Draco Malfoy woke alone and stiff in his bed. Unwelcome sunlight was filtering into his chambers, an event that distinctly did not happen at this time of year and at the time he should have been awake.
Shite. A quick glance at his wall clock verified his fears. It was after eight, and he had missed breakfast. As he rolled over, the unmistakable scent of sex and a shimmering strand of long red hair greeted him.
"Bloody fuck!" he burst out, finding himself far more aggrieved with Ginny Weasley's abrupt departure than he rightly should have been. Not only had he overslept and missed his rounds and breakfast, but she was safely in Potions and not there for him to wake her.
His first class wasn't until nine, so he called for a house elf and ordered breakfast sent to him. Staggering slightly from the sweet ache in his legs, he made his way into his private bathroom and showered. Brushing away the mingled flavors of her and his own dragon breath, he wondered how to best handle the situation.
He fuzzily remembered allowing her use of his invisibility cloak to escape to Gryffindor Tower. Dejectedly, his shoulders slumped. There was no way for her to find it, hidden as it was in his wardrobe. Sighing, he walked out into his room and headed toward his wardrobe only to find the doors wide open, clothing shoved haphazardly to one side.
A lopsided, wry grin lit his face. Sneaky Weasel, she'd found it, though he supposed it wasn't perhaps his greatest mental feat to decide to hang it in his closet at the end of the bar. Probably the hanger that looked like it was cut off at the neck had tipped her off. Suddenly glad she had something of his and he had an excuse, he dressed and ate his breakfast. He would see her at lunch.
He spent his first few classes daydreaming and replaying selected scenes from their escapade in his mind. The morning flew and by noon, he was more than ready to see her in the flesh. But he chit couldn't deign to be seen at lunch. Draco was sure steam was curling from his ears as he watched the empty spot her housemates had allotted her.
Raging through the afternoon, he was going to strangle her if she showed up to dinner. Why was she avoiding him? Did she find their actions so distasteful she couldn't even look at him? Draco Malfoy was beginning to have the creeping idea that Ginny Weasley was going to ignore him. Malfoys didn't take to being ignored.
***
At dinner his emotions were barely assuaged. She showed up, but her head was bowed and there was no way for him to catch her eye to signal that they should meet outside. He knew he was livid and could feel the heat rush to his cheeks. Furious, he looked down and began to shovel food into his mouth, rivaling Crabbe's caveman style of eating.
A few minutes later, he had calmed down enough to look at her again. But this time he was staring at her empty spot. A quick glance at the massive doors to the Great Hall confirmed she was skipping out, a flash of red hair visible above her dark robes. Damn and blast it! There was no subtle way to go about this.
It wasn't even about the return of his cloak, either. He had no qualms over that. She was far too Gryffindor not to return it, and she would return it to him in one of three ways. Of course, the most desirable way was for her to secret herself into his chambers and surprise him, nude underneath. He smirked a little at that, knowing that unfortunately two other methods were more likely. She'd either stomp up to him and present it to him along with some tongue lashing or she'd try to surreptitiously leave it without being seen by anyone, including him.
He didn't see her at all in his usual Friday routine, and he knew he couldn't alter his life too greatly or Pansy would sniff him out like a wet dog. Even Goyle, who was emerging as surprisingly perceptive, would be able to discern that something was amiss. He spent the remainder of the weekend sulking, planning, and behaving like a git.
***
He found himself eagerly anticipating Wednesday night. She would be patrolling then, and perhaps this mess could be sorted out. Finally, he decided what rankled so much was that she had left him later that morning. Despite the fact that he was rumored to be the castle's Casanova, he simply hadn't been with as many girls as purported. Some of them wished, of course, but the orgy rumors weren't true as much as he would have liked them to be. Contrary to popular belief, he'd learned his skills with the few partners he had and practiced them assiduously when given the chance.
Certainly they'd never shared his bed, that much was true. He had made a conscious decision to let her stay, and had rather anticipated waking with a warm female body next to his. Their shag had been fantastic and he was not averse to a replay. Idly he wondered what his father would say. But Father, she's got a body that would make grown men cry. Probably the bastard would hex him until he cried.
Relegating himself to dreams of her red hair pooled around him as she gave him a nice blow, he slept soundly and counted the nights until Wednesday.
***
Come Wednesday night it was all he could do not to crack his door so he could hear her footsteps. Determined to stay awake through her entire shift, he sat at his desk and tried madly to finish a scroll on the use of asphodel in mood-altering potions. Around 12:30, his eyes were drooping. Angry at himself for not being able to stay alert, he vowed to only take a short nap.
An hour later, he was roused from a deep sleep by frantic, heavy knocking at his door. Waking, he threw himself off the bed and bolted for the door. He looked askance at the corridors, but they were silent and empty now. What sat in front of him was a brown paper bag.
Instantly he recoiled. Last year Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan had placed Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' finest Flaming Dungbombs in front of the Slytherin common room door in retribution for a particularly nasty airborne Quidditch scuffle. This was eerily similar to those bags and he had no desire to end up like Pansy and Theodore Nott, who had had the misfortune of trying to stamp them out with their shoes.
This bag wasn't flaming. The top was folded neatly down, and he didn't discern any foul odors or sense any particular magic coming from it. Leaning over, he opened the top carefully. The bag was empty. Why would she leave me an empty…
Frustrated, he picked up the bag and felt a sudden light weight, and then smiled. It wasn't empty. His cloak was neatly folded inside, simply invisible to the naked eye. So she'd acted exactly as he predicted, and left it while scurrying off.
So if she wouldn't come to him when it was definitely the safest, and he couldn't go to her for obvious reasons, he would make her come to him. The only problem was how and when.
***
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