mouth, not sure what part of his train of thought he was about to blurt out. He hoped it would be something useful about the copious amounts of alcohol and the basket of bread on the nearby table that might help, rather than about Tall Gangly Bastards, since that would be decidedly unhelpful and likely to qualify for the Draco Gets Kneed Compromise, as he had come to call it.
All trains of thought careened violently off the tracks when she pressed a finger to his lips.
“Um,” he said, lips moving against the pad of her finger. The trains sputtered and died.
Ginny didn’t seem to notice anything. Instead, she grinned. It was rather brilliant, he thought vaguely. “No words!” she declared. “Only dancing.”
“…Dancing?” he asked out loud, before remembering they had been having a conversation just now. He cursed the fruity drinks.
“Just copy me and you’ll be fine, right?” She didn’t appear to need an answer, as she nigh flew to the center of the pub with him in tow.
It wasn’t much longer until Draco, attempting to turn his knowledge of the waltz into something semi-acceptable, decided that this was torture.
She threw another brilliant smile at him. He supposed that he could live through the torture, somehow.
Strands of blonde tickled his nose. He pushed a hand through his hair, knowing his artfully arranged coif had already met a bad end. He felt rather mournful.
“You know, Malfoy,” Ginny said just under the fiddling and cheering, hooking an arm through his and bringing him around in a leap, “I really do consider you my friend, I wasn’t just saying. You’re not such a bad sort. Mostly.”
It was then that the song ended. They were left facing each other, actually nearly too far for normal dancing, but with the music gone, suddenly far too close. Ginny’s breath seemed to hitch for a moment. She stepped forward.
Draco’s stomach chose that inopportune moment to twist inside out, too full of the stupid fruity stuff and bothered by that last spin they’d done.
“Ohbloodycocksuckinghell,” he said rather loudly, and bolted.
He didn’t know where the lavatories were - he never thought there’d be a need, ever, really, to use the restrooms in this establishment - and so he was reduced to curling miserably in a random but thankfully empty parlor room off a dark corridor in the back.
He almost expected footsteps, a hand on his shoulder. Nothing. He suddenly wondered what she must think, about to - whatever she had been going to do, and then him running off. He wondered if this ruined everything. It was spectacularly unfair, the timing.
He was overreacting, obviously. Stupid - infatuation - thing, he didn’t know, and there wasn’t anything to ruin in the first place anyway. He decided the pain clouded his judgment and put of all thinking until further notice.
Draco lay there wretchedly until the nausea passed, then found himself much calmer.
He stepped out, saw her dancing rather closely with the bulky Cannons fan whose chair he’d tripped, and promptly felt sick again.
Another five minutes before he came out a second time, and she was still dancing with him. He noticed a bit jealously that the other fellow was a far better dancer.
He put his hand on Ginny’s bottom, and Draco froze, wondered just how soundly a man twice his size could bash him, and then surged forward to defend her honor, or at least pull her away as well as he could while at the same time dodging.
A very red Ginny punched the man in the jaw.
“Oh,” said Draco, who’d stopped again.
“Ow,” said Ginny, who sucked on her knuckles. “Your chin is like brick.” The man rubbed his jaw ruefully. “Sorry,” she apologized, then staggered toward Draco.
“Weasley. Weasley? Ginny. Look at me. You’re doing that swaying sort of thing again, you look like a sailor.”
“Draco,” she said, and leaned on him. “I think I’m going to be sick on you.”
He was wearing his favorite shirt, and she’d been dancing with a Cannons fan. He had half a mind to leave her there.
“Take me home?” she mumbled into the shoulder of his prized shirt.
“Oh, fine.”
Ginny jerked awake in Draco Malfoy’s bed.
She wrenched off the sheets and found herself fully clothed, minus jacket and shoes. She fell back into the squashy pillows in relief and breathed in the soothing smell of coffee deeply.
“Coffee, miss?” squeaked a voice next to her arm. She shrieked and nearly fell off the bed.
“Nothankyou,” she gasped in one breath to the startled House Elf. “Actually, no. Yes. Please. Cream?”
“Of course, miss!” it squeaked cheerfully, heaping generous amounts into the mug. “Master drinks it black, it is a delight to do it differently for Master’s miss Weezy!”
Ginny winced at the tiny elf’s high voice, touching her head to her temple and wondering how much she’d had the night before. “That’s - that’s wonderful, I’m sure. Thank you.” She grasped the warm cup, warming her fingertips, the only part of her not buried in thick, comfortable bedding. “Where’s Malfoy? Draco.”
“Master is breakfasting in the dining room, miss! Shall Tippy fetch miss some slippers?”
“It’s all right, I have my shoes, thanks. Could you show me to him?”
“Of course!”
They found him seated at a ridiculously long table with a glass in his hand and looking quite refreshed. “Good morning,” he said.
“Do I have to sit over there?” She pointed to the chair at the other end of the table. “I wouldn’t mind shouting across the table, but I seem to have a splitting headache.”
Draco held up the glass. “Hair of the dog?” he offered, summoning the chair.
She sat, took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t think that’s so healthy, Draco.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Ginny.” He took a defiant swig.
Ginny held out the cup, giving him a look.
He leaned forward as if despite himself and breathed in the aroma. He seemed to waver. “Coffee isn’t much better, you know.”
She smiled, remembering the night before. “But you’re going to drink it anyway.”
He snorted. “I suppose coffee’s something else Muggles did right. Shockingly.” He borrowed hers and sipped. “Though apparently not this particular cup. Tippy, what did you do?”
Tippy pulled at her ears. “Tippy is so sorry, master! Miss asked for cream, and Tippy only wanted to please the miss, Tippy should have known Master would mind!”
“Cream? Weasley, you traitor. It’s all right, Tippy,” he said magnanimously. “It’s all her fault. Get me some of that, would you? A decent cup, not one like this. Merlin.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and took her mug back. “How did we get back here?”
“I keep a Portkey to the manor in my pocket in case I can’t Apparate home. I would’ve Flooed you back to your apartment from here, but you fell dead asleep on a chair while I was getting out the powder. You snore, by the way. And you apparently go into an alcohol coma when inebriated. You really are terrible at holding your drink, you realize. Therefore, I win.”
“Am I really that bad?”
He paused. “Do you remember?”
Ginny bit her lip. “The Cannons guy?” Then she actually flinched at what came to mind next. Perhaps she could get away with not remembering it at all. “Oh, damn.”
“That sounds ominous. Wish Tippy hadn’t taken away my drink.”
“I’m so sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have…it was weird, wasn’t it? Of course it was weird. You swore and ran away.” She tried to laugh it off when she saw the stricken look on his face. “It’s okay. At least you’re honest.”
“No, it’s, ah. I just felt nauseous. From the drinks,” Draco added hastily. “I just didn’t want to be sick on you. Bad manners and all, or so I’ve heard.”
She smiled into her drink. “That’s very sweet, thank you.” Her insides swirled around like Professor Trelawney’s tea leaves, but they were sending mixed messages. Relief, amusement, embarrassment, hope.
“I’ll forget it if you will. But I’d rather not.” He leaned forward.
“Coffee, sir!” Tippy chirped.
“Oh. Brilliant,” Draco said. He sighed and took the cup.
Ginny kissed him.
“Mm,” he said. “Coffee breath.” He kissed her again, negligent of the coffee in his hand spilling onto the table.
She smiled into the kiss. “I think we’re probably doomed,” she decided. “My tea leaf insides are giving me a distinct feeling of doom.” She kept kissing him anyway.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, and I don’t really care. It’s not surprising, anyway. You did date Potter. I’m surprised you’re even considering getting into another relationship again, really.”
“What? Harry was fine.” He whined a little when she pulled away to frown at him.
He took the opportunity to have what was left of his coffee. “But the trauma. I mean, just how terrible a kisser was he? It’s okay, you can tell me.”
She covered her face with one hand and shoved him with the other. “You’re a bad person.”
She peeked through her fingers as he grinned. “I know.” He pulled her in for a kiss again.
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to recieve: I really love Ginny/Draco romance fics.
The tone/mood of the fic: Black humor, sarcastic.
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: I love the idea of the two going out for a drink, I'm not really sure why. I wrote a fic like that once where they were just sitting at the Leaky Cauldron and that idea is still with me.
Canon of AU? Either.
Rating of the fic you want: Soft R, most likely.
Deal breakers (what don’t you want): Uber-angst, fluff, violence.