The Duel
Title: The Duel
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Ship: Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: None. There’s a shorter version of this at the F&I Forum’s Cookie Jar, due to a word limit on cookies.
Summary: Ginny is determined to achieve her highest ambition, which gives Draco the opportunity to take a shot at his.
Things were not going well for Ginevra Weasley.
As affairs stood currently, she was backed up against a freezing dungeon wall, her skirt and blouse torn, and nose crusted with dried blood. A tall, menacing blond stood with his wand at her throat, grey eyes glittering in a combination of disdain and mockery. He was so close she could see his Adam’s apple pulsing as he swallowed.
No, things were not at their best.
Of course, things hadn't been at their best for some time now. The first nasty shock had been the revelation that, come autumn, the Auror Academy would most likely not accept her, as she had almost no formal combat training-the D.A. being an illegal and undocumented organization.
That had been a cruel blow, but it hadn’t been the last. Second had been McGonagall’s decree that she should join the long-forgotten dueling club in order to attain the necessary combat training-which would have been fine with her, had the club not consisted of six, sneering Slytherins with chips on their shoulders.
This too, however, Ginny could have handled, but it didn’t stop there. No, it got far worse, for head of the dueling club was none other than Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, who had returned to Hogwarts to finish his studies before restoring the family honor, and took every opportunity possible to trod on Ginny’s ego, as both a Weasley and Harry Potter’s ex-girlfriend.
Lastly, of course-for it never seemed to end-there had been the terrifying revelation that, despite what everybody said, one Gryffindor was not worth ten Slytherins. On this one night alone, Ginny had been bested by five, one of them a stupid third year with a crooked fringe and crooked teeth, and now, with Malfoy’s wand at her pale and freckled throat, it looked to be her sixth defeat.
“Do you yield, Weasley?” Malfoy sneered, aware that, with Ginny’s wand halfway across the room due to a well-placed Expelliarmus, she was in no position to fight back.
“Never,” Ginny snarled, unwilling to admit defeat for the umpteenth time this evening, particularly in a duel with Draco Malfoy. No, she would not surrender-never. Not if he had to kill her first, and that was against the rules.
She leapt from the corner, surprising him-he had not expected physical action-and ducked under his outstretched arm. She skidded ungracefully across the floor on her knees, but reached her wand in the nick of time. Skin burning in pain, she nevertheless shouted, “Petrificus Totalus!” and had the distinct pleasure of seeing Malfoy’s lithe frame tense and freeze, as he toppled over like a paper doll.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Ginny stood and inspected her knees, which were scraped, raw, and bloody. Not a surprise, but she supposed she had to attend to Malfoy first. The other members had long since retired, growing bored of Ginny and Malfoy’s endless battle. She was a pushover, they’d decided, and she was only holding their beloved leader off tonight because he was tired and being generous.
“Finite Incantatem,” she muttered ungraciously, and Malfoy took a deep and rattling breath. He sat up, glaring, and rubbed his head, which had struck the stone, with fierce displeasure scrawled across his face.
“Luck, Weasley, simply luck,” he scoffed. “No Death Eater would let an Auror scamper under his arm like that. We’ll see what they make of your childish tactics at the Academy.”
“I suppose you’d know all about that, Malfoy,” Ginny retorted. “Isn’t that what they taught you at Death Eater training? Then again-you must have missed that lesson, or I wouldn’t have gotten away with it!”
“Shut up, Weasley,” said Draco in a hiss. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”
Ginny was rolling her eyes by now. She’d heard enough of his cryptic remarks; for all his Death Eater commentary, he’d still been coward enough to switch sides when it was clear his was going to lose. Ginny knew that no matter how powerful Voldemort might have become, she’d never have turned her back on her friends and family in order to win. What kind of person did that?
“Oh, but I do understand, Draco,” she simpered, in a sickly sweet voice and a face like poison. “Daddy must have kept you home that day-was the training too intense for his precious pureblood baby?”
As soon as she saw his eyes flash, she knew she’d made a serious mistake. In moments, Malfoy was leaping at her as she’d done just before, but he had no intention of slipping past her-instead he grabbed her forearms and slammed her painfully into the dungeon wall.
“What did you say?” he demanded, pushing her wrists into the craggy stone.
“Let go of me, Malfoy,” she ordered, through gritted teeth.
“Not until you take that back,” he replied, a classic five-year-old’s reply that Ginny might have laughed at if he wasn’t inches from her face and glaring at her murderously.
“If McGonagall hears about this, there’ll be a price to pay,” she warned him, twisting in his grip; he was a lot stronger than he looked, that was for certain.
“I don’t care about fucking McGonagall,” he swore, and he stepped closer that his entire body was shoving her into the wall. “You take back every word or I’ll kill you here and now-don’t think I won’t.”
“Oh, but I do,” Ginny said back, and this was too close to her original comment to keep Malfoy from twisting her arms again, and grinding his leg against her hipbone, which hurt like bloody hell.
“You don’t know anything,” Malfoy snarled. “Yet you saunter around like you own the fucking world, just because Potter stuck his tongue down your throat. Well, you know what, I can do that too; there’s no fucking difference, is there?”
And he did just that, before Ginny could do anything. His mouth was on hers, and he was prying open her lips insistently, and suddenly he was kissing her, deeper and with more-more power and more passion than Harry had managed to muster. Her eyes flew open just as he released her, letting go of her arms and stepping away, so that she finally could breathe again.
“What was that for?” Ginny demanded, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth and trying her best to glare at him with the same force she’d had before.
Malfoy merely stared her. It was a second or two before he responded at all.
“I was wondering what was so special about you,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and pocketing his wand as though he hadn’t, moments before, had her pressed up against a dungeon wall. “First it was Corner, then Thomas, then Potter and then Moran. I wondered what the fuss was all about.”
“Maybe they just like redheads,” she suggested, and as the words slipped out she wondered where on earth they’d come from. The tension that had been mounting suddenly vanished, and Malfoy cracked a grin at her, albeit a very small one.
“Most men do,” he replied, and then he was gone.