♥ "For the Love of the Game" for cyyt ♥
Title: For the Love of the Game
Author: greenschist
Rating: R
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: EWE
Author's Notes: I hope this is light and humorous enough. Many, many thanks to seegrim for the beta.
Summary: For Draco and Ginny, a silly wager leads to disguises, sneaking, and the lesson that the best things in life are the things their passions lead them to.
For the Love of the Game
As the frenzied crowd roared a hundred meters above her head, Ginny gripped her mop with both hands and offered up the mantra she had repeated a dozen times since sneaking into the warren of rooms below the Quidditch Pitch at Ilkley Moor: Puddlemere United will win, Oliver Wood will give me the Snitch, and Draco Malfoy will experience the bitter taste of miserable defeat in a way he hasn't since the end of the War. The screams of the crowd suddenly intensified, and she caught her breath, staring up at the ceiling and envisioning both seekers diving for the Snitch. Please win, Puddlemere, please win. She exhaled slowly when the crowd groaned. The game was still on.
Ginny gave the bucket by her feet a half-hearted kick and slumped against the wall. She had been lucky so far-very lucky-in that the corridors were relatively deserted and her disguise had gone unchallenged. She tugged her cap, emblazoned with the crossed wand and scrub brush of stadium maintenance, down to better hide her hair. It was likely that getting caught in a restricted area while impersonating an employee of Ilkley Moor could cost Ginny her job in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and she would certainly lose her bet with Malfoy. Ginny was uncertain which would bother her more.
It would have been better, she thought, feeling her heart speed up and slow down with the whims of the crowd, if she had called in sick that day and never eavesdropped on Bagman and Malfoy, much less left her tiny cupboard of an office in the Official Gobstones Club division and intruded on their conversation. Malfoy was just so irritating, though, wandering up from the Department of International Magical Cooperation almost daily, chatting up Bagman, the blokes from the Quidditch League Headquarters, or even the elderly lady with the tea cart, and always, always, directly outside Ginny's door. That day, Ginny had been in the middle of writing her standard response to yet another letter calling for the legalization of Gobstones filled with blinding acid when Malfoy's voice pierced her eardrum like a needle.
“Ah, Ludo, there you are. Come take a look at my latest acquisition.”
Ginny had put down her quill and glared at her door. This wasn't the first time that great Slytherin show-off had brought some expensive Quidditch collectible for Bagman to admire.
“What's this, Draco?” Bagman's too-hearty voice had rung out, “Don't tell me you're supporting the Arrows now. I thought you were a Wasp fan.”
“Of course, though the Wasps are not the same since you left the team,” Malfoy had answered smoothly while Ginny rolled her eyes in disgust. “This was just too good an investment to pass up.”
Suddenly furious at Malfoy's apparent freedom to wander away from his job at will, the way he flaunted his wealth, and his status as Witch Weekly's “Most Eligible Reformed Bad Boy,” Ginny had leaped from her chair and wrenched open her door. Bagman had paused in the action of passing a worn arrow back to Malfoy and stared at her with wide eyes. Malfoy, on the other hand, had looked pleased, as if he had been waiting for her to make an appearance-something that made Ginny even angrier.
“If you're not a fan of the Arrows, Malfoy,” she snapped, “why not leave their memorabilia for someone who is?”
He had raised an eyebrow at her while slipping the arrow into a velvet bag. “As I was saying, my collection is an investment.” He tied the bag's cord in a knot. “I know the Weasleys only collect children they can't afford, but surely you can understand the concept.”
Ginny had clenched her fists and reminded herself that it would be unwise to hex the pointy-faced git in front of her boss. “I think you've missed the point of collecting.”
“Oh, really?” He'd smirked. “Enlighten me.”
“A collection should be based upon passion for the sport. For a real fan,” she had emphasized, “buying a collectible from one's favorite team is about sharing the excitement, about the love of the game. It's not a cold-hearted business transaction.” She'd waved her hand dismissively at the bag he was tucking into his cloak.
He had scoffed. “Please, spare me. A wise collector always keeps one eye on the value of his collection.”
“How do you think the athletes feel, knowing their memorabilia is being collected by people who don't give a damn, instead of true fans? Not good, I'm sure. Right, Mr. Bagman?”
Bagman had been silently observing them and jumped a bit when spoken to. “Well, certainly the fans are why we're out there. Why, my own fans--”
“The athletes only care about the fans if they stop buying tickets,” Malfoy had interrupted. “Why do you think so many of them sell their own collections when the time is right? You've sold a few pieces yourself, haven't you, Ludo?”
Bagman blushed. “Just a few small things.”
Ginny had crossed her arms. “They also donate items to charities and sports foundations. So that real fans can enjoy them.”
“Do you really think anyone would hand over something of value just because you're a real fan?” Malfoy laughed when Ginny had remained silent. Said like that, it hadn't sounded particularly plausible. “Interesting theory, and, if true, it would certainly save me a Galleon or two.” He had flashed his even, white teeth in a charming smile that made Ginny feel like a mouse facing a Kneazle. “Let's experiment,” he'd said, clapping his hands together once.
Wary, she'd asked, “Experiment how?”
“You say money doesn't buy a true collection. Let's see what kind of collections we can put together without spending a Knut.” He'd leaned against her door jamb. “In one month, we'll let Ludo here decide who's won by acquiring more valuable memorabilia.”
“Capital idea, Draco. That sounds like fun!” Bagman had nodded enthusiastically.
Ginny had backed away slightly. “Like you could be counted on not to cheat. You'll be buying out half the Quidditch stores in Europe with dear Daddy's money before the week is through.”
Bagman had frowned. “That's not a very sportsmanlike attitude, Miss Weasley.” But Draco ignored him and held up his hand as if making a vow.
“I'll be willing to take Veritaserum afterward to prove I haven't bought a thing,” he'd said.
“There now, see?” Bagman beamed.
Ginny had stared at Malfoy with narrowed eyes. “Why would you even try to win?”
“Because if I lose,” he'd said promptly, “I'll give you my entire collection.”
“Draco!” Bagman had gasped.
Considering, she had asked, “What do you get if I lose?”
An eager look crossed his face for a second, and she had stiffened as his eyes wandered over her body, lingering on her chest and hair. He'd drawled, “To be determined later.”
“No bloody way.” She'd started to shut her door in his face, ignoring the little tingle that had shivered down her spine. “I'm no fool, Malfoy.”
“Wait.” He caught the door. “Nothing bad, I promise.” He'd jerked his head in Bagman's direction. “Ludo can be my witness.”
“Certainly! Never fear, Miss Weasley, never fear,” Bagman'd smiled happily as Ginny slowly nodded. “Excellent! I'd wager the two of you have an interesting month ahead of you.”
And against her better judgment, when Draco Malfoy had extended his hand, Ginny had reached out and shaken it.
Ginny sighed and banged the back of her head against the wall to punish herself for her own stupidity. Two days before the deadline, and she was sure she was in serious danger of losing.
Malfoy had been right. Quidditch players may be happy to donate valuable items to sports foundations and charities for spell-damaged children, but undersecretaries from joke divisions of Ludo Bagman's department didn't even merit a response by owl. Thanks to a letter from Hermione, Victor Krum had sent Ginny the molds from his latest action figure, and Harry, of course had been generous. Now in his second year as a professional seeker, Harry had given her a Tutshill Tornadoes robe, signed by himself, Cho, and the rest of the team. Even better, he had sent a picture of himself and Cho in their uniforms, baby Lily on Cho's hip and Harry's arms around them both. Harry and Cho's status as England's premier Quidditch couple, combined with Harry's fierce protectiveness of his small family, made that photograph the most valuable thing in Ginny's miserable collection.
She had to win. The thought of being alone with Malfoy was enough to make Ginny's palms sweat.
The red-hot rivalry between Puddlemere United and the Holyhead Harpies would be her saving grace. Fans couldn't get enough of the two teams, and the winning Snitch from any game between them was sure to win her this competition.
Hysterical shrieking and foot-stomping from the crowd above made her bolt upright. It went on and on.
Puddlemere United will win, Oliver Wood will give me the Snitch, and-- her internal chant broke off when the crowd's cries coalesced into “HARPIES! HARPIES! HARPIES!”
Ginny's breath gusted out, but she grabbed her bucket and mop and ran toward the Harpies' changing room. She had a winning Snitch to steal and a bet to win.
*dg*
Entering the Harpies' changing room was even easier than Ginny had hoped. All she had to do was wait outside the door, slowly pushing the mop around the floor in her best Argus Filch impression. When the team arrived and dropped the protective wards, Ginny merely joined the glut of rowdy players and walked right in with her cleaning supplies.
As the changing room echoed with the clang of locker doors and the Harpies' voices, Ginny found an out of the way spot by the sinks and began tapping the tile walls with her wand, cleaning the grout with one of her mother's charms. In the mirror, she watched as the Harpies wandered back and forth between the lockers and the showers, rehashing the game, laughing, and bursting into spontaneous cheers.
Gwenog Jones slammed her locker shut and used her wand to lock it. “The Puddleheads should learn to stay home and leave Quidditch to the players who do it right.”
“The Harpies!” her team shouted in response.
“But if they did, we'd miss out on that yummy keeper of theirs.” Ginny recognized the speaker as Chaser Fenella Dougall, whose dating exploits often made the gossip pages of the Prophet. “I'd chase down that 'Wood' any day,” Dougall joked and the rest of the team laughed.
“Seriously, Clep,” Jones continued, “great catch.”
“Thanks, Captain.” Seeker Myfanwy Clep finished drying her hair with her wand and used it to lock up her belongings. “Anyone up for a celebration?”
The Harpies cheered boisterously in response and Ginny adopted a new mantra. Yes, please, please leave. Forget about me and leave. She held her breath as the team filed toward the door.
“Hello!” Ginny jumped and realized Rachel Biggerstaff, Beater and league leader in head injuries caused per game, was standing next to her, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “We're off now, but you take your time in here,” she said kindly. “The wards will set themselves when you leave, so no worries. Don't forget anything, though.” She raised one finger in warning. “Once they're triggered, the wards'll be up until we come back for our things.” A chorus of her teammates' voices called her name from the hall, and Biggerstaff grinned at Ginny. “And once this lot gets to partying, we don't stop until morning.”
Ginny nodded, mute.
“Okay, then,” Biggerstaff slung her bag over her shoulder and jogged for the door. “'Bye,” she chirped as it closed behind her.
Limp with relief, Ginny sagged against the sink. She turned on the cold water and cupped some in her palm, drinking to ease her dry throat. Pulling a few paper towels from the dispenser to dry her hands, she moved to the door and pressed her ear against it. The hallway was silent.
Time to get this over with, she thought.
As she had expected, the dark green locker labeled “M. Clep” was impervious to Alohomora. Ginny bent over to examine the lock. She pulled two hair pins from her breast pocket, moistened the tips in her mouth, and slid them into the lock. Closing her eyes to better picture the inside, Ginny slowly twisted the pins, feeling for the tumblers Myfanwy Clep slid shut with magic. “Come on, you,” she whispered as the pin in her left hand scraped uselessly against the interior of the lock. Then, as easy as that, it clicked into place and the locker opened with a quiet squeak of hinges. Ginny sent off a quick prayer of thanks in Fred's memory for lessons in Muggle-style lock picking.
Clep's locker was a mess of jumpers and shoes, but the small octagonal box Ginny had seen the seeker tuck away was perched on top of the pile. She opened the lid and smiled down at the shining answer to her problems. The Snitch's wings fluttered in anticipation, but Ginny closed her hand over it before it could take flight and slipped it into the pocket of her coveralls. Barely able to contain herself, she slammed the door shut, muttered “Draco Malfoy, I have you now,” and spun on her heel...
...only to discover Malfoy, dressed head to foot in black, sitting calmly on the bench in front of her and watching her every move. “You haven't won yet.”
Ginny knew she must be goggling at him, but she was too shocked and dismayed to help herself. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the door,” he said simply. He stood up and pulled the hat from her head, watching her long red hair fall over her shoulders. “I knew it was you the moment I saw you bent over the locker.” He wiggled his eyebrows like a melodrama villain and mocked, “I'd know your arse anywhere, Ginny.” Ginny put both hands against his shoulders and pushed him back a step, pretending not to notice the firmness of his body or the soft fabric of his shirt. “The outfit's a surprise, though,” Draco continued. He held the hat up, pointing to the maintenance emblem in her direction. “Moonlighting?”
Draco was dressed like a Muggle cat burglar, snug black clothes and black trainers, most of his white-blond hair hidden under a knit cap.
“You're one to talk.” Ginny gestured to his ensemble. “Could you be any more conspicuous?” She bit back a laugh when he struck a pose. “You mean to say no one stopped you when you came into the stadium dressed for the heist of the century?”
Draco relaxed and shrugged. “No one saw me. I've been in a cupboard since five o'clock this morning waiting for the crowds to clear.” Ginny stared had him in disbelief. “Yes, I have been,” he insisted, “and, no, I don't recommend it. Being stuck in a cupboard may be a character builder if you're the Boy Who Lived, but for anyone else it's dead boring.” He grinned. “Hour after hour and the only thing I could do to entertain myself was fantasize about what I'll do to you after I win our little wager.”
The room immediately felt hot and close, but Ginny just sneered. “Fantasies are all you'll get, Draco. I already have the winning Snitch.”
“Hmm, yes, you certainly do.” Draco tipped his head to one side and eyed her appraisingly. “Imagine my surprise when I slip down here, hoping against hope that I can get through the wards only to find them already down and you-oh, the horror-already stealing it. What would your mum say?” Ginny flinched at the thought. “This isn't in the spirit of our competition, Ginny.” Draco shook his head sorrowfully, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching.
Ginny looked over his shoulder at the door. Fifteen steps, she calculated, to freedom and victory. “I may not be acting in the spirit of the competition,” she inched a little to the left, “but I'm well within the rules you laid down.” He moved right, staying between her and the exit. As evenly as she could, Ginny continued, “'Without spending a Knut,' is as specific as you got.”
Draco looked delighted. “I knew you'd catch that, but I wasn't sure if you'd be too Gryffindor to take advantage of it when you realized you couldn't win.” He paused. “You do realize that, I presume?”
Ginny took a deep breath and shifted her weight to her right leg. “I admit I was idealistic.” Draco nodded. “I admit I should never have entered this silly wager, and that I'm doing things no sane adult should be doing.” He nodded again. “But I don't admit I can't win.” She patted her hip pocket. “After all, I have the Snitch.”
“That's the rub, right there.” Draco reached up his sleeve and pulled out his wand. He looked positively wicked, and, without thinking, Ginny shook her arm and dropped her wand into her own waiting hand. “You have the Snitch now. What matters is who has the Snitch in two days when Bagman decides who wins.”
Feinting left, she immediately broke right dodging under his wand arm and firing a hex over her shoulder at the same time. From the corner of her eye, she saw him duck even as she felt him grab her by the pocket and spin her around as he plunged his hand inside in search of the Snitch. With the experience of years of wrestling with older brothers, Ginny used her own momentum to slam her shoulder against his chest and shove as hard as she could. Draco stumbled backward, tripping over the bench and falling onto his backside.
Palms outstretched, Ginny hit the door running at full stride, expecting it to open easily. She had barely an instant's warning before the sting of the wards knifed through her, lifting her off her feet and sending her flying across the changing room. She had time to hear Draco yell her name, time to see the tile wall-sparkling clean thanks to Molly Weasley's anti-mildew charm-in front of her face, and then nothing but darkness.
*dg*
Ginny awoke to the scent of sandalwood and the feel of Draco's fingers running through her hair. She kept her eyes closed and dealt with the easiest thing first:
“You wore cologne to go thieving?”
Draco shifted, and she realized her head was pillowed on his thigh. He also stopped stroking her hair, leaving her strangely disappointed. “At least I didn't bring any of my pets.”
Ginny opened her eyes. Draco gazed down at her, a expression of concern on his face and her Pygmy Puff on his shoulder.
“I found this,” he nuzzled his cheek against Arnold, who was happily purring away, “in your pocket.”
Ginny struggled to sit up, and he cupped his hand under her neck, holding her head steady. “Careful!” he said sharply. “You took one hell of a hit.”
“I can tell.” She felt fine, but the front of her coveralls were stained with blood.
“You broke your nose when you hit the wall,” he explained, watching her stretch the material out in front of herself for a better look. Her hand flew to her face. “I episkyed it, and did a few pain relief charms. I'm no mediwizard, but I think you're all right.”
She nodded and murmured her thanks. “How long was I out?” she asked after a moment spent watching him pet Arnold.
“A few hours.” He lifted Arnold off his shoulder and settled him on Ginny's lap, brushing her leg with his fingers. She looked him in the face, trying to see if it was an accident, but he was impassive. “I understand your disguise, and I understand carrying those little pin things-ingenious, by the way-but why bring a Pygmy Puff to the 'heist of the century'?”
Ginny sighed and stroked Arnold, gently trying to coax him back into purring. “He's been off lately.”
“So you decided a little crime spree would cheer him up?” he drawled.
“No, I decided that after I stole the Snitch, I would drop by the Magical Menagerie and see if they had a tonic or something that might help.”
“Good to know you have your priorities straight.” Draco stood up. He stretched, baring his abs and the thin trail of light hair leading from the dimple of his navel down below his belt. He smirked when he caught her staring.
She cleared her throat. “What happened?” She rubbed a small ache in her temple until it disappeared. “Rachel Biggerstaff said the wards would set themselves after I left the room.”
Draco pulled a face and rubbed the back of his neck. “Apparently, they set themselves when I came in.” He looked chagrined. “I didn't feel a thing. Sorry.” He dropped his arm down to his side. “I would have told you if I'd known they were up. I certainly didn't intend for you to be hurt. I was just-I thought we were both just playing around.”
She believed him. “We're stuck here then?”
“I can't bring the wards down, there are no windows, and no vents big enough for so much as a Kneazle. I even stood next to the door and yelled for help, but no one came.”
Ginny slumped slightly at the news but nodded just the same. “Biggerstaff said they wouldn't be back until morning.”
“Then we are well and truly stuck here together because we're not getting out until someone comes by and lets us out.” Draco was calmer than Ginny could believe considering their situation.
“Lets us out so we can be immediately arrested, you mean.” Agitated, Ginny placed Arnold on the bench and shot to her feet. “We're somewhere we're not supposed to be, and we're obviously up to no good. Look at us!” She gestured to their clothing. “I'm going to be accused of masterminding some bizarre Ministry scheme to sink the Holyhead Harpies, and we'll both lose our jobs. It's all well and good for you to joke about what my mum will say,” she ranted, “but I'd rather face Azkaban than lose my job and move back home in disgrace!”
She sat down abruptly, narrowly missing Arnold, and held her head in her hands. “Oh, Merlin. Azkaban versus Mum. What a disaster.” Draco appeared to be on the verge of laughter. “This may be funny to you,” she flared, “but in my family, it's generally frowned upon to be a criminal.”
“And yet here you are.” He stepped closer and offered her his hand.
Ginny let him tug her back up. “Here I am. You came into my department determined drive me mad, you're a bad influence, and this is the latest chapter in a family feud spanning generations.”
He did laugh then. “Are you practicing your defense for the Wizangamot or your mother?” He was still holding her hand.
“Mum would never buy any of that,” she said absently, enjoying the not quite smooth texture of his palm. They way he was behaving, relaxed, if not downright pleased, was both calming and disorienting.
“It's cute but not necessary.” Draco took her by the shoulders and spun her around. Every single locker had been opened. A small mountain of clothes, quidditch robes and supplies, candy, and even a few bottles of champagne covered the mid-aisle benches.
“Those little picks of yours really are amazing.” He squeezed her shoulders lightly, massaging her collarbones with his fingertips. “Now, I already put the Snitch back, so we don't have to worry about that anymore, but something must be done about your clothes.” Dazed, Ginny leaned her head against his shoulder so she could look up at him. “Find something that fits, and I'll Incendio this thing.” He shook one sleeve of her coverall. “Once that's done, we're just two overzealous fans who, while looking for an autograph opportunity, fell victim to a ward malfunction and have been trapped in the changing room all night.” A satisfied smile crossed his face. “The stadium will be paying us for our time and trouble when I'm finished with them.”
Ginny bypassed the pile of frighteningly pink clothing in front of “R. Biggerstaff's” locker and held a pale blue robe up to check its length. “And when somebody asks how I came to be wearing some of the player's street clothes?”
“We tell them the truth about how badly you were injured when we tried to leave.” He could not have sounded more matter-of-fact. “Then we tell them I can't stand the sight of your blood and your own clothes had to be burned.”
“Okay, I admit you're brilliant.” Ginny settled upon brown trousers and a cream-colored blouse and headed toward the showers to change.
“Just so,” he called. “No Weasley shall be called an evil genius while a Malfoy is in the room.” Ginny closed the shower curtain with a snap. “If you feel up to it, we'll toast my plan with some of that champagne.”
Ginny kicked her discarded disguise to the corner of the stall. “That's going overboard, don't you think?”
“Not at all.” His voice was very close. “Toss that rag over the wall and I'll take care of it.”
Ginny threw the coverall into the next shower cubicle and listened as he incinerated it. “Don't forget the bucket and mop, Draco.”
“Already done.”
She fastened her trousers while he washed the ashes down the drain.
“I don't devote hours out of my work week to hanging around your department trying to drive you mad, you know.” His voice was quiet.
Ginny braced one foot against the wall and rolled up the cuff of her trousers so she wouldn't trip and fall on her face in front of him. “Sorry about that. It just seems like you're always there.”
“Oh, I am. I even write my visits into my calendar, so everyone can find me if necessary. Your ruination is not why I'm there, however.”
Ginny put her leg down and stared at the curtain. “So...you're there because Bagman's your friend?” Her heart pounded in her chest.
“Not really. If that was it, I'd speak to him in his office instead of waiting outside your office door, hoping for the chance to see you. I'll go chill the bubbly. Come out when you're ready, Ginny, and we'll make the best of this night.” His footsteps echoed off the tiles as he walked away.
Ginny ripped open the curtain and stared after him in shock.
Draco chilled the champagne with a charm, and from the doorway separating the showers from the main room, she watched him transfigure glasses out of paper towels.
“This is your idea of flirting?” Ginny walked across the room and accepted her glass. “Two years of standing outside my cubicle discussing Quidditch with other people? Telling the tea lady her hair looks lovely, but only throwing a handful of insults my way?”
Draco carefully examined his glass as if searching for flaws.
She laughed out loud. “How old are are you? Twelve? Why did you ever think that was a good idea?”
He frowned. “I'll have you know this is how my boss wooed his wife back when he was an undersecretary and she was a junior Auror.”
“Um-hm.” She took a small sip of champagne. “Did he happen to tell you how long this courtship took?”
“Eight years,” he muttered.
“Well, I'm not willing to wait that long, Draco.” Ginny took his drink out of his hand and set both glasses on the bench. She twined her arms around his neck and smiled up at him before drawing his mouth down to hers. Draco's lips were warm and sweet with champagne, and kissing him felt better than Ginny had ever let herself imagine. She sucked lightly at his lower lip before nipping it gently. The way he shuddered in response and crushed her against his body, kissing her deeply, brought a whimper from her own throat.
“See, Draco?” Ginny ran her hands down over his shoulders as he tipped her head back and kissed his way down her to her neckline. “Everything's better when you do it with passion.”
*dg*
Ginny woke to the sound of purring. Up on one elbow, she smiled down at Draco.
Feet crossed at the ankle, arms behind his head, and a slight smile on his face, Draco slept on the makeshift bed of robes and jumpers where they had spent the night. Other than the happy Pygmy Puff cuddled on the center of his chest, he was naked. Ginny idly petted Arnold while letting her eyes wander over Draco, admiring the shallow dip of his clavicle, the smooth muscles of his thighs...even his feet were sexy, she decided, pale and high-arched with long toes.
“I guess this is what you've been missing, you silly thing,” she whispered to Arnold as she picked him up. “Me too.” She kissed the little fuzz ball before placing him carefully on the floor.
Curling against Draco, Ginny pressed tiny kisses along his jawline. The faint bristle of new beard abraded her lips, and she rubbed her cheek against his just to feel it.
“Wake up,” she said softly, feeling him shift toward awareness. “It's morning.”
“I dreamed you were a dream,” he said thickly, rubbing one large hand over his face to chase the last bit of sleep away.
“Real as real can be.” She kissed him. “Don't take my word for it, though.” Ginny changed her position until she was sitting astride him. Cheekily, she took both his hand in hers and placed them on her breasts. “Better check for yourself.”
“I will, thank you.” He was wide awake now, and she could feel him hardening against her bottom. “You're beautiful,” he murmured. His strong hands cupped her breasts, thumbs rubbing against her nipples until she moaned. Draco curled his hand around her back, drawing her down until his mouth could touch her skin. He buried his face sweetly between her breasts for a moment, sucked briefly on one coral tip until her toes curled and her gasps turned to groans, before nuzzling the underside of her breast and letting his tongue lap at the crease.
“I'm going to kiss every single freckle on your body, you know. And you're freckled everywhere, aren't you?” he whispered against her skin. “Lucky, lucky me.”
“Poor me,” she gasped. “As far as I can see, you don't have a single freckle for me to kiss.”
“Oh, I have one.” Draco put enough distance between them that Ginny could see him grinning. “But you'll have to hunt for it.”
Ginny laughed. “Ooh, a challenge.” She began sliding down his body, one goal in mind. “I'd best get started right awa--”
“Merlin's hairy balls! What the hell is this and who the hell are you?”
Ginny gasped and Draco stopped breathing entirely when Gwenog Jones's shadow fell across them. Ginny spared a quick glance over her shoulder as she scrambled for something to wear and saw four Harpies staring down at them with expressions ranging from outrage to delight. She pulled a hideous baby pink dress over her head and climbed to her feet.
“I'm so sorry!” Jones looked seconds away from hexing them, so Ginny focused on her. “I-- we--”
“We were hoping for an autograph,” Draco prompted from the floor.
“That's right, an autograph.” Jones's face was almost puce with anger, but Ginny forged ahead. “We wanted an autograph-we're such big fans-so the door was open, and we came in, but then we couldn't get out, and after that...” Ginny trailed off, uncertain how to continue.
“You turned it into your love nest.” Fenella Dougall nodded in encouragement. “I'd do the exact same thing, especially if I was stuck in here with him.” She stared avidly at Draco who was wearing nothing except a strategically placed Keeper's glove.
“I think it's kinda romantic, Captain.”
“It is not romantic,” Jones barked at Posselthwaite, the bird boned Chaser who came no higher than her elbow. “I think that's my robe they've been fucking on.” She pointed an accusing finger at the fabric between Draco's legs.
“Oh, I'm sorry!” Ginny tugged the robe out from under Draco and held it out to the Beater who backed away with her hands up.
“Please, like I'd ever want to wear that again!”
Her teammates cackled.
“Perhaps if you offered to have it professionally cleaned first.” Draco sounded like he was strangling.
Ginny really looked at the robe for the first time and saw with embarrassment that, after spending the better part of the night underneath them, Jones's robe was filthy and stained. She suspected it would need a long soak before even a strong cleaning charm would help. Ginny bit her lip and looked up at Jones. “Um...”
“Forget it.” Her lip curled in disgust. “It's yours now. Consider it a gift.”
“Really?” Ginny held the robe against her chest.
“Absolutely. Just get dressed, both of you.” Jones herded her team out of the room.
Ginny smirked down at Draco. “Gwenog Jones just gave me her robe. Say goodbye to your private collection, Draco, because you are so going to lose this wager.”
“It's all right,” Draco wrapped one hand around Ginny's ankle. “I have what I really want right here.”
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic: Draco and Ginny competing about something unconventional(e.g. who pulls the most pranks...) , and how the competition came about.
The tone/mood of the fic: Light and humourous(:
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic: Arnold the Pygmy Puff.
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: Anything(:
Canon or AU? Any.
Deal Breakers (anything you don't want?): Harry/Ginny mentions.
Author: greenschist
Rating: R
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: EWE
Author's Notes: I hope this is light and humorous enough. Many, many thanks to seegrim for the beta.
Summary: For Draco and Ginny, a silly wager leads to disguises, sneaking, and the lesson that the best things in life are the things their passions lead them to.
For the Love of the Game
As the frenzied crowd roared a hundred meters above her head, Ginny gripped her mop with both hands and offered up the mantra she had repeated a dozen times since sneaking into the warren of rooms below the Quidditch Pitch at Ilkley Moor: Puddlemere United will win, Oliver Wood will give me the Snitch, and Draco Malfoy will experience the bitter taste of miserable defeat in a way he hasn't since the end of the War. The screams of the crowd suddenly intensified, and she caught her breath, staring up at the ceiling and envisioning both seekers diving for the Snitch. Please win, Puddlemere, please win. She exhaled slowly when the crowd groaned. The game was still on.
Ginny gave the bucket by her feet a half-hearted kick and slumped against the wall. She had been lucky so far-very lucky-in that the corridors were relatively deserted and her disguise had gone unchallenged. She tugged her cap, emblazoned with the crossed wand and scrub brush of stadium maintenance, down to better hide her hair. It was likely that getting caught in a restricted area while impersonating an employee of Ilkley Moor could cost Ginny her job in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and she would certainly lose her bet with Malfoy. Ginny was uncertain which would bother her more.
It would have been better, she thought, feeling her heart speed up and slow down with the whims of the crowd, if she had called in sick that day and never eavesdropped on Bagman and Malfoy, much less left her tiny cupboard of an office in the Official Gobstones Club division and intruded on their conversation. Malfoy was just so irritating, though, wandering up from the Department of International Magical Cooperation almost daily, chatting up Bagman, the blokes from the Quidditch League Headquarters, or even the elderly lady with the tea cart, and always, always, directly outside Ginny's door. That day, Ginny had been in the middle of writing her standard response to yet another letter calling for the legalization of Gobstones filled with blinding acid when Malfoy's voice pierced her eardrum like a needle.
“Ah, Ludo, there you are. Come take a look at my latest acquisition.”
Ginny had put down her quill and glared at her door. This wasn't the first time that great Slytherin show-off had brought some expensive Quidditch collectible for Bagman to admire.
“What's this, Draco?” Bagman's too-hearty voice had rung out, “Don't tell me you're supporting the Arrows now. I thought you were a Wasp fan.”
“Of course, though the Wasps are not the same since you left the team,” Malfoy had answered smoothly while Ginny rolled her eyes in disgust. “This was just too good an investment to pass up.”
Suddenly furious at Malfoy's apparent freedom to wander away from his job at will, the way he flaunted his wealth, and his status as Witch Weekly's “Most Eligible Reformed Bad Boy,” Ginny had leaped from her chair and wrenched open her door. Bagman had paused in the action of passing a worn arrow back to Malfoy and stared at her with wide eyes. Malfoy, on the other hand, had looked pleased, as if he had been waiting for her to make an appearance-something that made Ginny even angrier.
“If you're not a fan of the Arrows, Malfoy,” she snapped, “why not leave their memorabilia for someone who is?”
He had raised an eyebrow at her while slipping the arrow into a velvet bag. “As I was saying, my collection is an investment.” He tied the bag's cord in a knot. “I know the Weasleys only collect children they can't afford, but surely you can understand the concept.”
Ginny had clenched her fists and reminded herself that it would be unwise to hex the pointy-faced git in front of her boss. “I think you've missed the point of collecting.”
“Oh, really?” He'd smirked. “Enlighten me.”
“A collection should be based upon passion for the sport. For a real fan,” she had emphasized, “buying a collectible from one's favorite team is about sharing the excitement, about the love of the game. It's not a cold-hearted business transaction.” She'd waved her hand dismissively at the bag he was tucking into his cloak.
He had scoffed. “Please, spare me. A wise collector always keeps one eye on the value of his collection.”
“How do you think the athletes feel, knowing their memorabilia is being collected by people who don't give a damn, instead of true fans? Not good, I'm sure. Right, Mr. Bagman?”
Bagman had been silently observing them and jumped a bit when spoken to. “Well, certainly the fans are why we're out there. Why, my own fans--”
“The athletes only care about the fans if they stop buying tickets,” Malfoy had interrupted. “Why do you think so many of them sell their own collections when the time is right? You've sold a few pieces yourself, haven't you, Ludo?”
Bagman blushed. “Just a few small things.”
Ginny had crossed her arms. “They also donate items to charities and sports foundations. So that real fans can enjoy them.”
“Do you really think anyone would hand over something of value just because you're a real fan?” Malfoy laughed when Ginny had remained silent. Said like that, it hadn't sounded particularly plausible. “Interesting theory, and, if true, it would certainly save me a Galleon or two.” He had flashed his even, white teeth in a charming smile that made Ginny feel like a mouse facing a Kneazle. “Let's experiment,” he'd said, clapping his hands together once.
Wary, she'd asked, “Experiment how?”
“You say money doesn't buy a true collection. Let's see what kind of collections we can put together without spending a Knut.” He'd leaned against her door jamb. “In one month, we'll let Ludo here decide who's won by acquiring more valuable memorabilia.”
“Capital idea, Draco. That sounds like fun!” Bagman had nodded enthusiastically.
Ginny had backed away slightly. “Like you could be counted on not to cheat. You'll be buying out half the Quidditch stores in Europe with dear Daddy's money before the week is through.”
Bagman had frowned. “That's not a very sportsmanlike attitude, Miss Weasley.” But Draco ignored him and held up his hand as if making a vow.
“I'll be willing to take Veritaserum afterward to prove I haven't bought a thing,” he'd said.
“There now, see?” Bagman beamed.
Ginny had stared at Malfoy with narrowed eyes. “Why would you even try to win?”
“Because if I lose,” he'd said promptly, “I'll give you my entire collection.”
“Draco!” Bagman had gasped.
Considering, she had asked, “What do you get if I lose?”
An eager look crossed his face for a second, and she had stiffened as his eyes wandered over her body, lingering on her chest and hair. He'd drawled, “To be determined later.”
“No bloody way.” She'd started to shut her door in his face, ignoring the little tingle that had shivered down her spine. “I'm no fool, Malfoy.”
“Wait.” He caught the door. “Nothing bad, I promise.” He'd jerked his head in Bagman's direction. “Ludo can be my witness.”
“Certainly! Never fear, Miss Weasley, never fear,” Bagman'd smiled happily as Ginny slowly nodded. “Excellent! I'd wager the two of you have an interesting month ahead of you.”
And against her better judgment, when Draco Malfoy had extended his hand, Ginny had reached out and shaken it.
Ginny sighed and banged the back of her head against the wall to punish herself for her own stupidity. Two days before the deadline, and she was sure she was in serious danger of losing.
Malfoy had been right. Quidditch players may be happy to donate valuable items to sports foundations and charities for spell-damaged children, but undersecretaries from joke divisions of Ludo Bagman's department didn't even merit a response by owl. Thanks to a letter from Hermione, Victor Krum had sent Ginny the molds from his latest action figure, and Harry, of course had been generous. Now in his second year as a professional seeker, Harry had given her a Tutshill Tornadoes robe, signed by himself, Cho, and the rest of the team. Even better, he had sent a picture of himself and Cho in their uniforms, baby Lily on Cho's hip and Harry's arms around them both. Harry and Cho's status as England's premier Quidditch couple, combined with Harry's fierce protectiveness of his small family, made that photograph the most valuable thing in Ginny's miserable collection.
She had to win. The thought of being alone with Malfoy was enough to make Ginny's palms sweat.
The red-hot rivalry between Puddlemere United and the Holyhead Harpies would be her saving grace. Fans couldn't get enough of the two teams, and the winning Snitch from any game between them was sure to win her this competition.
Hysterical shrieking and foot-stomping from the crowd above made her bolt upright. It went on and on.
Puddlemere United will win, Oliver Wood will give me the Snitch, and-- her internal chant broke off when the crowd's cries coalesced into “HARPIES! HARPIES! HARPIES!”
Ginny's breath gusted out, but she grabbed her bucket and mop and ran toward the Harpies' changing room. She had a winning Snitch to steal and a bet to win.
*dg*
Entering the Harpies' changing room was even easier than Ginny had hoped. All she had to do was wait outside the door, slowly pushing the mop around the floor in her best Argus Filch impression. When the team arrived and dropped the protective wards, Ginny merely joined the glut of rowdy players and walked right in with her cleaning supplies.
As the changing room echoed with the clang of locker doors and the Harpies' voices, Ginny found an out of the way spot by the sinks and began tapping the tile walls with her wand, cleaning the grout with one of her mother's charms. In the mirror, she watched as the Harpies wandered back and forth between the lockers and the showers, rehashing the game, laughing, and bursting into spontaneous cheers.
Gwenog Jones slammed her locker shut and used her wand to lock it. “The Puddleheads should learn to stay home and leave Quidditch to the players who do it right.”
“The Harpies!” her team shouted in response.
“But if they did, we'd miss out on that yummy keeper of theirs.” Ginny recognized the speaker as Chaser Fenella Dougall, whose dating exploits often made the gossip pages of the Prophet. “I'd chase down that 'Wood' any day,” Dougall joked and the rest of the team laughed.
“Seriously, Clep,” Jones continued, “great catch.”
“Thanks, Captain.” Seeker Myfanwy Clep finished drying her hair with her wand and used it to lock up her belongings. “Anyone up for a celebration?”
The Harpies cheered boisterously in response and Ginny adopted a new mantra. Yes, please, please leave. Forget about me and leave. She held her breath as the team filed toward the door.
“Hello!” Ginny jumped and realized Rachel Biggerstaff, Beater and league leader in head injuries caused per game, was standing next to her, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “We're off now, but you take your time in here,” she said kindly. “The wards will set themselves when you leave, so no worries. Don't forget anything, though.” She raised one finger in warning. “Once they're triggered, the wards'll be up until we come back for our things.” A chorus of her teammates' voices called her name from the hall, and Biggerstaff grinned at Ginny. “And once this lot gets to partying, we don't stop until morning.”
Ginny nodded, mute.
“Okay, then,” Biggerstaff slung her bag over her shoulder and jogged for the door. “'Bye,” she chirped as it closed behind her.
Limp with relief, Ginny sagged against the sink. She turned on the cold water and cupped some in her palm, drinking to ease her dry throat. Pulling a few paper towels from the dispenser to dry her hands, she moved to the door and pressed her ear against it. The hallway was silent.
Time to get this over with, she thought.
As she had expected, the dark green locker labeled “M. Clep” was impervious to Alohomora. Ginny bent over to examine the lock. She pulled two hair pins from her breast pocket, moistened the tips in her mouth, and slid them into the lock. Closing her eyes to better picture the inside, Ginny slowly twisted the pins, feeling for the tumblers Myfanwy Clep slid shut with magic. “Come on, you,” she whispered as the pin in her left hand scraped uselessly against the interior of the lock. Then, as easy as that, it clicked into place and the locker opened with a quiet squeak of hinges. Ginny sent off a quick prayer of thanks in Fred's memory for lessons in Muggle-style lock picking.
Clep's locker was a mess of jumpers and shoes, but the small octagonal box Ginny had seen the seeker tuck away was perched on top of the pile. She opened the lid and smiled down at the shining answer to her problems. The Snitch's wings fluttered in anticipation, but Ginny closed her hand over it before it could take flight and slipped it into the pocket of her coveralls. Barely able to contain herself, she slammed the door shut, muttered “Draco Malfoy, I have you now,” and spun on her heel...
...only to discover Malfoy, dressed head to foot in black, sitting calmly on the bench in front of her and watching her every move. “You haven't won yet.”
Ginny knew she must be goggling at him, but she was too shocked and dismayed to help herself. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the door,” he said simply. He stood up and pulled the hat from her head, watching her long red hair fall over her shoulders. “I knew it was you the moment I saw you bent over the locker.” He wiggled his eyebrows like a melodrama villain and mocked, “I'd know your arse anywhere, Ginny.” Ginny put both hands against his shoulders and pushed him back a step, pretending not to notice the firmness of his body or the soft fabric of his shirt. “The outfit's a surprise, though,” Draco continued. He held the hat up, pointing to the maintenance emblem in her direction. “Moonlighting?”
Draco was dressed like a Muggle cat burglar, snug black clothes and black trainers, most of his white-blond hair hidden under a knit cap.
“You're one to talk.” Ginny gestured to his ensemble. “Could you be any more conspicuous?” She bit back a laugh when he struck a pose. “You mean to say no one stopped you when you came into the stadium dressed for the heist of the century?”
Draco relaxed and shrugged. “No one saw me. I've been in a cupboard since five o'clock this morning waiting for the crowds to clear.” Ginny stared had him in disbelief. “Yes, I have been,” he insisted, “and, no, I don't recommend it. Being stuck in a cupboard may be a character builder if you're the Boy Who Lived, but for anyone else it's dead boring.” He grinned. “Hour after hour and the only thing I could do to entertain myself was fantasize about what I'll do to you after I win our little wager.”
The room immediately felt hot and close, but Ginny just sneered. “Fantasies are all you'll get, Draco. I already have the winning Snitch.”
“Hmm, yes, you certainly do.” Draco tipped his head to one side and eyed her appraisingly. “Imagine my surprise when I slip down here, hoping against hope that I can get through the wards only to find them already down and you-oh, the horror-already stealing it. What would your mum say?” Ginny flinched at the thought. “This isn't in the spirit of our competition, Ginny.” Draco shook his head sorrowfully, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching.
Ginny looked over his shoulder at the door. Fifteen steps, she calculated, to freedom and victory. “I may not be acting in the spirit of the competition,” she inched a little to the left, “but I'm well within the rules you laid down.” He moved right, staying between her and the exit. As evenly as she could, Ginny continued, “'Without spending a Knut,' is as specific as you got.”
Draco looked delighted. “I knew you'd catch that, but I wasn't sure if you'd be too Gryffindor to take advantage of it when you realized you couldn't win.” He paused. “You do realize that, I presume?”
Ginny took a deep breath and shifted her weight to her right leg. “I admit I was idealistic.” Draco nodded. “I admit I should never have entered this silly wager, and that I'm doing things no sane adult should be doing.” He nodded again. “But I don't admit I can't win.” She patted her hip pocket. “After all, I have the Snitch.”
“That's the rub, right there.” Draco reached up his sleeve and pulled out his wand. He looked positively wicked, and, without thinking, Ginny shook her arm and dropped her wand into her own waiting hand. “You have the Snitch now. What matters is who has the Snitch in two days when Bagman decides who wins.”
Feinting left, she immediately broke right dodging under his wand arm and firing a hex over her shoulder at the same time. From the corner of her eye, she saw him duck even as she felt him grab her by the pocket and spin her around as he plunged his hand inside in search of the Snitch. With the experience of years of wrestling with older brothers, Ginny used her own momentum to slam her shoulder against his chest and shove as hard as she could. Draco stumbled backward, tripping over the bench and falling onto his backside.
Palms outstretched, Ginny hit the door running at full stride, expecting it to open easily. She had barely an instant's warning before the sting of the wards knifed through her, lifting her off her feet and sending her flying across the changing room. She had time to hear Draco yell her name, time to see the tile wall-sparkling clean thanks to Molly Weasley's anti-mildew charm-in front of her face, and then nothing but darkness.
*dg*
Ginny awoke to the scent of sandalwood and the feel of Draco's fingers running through her hair. She kept her eyes closed and dealt with the easiest thing first:
“You wore cologne to go thieving?”
Draco shifted, and she realized her head was pillowed on his thigh. He also stopped stroking her hair, leaving her strangely disappointed. “At least I didn't bring any of my pets.”
Ginny opened her eyes. Draco gazed down at her, a expression of concern on his face and her Pygmy Puff on his shoulder.
“I found this,” he nuzzled his cheek against Arnold, who was happily purring away, “in your pocket.”
Ginny struggled to sit up, and he cupped his hand under her neck, holding her head steady. “Careful!” he said sharply. “You took one hell of a hit.”
“I can tell.” She felt fine, but the front of her coveralls were stained with blood.
“You broke your nose when you hit the wall,” he explained, watching her stretch the material out in front of herself for a better look. Her hand flew to her face. “I episkyed it, and did a few pain relief charms. I'm no mediwizard, but I think you're all right.”
She nodded and murmured her thanks. “How long was I out?” she asked after a moment spent watching him pet Arnold.
“A few hours.” He lifted Arnold off his shoulder and settled him on Ginny's lap, brushing her leg with his fingers. She looked him in the face, trying to see if it was an accident, but he was impassive. “I understand your disguise, and I understand carrying those little pin things-ingenious, by the way-but why bring a Pygmy Puff to the 'heist of the century'?”
Ginny sighed and stroked Arnold, gently trying to coax him back into purring. “He's been off lately.”
“So you decided a little crime spree would cheer him up?” he drawled.
“No, I decided that after I stole the Snitch, I would drop by the Magical Menagerie and see if they had a tonic or something that might help.”
“Good to know you have your priorities straight.” Draco stood up. He stretched, baring his abs and the thin trail of light hair leading from the dimple of his navel down below his belt. He smirked when he caught her staring.
She cleared her throat. “What happened?” She rubbed a small ache in her temple until it disappeared. “Rachel Biggerstaff said the wards would set themselves after I left the room.”
Draco pulled a face and rubbed the back of his neck. “Apparently, they set themselves when I came in.” He looked chagrined. “I didn't feel a thing. Sorry.” He dropped his arm down to his side. “I would have told you if I'd known they were up. I certainly didn't intend for you to be hurt. I was just-I thought we were both just playing around.”
She believed him. “We're stuck here then?”
“I can't bring the wards down, there are no windows, and no vents big enough for so much as a Kneazle. I even stood next to the door and yelled for help, but no one came.”
Ginny slumped slightly at the news but nodded just the same. “Biggerstaff said they wouldn't be back until morning.”
“Then we are well and truly stuck here together because we're not getting out until someone comes by and lets us out.” Draco was calmer than Ginny could believe considering their situation.
“Lets us out so we can be immediately arrested, you mean.” Agitated, Ginny placed Arnold on the bench and shot to her feet. “We're somewhere we're not supposed to be, and we're obviously up to no good. Look at us!” She gestured to their clothing. “I'm going to be accused of masterminding some bizarre Ministry scheme to sink the Holyhead Harpies, and we'll both lose our jobs. It's all well and good for you to joke about what my mum will say,” she ranted, “but I'd rather face Azkaban than lose my job and move back home in disgrace!”
She sat down abruptly, narrowly missing Arnold, and held her head in her hands. “Oh, Merlin. Azkaban versus Mum. What a disaster.” Draco appeared to be on the verge of laughter. “This may be funny to you,” she flared, “but in my family, it's generally frowned upon to be a criminal.”
“And yet here you are.” He stepped closer and offered her his hand.
Ginny let him tug her back up. “Here I am. You came into my department determined drive me mad, you're a bad influence, and this is the latest chapter in a family feud spanning generations.”
He did laugh then. “Are you practicing your defense for the Wizangamot or your mother?” He was still holding her hand.
“Mum would never buy any of that,” she said absently, enjoying the not quite smooth texture of his palm. They way he was behaving, relaxed, if not downright pleased, was both calming and disorienting.
“It's cute but not necessary.” Draco took her by the shoulders and spun her around. Every single locker had been opened. A small mountain of clothes, quidditch robes and supplies, candy, and even a few bottles of champagne covered the mid-aisle benches.
“Those little picks of yours really are amazing.” He squeezed her shoulders lightly, massaging her collarbones with his fingertips. “Now, I already put the Snitch back, so we don't have to worry about that anymore, but something must be done about your clothes.” Dazed, Ginny leaned her head against his shoulder so she could look up at him. “Find something that fits, and I'll Incendio this thing.” He shook one sleeve of her coverall. “Once that's done, we're just two overzealous fans who, while looking for an autograph opportunity, fell victim to a ward malfunction and have been trapped in the changing room all night.” A satisfied smile crossed his face. “The stadium will be paying us for our time and trouble when I'm finished with them.”
Ginny bypassed the pile of frighteningly pink clothing in front of “R. Biggerstaff's” locker and held a pale blue robe up to check its length. “And when somebody asks how I came to be wearing some of the player's street clothes?”
“We tell them the truth about how badly you were injured when we tried to leave.” He could not have sounded more matter-of-fact. “Then we tell them I can't stand the sight of your blood and your own clothes had to be burned.”
“Okay, I admit you're brilliant.” Ginny settled upon brown trousers and a cream-colored blouse and headed toward the showers to change.
“Just so,” he called. “No Weasley shall be called an evil genius while a Malfoy is in the room.” Ginny closed the shower curtain with a snap. “If you feel up to it, we'll toast my plan with some of that champagne.”
Ginny kicked her discarded disguise to the corner of the stall. “That's going overboard, don't you think?”
“Not at all.” His voice was very close. “Toss that rag over the wall and I'll take care of it.”
Ginny threw the coverall into the next shower cubicle and listened as he incinerated it. “Don't forget the bucket and mop, Draco.”
“Already done.”
She fastened her trousers while he washed the ashes down the drain.
“I don't devote hours out of my work week to hanging around your department trying to drive you mad, you know.” His voice was quiet.
Ginny braced one foot against the wall and rolled up the cuff of her trousers so she wouldn't trip and fall on her face in front of him. “Sorry about that. It just seems like you're always there.”
“Oh, I am. I even write my visits into my calendar, so everyone can find me if necessary. Your ruination is not why I'm there, however.”
Ginny put her leg down and stared at the curtain. “So...you're there because Bagman's your friend?” Her heart pounded in her chest.
“Not really. If that was it, I'd speak to him in his office instead of waiting outside your office door, hoping for the chance to see you. I'll go chill the bubbly. Come out when you're ready, Ginny, and we'll make the best of this night.” His footsteps echoed off the tiles as he walked away.
Ginny ripped open the curtain and stared after him in shock.
Draco chilled the champagne with a charm, and from the doorway separating the showers from the main room, she watched him transfigure glasses out of paper towels.
“This is your idea of flirting?” Ginny walked across the room and accepted her glass. “Two years of standing outside my cubicle discussing Quidditch with other people? Telling the tea lady her hair looks lovely, but only throwing a handful of insults my way?”
Draco carefully examined his glass as if searching for flaws.
She laughed out loud. “How old are are you? Twelve? Why did you ever think that was a good idea?”
He frowned. “I'll have you know this is how my boss wooed his wife back when he was an undersecretary and she was a junior Auror.”
“Um-hm.” She took a small sip of champagne. “Did he happen to tell you how long this courtship took?”
“Eight years,” he muttered.
“Well, I'm not willing to wait that long, Draco.” Ginny took his drink out of his hand and set both glasses on the bench. She twined her arms around his neck and smiled up at him before drawing his mouth down to hers. Draco's lips were warm and sweet with champagne, and kissing him felt better than Ginny had ever let herself imagine. She sucked lightly at his lower lip before nipping it gently. The way he shuddered in response and crushed her against his body, kissing her deeply, brought a whimper from her own throat.
“See, Draco?” Ginny ran her hands down over his shoulders as he tipped her head back and kissed his way down her to her neckline. “Everything's better when you do it with passion.”
*dg*
Ginny woke to the sound of purring. Up on one elbow, she smiled down at Draco.
Feet crossed at the ankle, arms behind his head, and a slight smile on his face, Draco slept on the makeshift bed of robes and jumpers where they had spent the night. Other than the happy Pygmy Puff cuddled on the center of his chest, he was naked. Ginny idly petted Arnold while letting her eyes wander over Draco, admiring the shallow dip of his clavicle, the smooth muscles of his thighs...even his feet were sexy, she decided, pale and high-arched with long toes.
“I guess this is what you've been missing, you silly thing,” she whispered to Arnold as she picked him up. “Me too.” She kissed the little fuzz ball before placing him carefully on the floor.
Curling against Draco, Ginny pressed tiny kisses along his jawline. The faint bristle of new beard abraded her lips, and she rubbed her cheek against his just to feel it.
“Wake up,” she said softly, feeling him shift toward awareness. “It's morning.”
“I dreamed you were a dream,” he said thickly, rubbing one large hand over his face to chase the last bit of sleep away.
“Real as real can be.” She kissed him. “Don't take my word for it, though.” Ginny changed her position until she was sitting astride him. Cheekily, she took both his hand in hers and placed them on her breasts. “Better check for yourself.”
“I will, thank you.” He was wide awake now, and she could feel him hardening against her bottom. “You're beautiful,” he murmured. His strong hands cupped her breasts, thumbs rubbing against her nipples until she moaned. Draco curled his hand around her back, drawing her down until his mouth could touch her skin. He buried his face sweetly between her breasts for a moment, sucked briefly on one coral tip until her toes curled and her gasps turned to groans, before nuzzling the underside of her breast and letting his tongue lap at the crease.
“I'm going to kiss every single freckle on your body, you know. And you're freckled everywhere, aren't you?” he whispered against her skin. “Lucky, lucky me.”
“Poor me,” she gasped. “As far as I can see, you don't have a single freckle for me to kiss.”
“Oh, I have one.” Draco put enough distance between them that Ginny could see him grinning. “But you'll have to hunt for it.”
Ginny laughed. “Ooh, a challenge.” She began sliding down his body, one goal in mind. “I'd best get started right awa--”
“Merlin's hairy balls! What the hell is this and who the hell are you?”
Ginny gasped and Draco stopped breathing entirely when Gwenog Jones's shadow fell across them. Ginny spared a quick glance over her shoulder as she scrambled for something to wear and saw four Harpies staring down at them with expressions ranging from outrage to delight. She pulled a hideous baby pink dress over her head and climbed to her feet.
“I'm so sorry!” Jones looked seconds away from hexing them, so Ginny focused on her. “I-- we--”
“We were hoping for an autograph,” Draco prompted from the floor.
“That's right, an autograph.” Jones's face was almost puce with anger, but Ginny forged ahead. “We wanted an autograph-we're such big fans-so the door was open, and we came in, but then we couldn't get out, and after that...” Ginny trailed off, uncertain how to continue.
“You turned it into your love nest.” Fenella Dougall nodded in encouragement. “I'd do the exact same thing, especially if I was stuck in here with him.” She stared avidly at Draco who was wearing nothing except a strategically placed Keeper's glove.
“I think it's kinda romantic, Captain.”
“It is not romantic,” Jones barked at Posselthwaite, the bird boned Chaser who came no higher than her elbow. “I think that's my robe they've been fucking on.” She pointed an accusing finger at the fabric between Draco's legs.
“Oh, I'm sorry!” Ginny tugged the robe out from under Draco and held it out to the Beater who backed away with her hands up.
“Please, like I'd ever want to wear that again!”
Her teammates cackled.
“Perhaps if you offered to have it professionally cleaned first.” Draco sounded like he was strangling.
Ginny really looked at the robe for the first time and saw with embarrassment that, after spending the better part of the night underneath them, Jones's robe was filthy and stained. She suspected it would need a long soak before even a strong cleaning charm would help. Ginny bit her lip and looked up at Jones. “Um...”
“Forget it.” Her lip curled in disgust. “It's yours now. Consider it a gift.”
“Really?” Ginny held the robe against her chest.
“Absolutely. Just get dressed, both of you.” Jones herded her team out of the room.
Ginny smirked down at Draco. “Gwenog Jones just gave me her robe. Say goodbye to your private collection, Draco, because you are so going to lose this wager.”
“It's all right,” Draco wrapped one hand around Ginny's ankle. “I have what I really want right here.”
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic: Draco and Ginny competing about something unconventional(e.g. who pulls the most pranks...) , and how the competition came about.
The tone/mood of the fic: Light and humourous(:
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic: Arnold the Pygmy Puff.
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: Anything(:
Canon or AU? Any.
Deal Breakers (anything you don't want?): Harry/Ginny mentions.