Author Notes: I would like to thank my many betas--Horst, Jess, Alex, and QuickQuotesQuill--for putting up with me. I would also like to ask my readers to be patient as I discover this story's unfolding. Please leave a review after you've read, just so I know who's been reading it and what they think of it. Reviews make for good karma; and who knows, if you leave a review for something of mine, when I'm looking for a story to read, I might just go and look at something written by someone who left me a nice, intelligent, helpful review. winkwink nudgenudge Please?

Chapter One

No one ever remembered how it really happened.

Some said it was the stress of the war.

Some said it was Harry Potter's lack of love.

Others said it was Draco Malfoy being ornery.

The truth is that it started in the library, when Draco wanted to have a look in the same book she was using. He could, of course, simply steal it from her, but as she'd been a member of Potter's wretched D.A. last year, he was hesitant to do this. He had to admit that having his face covered with flying bogies once was two times too many.

But he desperately needed that book, and he wanted to look in it now, not later. Later he had other plans--Pansy had tickled his thigh under the dinner table, informing him in a most suggestive voice that, as Millicent had gone home for a 'family emergency', her dormitory was empty, and if he wanted to do things that made her make loud noises, now would be the perfect opportunity.

Of course he was going to take her up on it. Free snogging, free shagging--what Malfoy wouldn't?

But he needed that book now, or he might never get a chance to look at it. The Defence class was doing Patronuses day after tomorrow, and Draco had been a bit... well, enthusiastic... about his capabilities to Potter and Weasley.

Saint Potter. Patronus Potter. With his silver stag that he'd had to show off to the entire school third year, and to the entire wizarding world summer before fifth year--it had taken nine months for the truth to surface, but once it did, everyone was in awe (again) of The Boy Who Could Fight Off Two Dementors All On His Own, The Poor Thing.

Ginny Weasley didn't look like she was going to give up the book at any moment, though, Draco realised, watching her head bent over a stack of notes.

There was another reason why he wanted the book, of course, and he'd never tell anyone about it: the Dementors were loose. He wanted to keep his soul as much as any other wizard, thank you very much, and he certainly didn't trust the Dark Lord to keep all the Dementors in hand. He'd've been dead in a heartbeat if he ever mentioned that to his father, but it was true. The Dark Lord didn't care how many people he killed off as long as he got to Potter eventually.

There were rumours of an attack on Hogwarts.

And Draco wanted his soul to stay right where it was.

He had no choice. He stepped out from behind the bookshelves and sauntered up to Ginny.

'I didn't know you could read, Weasley,' he drawled, putting his left hand next to the book on the narrow table and curling the other hand around his wand--he'd been studying the counter-jinx for the Bat-Bogey Hex over the summer.

By the way her quill paused, Ginny had heard Draco's voice, but she didn't look up.

After she'd written to the end of a line, she asked in a calm, quiet voice, 'Yes, Malfoy?'

Irritated, Draco said, 'I'm surprised your mother was even able to teach you, Weasley, since she's such a dumb person herself.'

Ginny gave no indication of having heard him, and kept reading, her quill tapping idly on her notes.

Draco hated the way she ignored him. He'd hated it ever since her arrival at Hogwarts. Ginny Weasley, the only female Weasley for several generations, with her long red hair and solemn brown eyes, and her observant gaze that took a body's soul in, swallowed it whole, and transferred its impressions to that wretched diary of hers. He'd been almost... not sorry, but... something when she'd disappeared into the Chamber of Secrets and had, for the first time in his life, been a little annoyed with his father's judgment.

She'd turned her gaze on Potter first, and then to some Hufflepuff boy who apparently took up with Cho Chang, then Dean Thomas, that wretched Muggleborn Gryffindor, and then a succession of goggle-eyed Ravenclaws who walked around with wand protectors in their front pockets. The whole school was wondering if she'd make a play for Potter now that... what was his name? Julian Hainsworth, right... now that Hainsworth had dumped her. But Potter wasn't paying any attention to her. Her gaze was wasted on them. They didn't appreciate it.

Draco took his left hand off the table and placed it on top of her book. She stopped writing, but didn't look up.

'Yes, Malfoy?' she asked, in an infuriatingly polite voice.

'Are you almost done with that book?' Damn. That had come out almost civil.

Not looking up, she asked, 'Why? Do you need it?'

'Of course I do, Weasley, or I wouldn't be bothering to talk to you,' he sneered.

'Then you'll have to wait,' she said primly. When Draco didn't say anything, she looked up. Finally. 'What, Malfoy? Why do you want it so desperately?' Her eyes held irritation even if her voice was civil.

Draco did consider, for a moment, telling this chit that the Dark Lord was planning on sending Dementors to Hogwarts to get Potter, but decided, on balance, not to.

'Because I want it, dungbrains.'

Ginny let out a snort and turned her attention back to the book. 'You can't have eveything you want, Malfoy.'

For some reason, that struck hard.

Draco slammed both hands down on the desk, sending Ginny's quills and ink flying, spattering her robes, her face, and her hair with droplets of black.

Ginny recoiled, but only for an instant. In the next second, she was standing up, face to face with him, and her wand was at Malfoy's throat.

'I am a Malfoy,' hissed Draco, aware of the threateningly small space between her wand and his skin. 'I can have whatever I bloody well want.'

Ginny's voice was calm and low. 'Unless you want your face covered with bogies again, Malfoy, you'd better back off.'

Her eyes were bright, intense, and staring straight into his own. He watched the curve of her mouth, the set of her jaw, as she held him at wandtip. The entire stance of her body begged for him to take it one step further so she could hex him.

'I said, back off, Malfoy,' she repeated, her voice becoming growly.

Draco watched her lips form the words, saw the teeth behind them, and felt a jolt of possessiveness shoot through him.

He had her attention. It had taken five years, but he'd gotten it, finally. Every particle of her being was focused on him, every speck of emotion she had, every bit of fire in those eyes was on him, Draco Malfoy.

Blood rushed to his head; he felt dizzy and exalted and insane. He did the only thing he could think of.

Draco leaned forward--it was only a few inches--and pressed his lips against Ginny's.