ilsa_ilma_isse wrote Untitled for peki
Title: Untitled
Author: ilsa_ilma_isse
Rating: T
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Books 1-6
Summary: She didn't know why she did it, but it was done and now she had to live with it. Literally.
Author's Notes: n/a
Beta: Mo
30 July, 2007
The rolling wall of smoke slammed into her like a wave crashing against the shore. She ducked her head instinctively and closed her eyes, trying not to breath, but it was too late. It was already in her lungs, dry and hot, and it burned her throat as she gasped for air. She coughed violently as she ran, holding her forearm across her nose and mouth, her eyes watering with the acid sting of the thick smoke. Ahead, Ginny could hear the sounds of the fight and she forced herself to run faster, ignoring the burning in her lungs.
She stumbled on a rock that jutted carelessly from the earth, her feet catching in her worn robes and sending her flying forward. Her hands broke her fall, the small bits of rock and debris cutting the tender skin of her palms and knuckles. Ginny didn't stop though. She scrambled to her feet, her wand gripped tight and her face set in determined lines. As she neared, she could hear her brother's angry bellow behind the wall of smoke. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her veins. She was close. They needed her.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The curse came from behind and the force of her own momentum sent her petrified body headlong into the ground for the second time that day. She mentally cursed herself for being so foolishly single-minded. Her head collided against something sharp and hard and, for a moment, Ginny saw stars.
"I always knew your brother was an idiot, but I expected more of you," a voice said behind her. Strong fingers pried her wand from her hand before rotating her so that she lay on her back. She expected to be faced with the expressionless Death Eater mask and was surprised when she found herself looking into a familiar pale face instead. His face was streaked with soot and dirt and his usually impeccable platinum hair was tousled and wet with sweat. He smirked at her surprised expression and she felt all of her old anger toward him return in an unexpected rush.
Before Draco could say anything further, an explosion rocked the earth, throwing him backwards and out of her range of vision. The smoke around them blackened and swirled menacingly. It frightened Ginny. She couldn't hear her bother anymore, though Harry's cry of anger was louder than ever before. In a moment, Draco was kneeling beside her again, pushing impatiently at his hair as his smirk melted into something more urgent.
"Listen to me," he hissed fiercely. "I left! I'm not one of them anymore, and they're going to realize I'm not there any minute now!" Ginny didn't care and she glared at him, willing every ounce of hatred to shine in her eyes. His own gaze held a measure of wildness, like a deer that smelled an approaching predator. "Don't look at me like that," he snapped, his nostrils flaring in indignation. "I don't like this any more than you do, but, right now, staying alive is more important than asking a Weasley for help. Understood? Now you're going to help me get away from here. They mustn't find me. If they find me, they'll kill me."
When she continued to glare at him, he sighed and pulled his wand from his sleeve. "I can't believe I'm subjecting myself to this," he muttered.
No sooner had Draco uttered the counter-curse, he found himself on his back in the trampled grass, tackled by an irate Ginny Weasley.
"Get off of me!"
She answered with a sound right hook to his nose. "How dare you!" she cried. "You have no right to demand anything of me, you slimy, no-good, wretched excuse of a-"
"Well," a voice drawled from behind them, "isn't this a cozy picture."
Ginny's tirade, however spectacular it was, vanished as her blood ran cold, turning anger to fear. Beneath her, Draco froze and his eyes were wide as they stared at each other; both in disbelief that they had allowed themselves to be caught in such a defenseless position.
"Stand up," the voice snapped, all traces of false amusement gone.
Ginny tried to tell herself that this was not happening, that it was just a dream. This could not happen. She was better than this. She should have never been caught without her wand. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, never once taking her eyes off Draco. His face was an emotionless mask as he too rose from the ground. He swallowed nervously, the only sign of fear.
"Hello, Father."
Four Months Later
Winter was in the air. Ginny could smell it coming. Shivering, she clutched the collar of her old tweed coat closer and tried to ignore the sharp cold that pricked the exposed skin of her hand.
She stood alone at the edge of the old swimming hole, a brown-clothed figure amidst an endless brown landscape, starring into the dark water with unseeing eyes. Though it was cold enough, the small pond had yet to freeze and the trees that guarded the grove swayed in the harsh wind. The last weeks of November had sucked the color from the world, leaving it empty and lifeless. To Ginny, it felt as if the entire world had died.
High above the swimming hole, the skeletal tree branches swayed in the harsh wind, writhing beneath a grey overcast sky. Brown trees. Grey skies. Grey and brown were the colors that ruled Ginny's world now. She shivered again and hunched further into her woolen coat. She wished the end of summer had not been spent in hiding.
Behind her, her childhood home waited patiently with dark windows and locked doors. The Burrow lay empty now. It had been abandoned a few years back in favor of the security Grimmauld Place offered. Harry had been insistent that the Weasley's share his home- after all, in those days Harry had believed that one day he would be a legal member of the family. Of course, like everything else, that too had passed.
Ginny wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but one morning she woke up and found that little Ginny Weasley had died sometime in the night. In retrospect, it was the drudgery that killed her. Endless days of nothing but death and blood had ground her down, slowly changing her. And in the end, the old Ginny, the girl, was gone. Her naive ideals and perceptions of life has passed with her, leaving Ginny faced with a stranger in the bathroom mirror.
It was on that day that the wild hubbub that came with the lively Weasley clan finally got beneath Ginny's skin. Little by little, all of her elder brothers had returned to the nest- Bill and Fleur, Charlie and the twins. Harry had joyfully welcomed them all, but with each new addition, Ginny slowly began to feel confined and smothered by her family's overbearing presence.
Now she lived in a small cottage at the edge of an equally small village, too unimportant to be mistaken for anything more. Her family had protested her relocation of course, but Ginny remained firm. She needed to be alone. She would go mad if she had to spend one more month in Grimmauld place. Surprisingly, it had been Ron who had understood the most. It was he who finally persuaded Molly to give Ginny the space she craved. Now, they no longer called on Ginny unexpectedly and it had been near six months since another Weasley- or honorary Weasley for that matter- had crossed the threshold.
It was a good thing too.
Ginny paused halfway through unbuttoning her coat and narrowed her eyes at Draco. "You've been outside again," she accused.
His gaze followed her own to the telltale pair of muddy boots that sat beneath the coat rack. He shrugged nonchalantly and crossed his arms across his thin chest. "Your point?" he countered lazily, leaning one shoulder carelessly against the doorjamb.
"My point?" she echoed, her expression one of disbelief. "Draco, we've discussed this! You can't go outside! Someone might see you!"
He dropped his arms and scowled at her. "I don't care," he said petulantly. "Let them see me! I'm tried of living like a filthy Muggle. I'm a wizard! I should be able to do magic whenever I please."
Ginny sighed and unbuttoned the rest of her coat. They both knew he couldn't do that- not without a wand. She hung her coat on one of the pegs above the jumble of shoes and hefted the bag she was brought in with her. "How about some dinner?" she asked, changing the subject.
He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before jerking his head in acceptance and straightening from his slouched position.
"Your mother Flooed while you were out," he said, leading the way into the small kitchen.
"What?" Ginny exclaimed. "Did she see you?"
He shot her a withering look. "Yes, Weasley. I'm a complete moron." His scowl deepened. "Of course not, I hid in the hall."
She deposited the bag on the table. "Do you know what she wanted?"
"Do I look like your personal secretary?" he countered, snatching the bag and rummaging through the contents.
Ginny bit her tongue and grabbed a pot from the bottom cupboard. Squabbling with Draco was easy but she hated giving into the urge to bicker. It always left an air of discontent in the small cottage that made her feel uncomfortable. And Ginny hated feeling uncomfortable in her own home. So she pushed down the ire that threatened to choke her and filled the pot with water before settling it on the stove to boil.
He took her silent cue and began to empty the bag without being asked, handing Ginny the package of chicken when he found it. They worked in silence, each doing a portion of the work. It hadn't always been that way of course. In the beginning, Draco had treated her little better than a house elf, insisting that she cook, clean and cater to his every whim. That lasted less than a month before he succumbed to boredom. It had started with the little things: the pillows and blankets he had used the night before appearing folded in the closet, washed dishes returning mysteriously to the cupboard. Then, one evening, he had loitered about the kitchen until Ginny, annoyed with his hovering, had handed him a knife and instructed him to cut the vegetables. It was surreal, but Ginny didn't question it. She understood the need to keep her hands busy.
"Hand me those greens," Draco commanded, pointing with the knife to the stalk of celery near her elbow.
She picked up the bundle and passed it to him. As she did so, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of something down her spine. Ginny's breath caught in her throat and she froze. She couldn't remember when the inexplicable desire to touch him had arisen, but she had been fighting it for weeks. It made her feel foolish, like a schoolgirl with a crush, and she tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away. But it hadn't. If anything, it had grown stronger to the point that she found herself thinking about him at meetings and during drills. It had made her sloppy in practice and Tonks berated her for it. She shouldn't be thinking that way about him. He was Malfoy, for Merlin's sake.
"Are you going to return my hand sometime this century, Weasley?"
She jerked her hand back, her cheeks aflame, and quickly turned to the soup pot. After a moment, however, she snuck a look at him from the corner of her eye. He was stock still, staring at the celery in his hand, a frown on his lips. Shame and rejection flooded through her and she grabbed the large stirring spoon to cover the swell of emotion.
"Are you done with those vegetables yet?" she asked, faking a casual tone.
Her question shook him from his thoughts. "In a minute."
He made quick work of the celery, his blade cleanly and efficiently slicing the stalks into even cubes that joined the perfectly cut carrots and quarters of potatoes. She didn't want to know where he had gained such skill with a blade. She was afraid the answer wouldn't be from his years spent in Potions class.
Their routine was uninterrupted after that and the evening meal came and went with minimal conversation. It was just as well, Ginny reflected as she filled the kitchen sink with hot water and dish soap. She doubted that she would have been able to carry on a decent conversation. Better they left things unsaid.
While they ate, darkness had fallen and the bright lights of the kitchen turned the window in front of the sink into a mirror of sorts in which she could see Draco approach from behind, their plates in hand. He came to a stop behind her and deposited the dishes in the sink with one long arm that momentarily wrapped about her middle. She watched as they disappeared beneath the white foam, not daring to look up at his reflection in window as her insides grew warm from his nearness. He smelt like the bar of homemade soap from her bath and all she wanted to do was shift her weight so that she leaned against him.
It took a minute for Ginny to realize that he hadn't moved and when she did realize, she jerked her head up, startled, and stared at his reflection. In the window, he held her gaze, a glint of a dare in his eyes. Slowly, he raised one slender hand and pulled back the thick curtain of her hair that fell to her shoulders. As he did so, the tips of his fingers grazed the tender skin of her throat. His fingers were cold and Ginny shivered involuntarily, her gaze never leaving his own in the window. His hand returned to her neck, stroking the pale flesh there with infinite patience, drawing shivers and shudders from her with skill.
Her own hands had long left the warmth of the dish water and they clutched the lip of the counter with desperation, as if it were her hold on her sanity and desires. For surely, it would be madness to give into the feelings Draco was stirring. Her grip, however tight, faltered when his lips replaced his hand and she arched her neck invitingly. His eyes watched hers in the window, now bright with something other than a simple dare. In sharp contrast to his hands, his lips were warm and every touch of them on her skin made the heat pool in the apex of her thighs.
When his lips settled beneath her ear, she trembled. Boldly, she leaned back against him, savoring his solid strength and warmth. His hands came to rest on her waist as his lips journeyed along the line of her jaw, questing for her lips. She turned her head to meet him, lost. His kiss made her head reel and she released her grip on the counter altogether. It was fire and heaven and hell all at once. She brought one hand up to cup the back of his head as they kissed, holding them in place, while his own crept beneath her shirt. The shock of his cold hands on her skin made her gasp and he used that opportunity to deepen the kiss, his mouth moving against hers hungrily. It was a hunger she matched without reservation.
When she twisted her body to face him properly, he groaned deep in his throat and his arms came around him like bands of steel, holding her so tightly she could feel every inch of his torso pressed against hers. Her hands moved to caress his neck, her fingers threading across his ears into his hair, as he forced her to walk backwards until she was sandwiched between him and the counter. This position allowed his hands the freedom to travel and he took great pleasure in doing so, sliding up her sweater in his eagerness to reach her chest. The touch of his hands and the insistent hardness against her abdomen was almost too much for Ginny. Instinct took over and her legs parted, one rising to curl about his own.
With a wild groan, Draco broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes clenched shut. Ginny had to fight not to whimper and instead concentrated on the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the feel of him against her. She wanted to squirm, but dared not break the spell. She let her hands relax and they dropped neatly into the crook of his arms.
"I don't want to stop," she said quietly, but firmly.
His eyes opened slowly and regarded her in silence. "I'm quite positive that shagging a Weasley is the worst possible sin anyone can commit in my family."
She bit her lip and turned her head away, hating herself.
He cupped her jaw and turned her back to him. His were bright and there was a smirk on his lips.
"But we already know I'm going to hell."
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to receive: Something set during the end of the war would be great - Draco and Ginny trying to figure out where they stand, and growing close in spite of themselves and the less-than-perfect circumstances. A grudging truce between their families at the end is a plus, if it is done without everyone being out of character :)
The tone/mood of the fic: Angsty, gloomy romance, but with a happy ending.
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: Whatever you feel like including.
Canon of AU? Canon, please!
Rating of the fic you want: I'm happy with any rating, though I'd love some smut.
Deal breakers (what don’t you want): Incest. Character death as a convenient way to get rid of family members who are against the D/G love. Sudden, unexplained, fluffy reconciliation of the Weasleys and Malfoys. Evil, abusive Lucius or a bad relationship with his parents as an excuse for Draco's issues. Draco suddenly turning into a fluffy, happy guy. Weak Ginny. Oh, and if you want to include secondary pairings, no Lucius or Narcissa with anyone but each other, please. :)
Author: ilsa_ilma_isse
Rating: T
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Books 1-6
Summary: She didn't know why she did it, but it was done and now she had to live with it. Literally.
Author's Notes: n/a
Beta: Mo
30 July, 2007
The rolling wall of smoke slammed into her like a wave crashing against the shore. She ducked her head instinctively and closed her eyes, trying not to breath, but it was too late. It was already in her lungs, dry and hot, and it burned her throat as she gasped for air. She coughed violently as she ran, holding her forearm across her nose and mouth, her eyes watering with the acid sting of the thick smoke. Ahead, Ginny could hear the sounds of the fight and she forced herself to run faster, ignoring the burning in her lungs.
She stumbled on a rock that jutted carelessly from the earth, her feet catching in her worn robes and sending her flying forward. Her hands broke her fall, the small bits of rock and debris cutting the tender skin of her palms and knuckles. Ginny didn't stop though. She scrambled to her feet, her wand gripped tight and her face set in determined lines. As she neared, she could hear her brother's angry bellow behind the wall of smoke. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her veins. She was close. They needed her.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The curse came from behind and the force of her own momentum sent her petrified body headlong into the ground for the second time that day. She mentally cursed herself for being so foolishly single-minded. Her head collided against something sharp and hard and, for a moment, Ginny saw stars.
"I always knew your brother was an idiot, but I expected more of you," a voice said behind her. Strong fingers pried her wand from her hand before rotating her so that she lay on her back. She expected to be faced with the expressionless Death Eater mask and was surprised when she found herself looking into a familiar pale face instead. His face was streaked with soot and dirt and his usually impeccable platinum hair was tousled and wet with sweat. He smirked at her surprised expression and she felt all of her old anger toward him return in an unexpected rush.
Before Draco could say anything further, an explosion rocked the earth, throwing him backwards and out of her range of vision. The smoke around them blackened and swirled menacingly. It frightened Ginny. She couldn't hear her bother anymore, though Harry's cry of anger was louder than ever before. In a moment, Draco was kneeling beside her again, pushing impatiently at his hair as his smirk melted into something more urgent.
"Listen to me," he hissed fiercely. "I left! I'm not one of them anymore, and they're going to realize I'm not there any minute now!" Ginny didn't care and she glared at him, willing every ounce of hatred to shine in her eyes. His own gaze held a measure of wildness, like a deer that smelled an approaching predator. "Don't look at me like that," he snapped, his nostrils flaring in indignation. "I don't like this any more than you do, but, right now, staying alive is more important than asking a Weasley for help. Understood? Now you're going to help me get away from here. They mustn't find me. If they find me, they'll kill me."
When she continued to glare at him, he sighed and pulled his wand from his sleeve. "I can't believe I'm subjecting myself to this," he muttered.
No sooner had Draco uttered the counter-curse, he found himself on his back in the trampled grass, tackled by an irate Ginny Weasley.
"Get off of me!"
She answered with a sound right hook to his nose. "How dare you!" she cried. "You have no right to demand anything of me, you slimy, no-good, wretched excuse of a-"
"Well," a voice drawled from behind them, "isn't this a cozy picture."
Ginny's tirade, however spectacular it was, vanished as her blood ran cold, turning anger to fear. Beneath her, Draco froze and his eyes were wide as they stared at each other; both in disbelief that they had allowed themselves to be caught in such a defenseless position.
"Stand up," the voice snapped, all traces of false amusement gone.
Ginny tried to tell herself that this was not happening, that it was just a dream. This could not happen. She was better than this. She should have never been caught without her wand. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, never once taking her eyes off Draco. His face was an emotionless mask as he too rose from the ground. He swallowed nervously, the only sign of fear.
"Hello, Father."
Four Months Later
Winter was in the air. Ginny could smell it coming. Shivering, she clutched the collar of her old tweed coat closer and tried to ignore the sharp cold that pricked the exposed skin of her hand.
She stood alone at the edge of the old swimming hole, a brown-clothed figure amidst an endless brown landscape, starring into the dark water with unseeing eyes. Though it was cold enough, the small pond had yet to freeze and the trees that guarded the grove swayed in the harsh wind. The last weeks of November had sucked the color from the world, leaving it empty and lifeless. To Ginny, it felt as if the entire world had died.
High above the swimming hole, the skeletal tree branches swayed in the harsh wind, writhing beneath a grey overcast sky. Brown trees. Grey skies. Grey and brown were the colors that ruled Ginny's world now. She shivered again and hunched further into her woolen coat. She wished the end of summer had not been spent in hiding.
Behind her, her childhood home waited patiently with dark windows and locked doors. The Burrow lay empty now. It had been abandoned a few years back in favor of the security Grimmauld Place offered. Harry had been insistent that the Weasley's share his home- after all, in those days Harry had believed that one day he would be a legal member of the family. Of course, like everything else, that too had passed.
Ginny wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but one morning she woke up and found that little Ginny Weasley had died sometime in the night. In retrospect, it was the drudgery that killed her. Endless days of nothing but death and blood had ground her down, slowly changing her. And in the end, the old Ginny, the girl, was gone. Her naive ideals and perceptions of life has passed with her, leaving Ginny faced with a stranger in the bathroom mirror.
It was on that day that the wild hubbub that came with the lively Weasley clan finally got beneath Ginny's skin. Little by little, all of her elder brothers had returned to the nest- Bill and Fleur, Charlie and the twins. Harry had joyfully welcomed them all, but with each new addition, Ginny slowly began to feel confined and smothered by her family's overbearing presence.
Now she lived in a small cottage at the edge of an equally small village, too unimportant to be mistaken for anything more. Her family had protested her relocation of course, but Ginny remained firm. She needed to be alone. She would go mad if she had to spend one more month in Grimmauld place. Surprisingly, it had been Ron who had understood the most. It was he who finally persuaded Molly to give Ginny the space she craved. Now, they no longer called on Ginny unexpectedly and it had been near six months since another Weasley- or honorary Weasley for that matter- had crossed the threshold.
It was a good thing too.
Ginny paused halfway through unbuttoning her coat and narrowed her eyes at Draco. "You've been outside again," she accused.
His gaze followed her own to the telltale pair of muddy boots that sat beneath the coat rack. He shrugged nonchalantly and crossed his arms across his thin chest. "Your point?" he countered lazily, leaning one shoulder carelessly against the doorjamb.
"My point?" she echoed, her expression one of disbelief. "Draco, we've discussed this! You can't go outside! Someone might see you!"
He dropped his arms and scowled at her. "I don't care," he said petulantly. "Let them see me! I'm tried of living like a filthy Muggle. I'm a wizard! I should be able to do magic whenever I please."
Ginny sighed and unbuttoned the rest of her coat. They both knew he couldn't do that- not without a wand. She hung her coat on one of the pegs above the jumble of shoes and hefted the bag she was brought in with her. "How about some dinner?" she asked, changing the subject.
He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before jerking his head in acceptance and straightening from his slouched position.
"Your mother Flooed while you were out," he said, leading the way into the small kitchen.
"What?" Ginny exclaimed. "Did she see you?"
He shot her a withering look. "Yes, Weasley. I'm a complete moron." His scowl deepened. "Of course not, I hid in the hall."
She deposited the bag on the table. "Do you know what she wanted?"
"Do I look like your personal secretary?" he countered, snatching the bag and rummaging through the contents.
Ginny bit her tongue and grabbed a pot from the bottom cupboard. Squabbling with Draco was easy but she hated giving into the urge to bicker. It always left an air of discontent in the small cottage that made her feel uncomfortable. And Ginny hated feeling uncomfortable in her own home. So she pushed down the ire that threatened to choke her and filled the pot with water before settling it on the stove to boil.
He took her silent cue and began to empty the bag without being asked, handing Ginny the package of chicken when he found it. They worked in silence, each doing a portion of the work. It hadn't always been that way of course. In the beginning, Draco had treated her little better than a house elf, insisting that she cook, clean and cater to his every whim. That lasted less than a month before he succumbed to boredom. It had started with the little things: the pillows and blankets he had used the night before appearing folded in the closet, washed dishes returning mysteriously to the cupboard. Then, one evening, he had loitered about the kitchen until Ginny, annoyed with his hovering, had handed him a knife and instructed him to cut the vegetables. It was surreal, but Ginny didn't question it. She understood the need to keep her hands busy.
"Hand me those greens," Draco commanded, pointing with the knife to the stalk of celery near her elbow.
She picked up the bundle and passed it to him. As she did so, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of something down her spine. Ginny's breath caught in her throat and she froze. She couldn't remember when the inexplicable desire to touch him had arisen, but she had been fighting it for weeks. It made her feel foolish, like a schoolgirl with a crush, and she tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away. But it hadn't. If anything, it had grown stronger to the point that she found herself thinking about him at meetings and during drills. It had made her sloppy in practice and Tonks berated her for it. She shouldn't be thinking that way about him. He was Malfoy, for Merlin's sake.
"Are you going to return my hand sometime this century, Weasley?"
She jerked her hand back, her cheeks aflame, and quickly turned to the soup pot. After a moment, however, she snuck a look at him from the corner of her eye. He was stock still, staring at the celery in his hand, a frown on his lips. Shame and rejection flooded through her and she grabbed the large stirring spoon to cover the swell of emotion.
"Are you done with those vegetables yet?" she asked, faking a casual tone.
Her question shook him from his thoughts. "In a minute."
He made quick work of the celery, his blade cleanly and efficiently slicing the stalks into even cubes that joined the perfectly cut carrots and quarters of potatoes. She didn't want to know where he had gained such skill with a blade. She was afraid the answer wouldn't be from his years spent in Potions class.
Their routine was uninterrupted after that and the evening meal came and went with minimal conversation. It was just as well, Ginny reflected as she filled the kitchen sink with hot water and dish soap. She doubted that she would have been able to carry on a decent conversation. Better they left things unsaid.
While they ate, darkness had fallen and the bright lights of the kitchen turned the window in front of the sink into a mirror of sorts in which she could see Draco approach from behind, their plates in hand. He came to a stop behind her and deposited the dishes in the sink with one long arm that momentarily wrapped about her middle. She watched as they disappeared beneath the white foam, not daring to look up at his reflection in window as her insides grew warm from his nearness. He smelt like the bar of homemade soap from her bath and all she wanted to do was shift her weight so that she leaned against him.
It took a minute for Ginny to realize that he hadn't moved and when she did realize, she jerked her head up, startled, and stared at his reflection. In the window, he held her gaze, a glint of a dare in his eyes. Slowly, he raised one slender hand and pulled back the thick curtain of her hair that fell to her shoulders. As he did so, the tips of his fingers grazed the tender skin of her throat. His fingers were cold and Ginny shivered involuntarily, her gaze never leaving his own in the window. His hand returned to her neck, stroking the pale flesh there with infinite patience, drawing shivers and shudders from her with skill.
Her own hands had long left the warmth of the dish water and they clutched the lip of the counter with desperation, as if it were her hold on her sanity and desires. For surely, it would be madness to give into the feelings Draco was stirring. Her grip, however tight, faltered when his lips replaced his hand and she arched her neck invitingly. His eyes watched hers in the window, now bright with something other than a simple dare. In sharp contrast to his hands, his lips were warm and every touch of them on her skin made the heat pool in the apex of her thighs.
When his lips settled beneath her ear, she trembled. Boldly, she leaned back against him, savoring his solid strength and warmth. His hands came to rest on her waist as his lips journeyed along the line of her jaw, questing for her lips. She turned her head to meet him, lost. His kiss made her head reel and she released her grip on the counter altogether. It was fire and heaven and hell all at once. She brought one hand up to cup the back of his head as they kissed, holding them in place, while his own crept beneath her shirt. The shock of his cold hands on her skin made her gasp and he used that opportunity to deepen the kiss, his mouth moving against hers hungrily. It was a hunger she matched without reservation.
When she twisted her body to face him properly, he groaned deep in his throat and his arms came around him like bands of steel, holding her so tightly she could feel every inch of his torso pressed against hers. Her hands moved to caress his neck, her fingers threading across his ears into his hair, as he forced her to walk backwards until she was sandwiched between him and the counter. This position allowed his hands the freedom to travel and he took great pleasure in doing so, sliding up her sweater in his eagerness to reach her chest. The touch of his hands and the insistent hardness against her abdomen was almost too much for Ginny. Instinct took over and her legs parted, one rising to curl about his own.
With a wild groan, Draco broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes clenched shut. Ginny had to fight not to whimper and instead concentrated on the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the feel of him against her. She wanted to squirm, but dared not break the spell. She let her hands relax and they dropped neatly into the crook of his arms.
"I don't want to stop," she said quietly, but firmly.
His eyes opened slowly and regarded her in silence. "I'm quite positive that shagging a Weasley is the worst possible sin anyone can commit in my family."
She bit her lip and turned her head away, hating herself.
He cupped her jaw and turned her back to him. His were bright and there was a smirk on his lips.
"But we already know I'm going to hell."
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to receive: Something set during the end of the war would be great - Draco and Ginny trying to figure out where they stand, and growing close in spite of themselves and the less-than-perfect circumstances. A grudging truce between their families at the end is a plus, if it is done without everyone being out of character :)
The tone/mood of the fic: Angsty, gloomy romance, but with a happy ending.
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: Whatever you feel like including.
Canon of AU? Canon, please!
Rating of the fic you want: I'm happy with any rating, though I'd love some smut.
Deal breakers (what don’t you want): Incest. Character death as a convenient way to get rid of family members who are against the D/G love. Sudden, unexplained, fluffy reconciliation of the Weasleys and Malfoys. Evil, abusive Lucius or a bad relationship with his parents as an excuse for Draco's issues. Draco suddenly turning into a fluffy, happy guy. Weak Ginny. Oh, and if you want to include secondary pairings, no Lucius or Narcissa with anyone but each other, please. :)