Prolog
The first time I really saw him was at a discothèque. True, I had encountered him on a fairly regular basis for going on ten years before that night, but I had never looked beyond the horrid boy I slightly new to the man he had become. Not that I had matured to the point of being able to see past our differences, even I'm not so far gone that I think myself that noble. No, being noble had nothing to do with it. The only way I got past my innate distrust of him was by being tricked into it.
One of my oldest friends sold me out for a mere fifty galleons. He offered and she thought it quite a lark to be paid to play 'the prank of a lifetime' on me. Her words, not mine. She later confessed that she would have done it for free, that the look on my face when I realized who it was I spent the night locked in an all too intimate embrace with was worth much more than money.
I cannot say she was high on my buddy list for some time after that, but once I had come to grips with what had occurred, and finally figured out that what I took for lust was in fact love, she became my closest confidant once more. I guess I have much to thank her for, with out her love of a good jest my feelings for him never would have moved past a petty disdain.
It was my own fault really. I have always known my limits when it comes to liquor, so there is no one to blame but myself when I pass them. On a typical night I never drink more than one and a half pints of hot buttered rum, but that was no typical night. I had recently returned home from a semester abroad and decided to let my hair down. The joy of being on my native soil translated itself into three rums over my normal intake.
More than slightly toasted, I was in no mood to contradict Lavender's suggestion that we visit the local teenaged hot spot. It never even entered my mind to question why a witch who had never had a glimmer of interest in the strange behavior of muggles would suddenly think it the done thing to mix with them. To my inebriated logic, dancing the night away to a form of music I had only briefly heard in my Muggle Studies courses made the prefect end to what had been to that point a pretty boring day. Besides, what was the purpose of celebrating if we did not do something slightly provocative?
Needless to say, we went.
I somehow managed to pour myself into a cab and tried to pay with normal money, completely forgetting that odd paper stuff, when the ride was over. Thankfully, my obviously drunken state was more then enough to cover what would have otherwise been a serious breach in muggle wizard relations. Lavender laughed off my faux pas and we set out on our merry way.
To this day I have no memory of our trip from the cab to the club, and, from the many recounts I have heard of it, I consider that a blessing. Instead of focusing on my dreadful behavior, my memories of that night revolve around him. If I close my eyes I can still see the icy blonde of his hair, slicked back as it ever is, and the piercing cloudy gray of his eyes. He was dressed exquisitely; his perfectly tailored shirt and trousers complemented his body in ways mine never do. When replaying the events of that night I never cease to marvel at how I did not recognize him. Then again, who would have expected to find the famed Draco Malfoy, hater of all things muggle, pressed up against nigh on a hundred them on a smoky dance floor? That which is foremost in my mind is his utter inability to dance. His otherwise graceful body was swaying to and fro with no particular rhyme or reason. His arms were slightly askew, looking for all the world as if he had no idea what to do with them and had plastered them to his sides in a desperate attempt to fit in. his face was contorted with ill concealed panic and he stiffened involuntarily whenever a fellow dancer happened to touch him. It was the only time in my life that I have ever seen him so awkward and out of place.
I like to tell myself that it was his gawky air that lent him such charm, that I was drawn to the vulnerable part of him that I had never before witnessed, but the truth of the matter is that he was just plain sexy. I circled him like a moth does a flame. My desire to be near him had me traveling in ever shrinking lopsided ovals. When I finally did reach him, I tripped over my feet and landed hard against his chest. I tried to say something to smooth over my lapse in poise, but my tongue was stuck behind my teeth and all that came out was a soft grunt of surprise.
He told me later that he had been waiting for my appearance for some time and was in no mood to have me wandering off, so he pulled me firmly into him. We did something that could be classified as dancing for an hour or three before the throbbing beat turned into a pounding headache. I tried to excuse myself, but he was having none of it. He dragged me into the darkest corner that I have ever seen, before or since, and told me to be still while he fetched me a glass of water. After that my memory once again fails me. Sometimes, on a particular sultry night I wake covered in sweat with only the vaguest of images of hot glances and passionate kisses. He says I locked those memories away because I do not want to face the fact that I fell in love with his bedroom skills long before I fell in love with him.
Comments like that are usually accompanied by outrageous eyebrow rising and a swift reply made by a pillow hitting the side of his face. I do not know if I fell in love with him that night. To be honest, I am not too sure when our relationship moved beyond pleasures of the flesh. All I can do is recount the events that lead up to it and hope that the ages will forgive a Weasley for marrying a Malfoy
Chapter One
June fifth, far too early in the morning to be writing Damn insufferable man! I am not quite sure, but I think he is lording something over me. The sheer nerve of that Malfoy! I saw him late last night at a party I thought was restricted to decent people. He was so very coy, dropping all sorts of unsubtle hints that he knew who my mystery man was.
Blast Lavender for spreading around the fact that I don't quite remember who it was that left those vivid red marks I was sporting on my neck last week. Very bad form indeed. One doesn't go blabbing a friend's secrets; it just isn't done. Nearly everyone was buzzing about me having them in the first place; there was absolutely no need to add to the gossip.
Off that subject and back to the more pressing matter: Malfoy told he knew for a fact I had matching marks on my left shoulder and the top side of my right breast. How did that happen? I told no one, repeat no one, about those two gifts. It is bad enough that I let some stranger have access to my neck, just think what would be said about me if it got out that I let said unknown stranger maul less assessable parts of my body? The absolute shame of getting tipsy and going clubbing! I swear I will never over indulge again.
Once again I digress. How did that trice damn Malfoy know about my extra love marks?
June twenty-fifth, slightly past dusk
I'm suppose to be on summer holiday, so why is it that I have seen more of Draco bloody Malfoy in the past two weeks then I have in the school year? That vainglorious little prig had the audacity to smirk at my neck as if he could still see those awful marks when I know full well that they faded on the sixth. Thank God for that spell Hermione taught me.
"Had any memories resurface Weasley?" He asked in that condescending tone of his. All I could do was blush as his slimly friends snickered at me. "Maybe I could be of assistance; I happen to know quite a few memory spells. There is a chance you might find one of them useful." He walked off laughing.
The sheer nerve! As if I would want that man rummaging around in my thoughts. Honestly!
July tenth, half past midnight
I just had The Worst Nightmare Ever! It started out innocently enough. I was at a bar of some sort. I stood all alone on a dance floor that seemed to go on for miles performing Apollo and the Three Muses. Somehow I was dancing all the parts at the same time and was just about to finish when the floor split open and I started to fall. I kept going farther and farther down then, with a jolt, I landed in the most opulent bed I have ever seen. I lay there, enjoying the feel of the silk and satins when I noticed a hand on my bare stomach. With a start I realized that I was not alone in the bed and that both of us were utterly naked.
I could not see who the hand belonged to, but it felt so good that I did not protest. From there things got down right wanton. Then, right in the middle of the best sex my virgin mind could conjure up, the bed was flooded with light. It was so bright that I got spots in my eyes and when they finally started functioning again I got the shock of my life.
I saw who it was that I was letting enjoy my body.
Draco Bloody Malfoy.
Now what sort of a dream is that? The most horrid, rotten nightmare of my life, that's what! I woke up with a scream and just knew I had to write it all down to make sense of it. Give thanks that I never really believed all the dream interpretation stuff to begin with.
June sixteenth, who cares what bloody time it is?
I am in a state of panic. Ayden just rang me up. I knew I should have disconnected my mobile before I came back home. Now I'm in for it. Ayden said he missed me ever so and that he called to tell me he had a surprise for me. He went on and on about how dull things have been since I left and how he just had to see me one more time before the start of the school year. I wasn't paying him much mind, as I was trying to figure out a nice when to get off the phone fast. I started to notice for the first time how very grating his New England accent was and that he was not a very good conversationalist. About the time that I was ready to break off the chat, he hit me with this:
"Ginny darling" he said, his clipped voice oozing with excitement, "I just could not stand another moment without you, so I called up my travel agent and I'm all set to fly to London. Honey, I'll be there in little under a week." He paused and waited for me to say something. "Well, what do you think?" was followed by yet another long silence. "Ginny?" I finally managed to choke something out and got off the phone pronto.
Can you believe it? He is going to be here on the twenty-third! What am I going to do? Goodness, I only went out with him a few times, we didn't even kiss. A muggle is coming all the way here from America to visit me. Mum is going to have kittens!
She was proved right I guess. She said from the start that a student exchange with a muggle University was just asking for trouble. Mum said she did not care how much research I would get done, that living for six months as a muggle could never be considered wise. But I had inherited my father's fascination for all things muggle and could no more pass up the chance to study them in their natural habitat then I could cut off my right hand. So I went. I spent a semester at the University of Chicago, which is the top school in its nation for Sociology. My major, Muggle Studies, was so closely related to Sociology that I had no trouble what so ever fitting in. The whole experience was marvelous. I did everything the way a muggle would. I ate what they eat, I made muggle friends, I even went out on a few dates like any muggle girl my age would. I developed a fondness for ice cold Coronas with a slice of lime and, after much trying, finally figured out how to use their phones. Which brings me back to the matter at hand: How do I tell Ayden that he was simply an experiment? "Sorry mate, but I only wanted to see what passed for dating in the muggle world." Somehow I don't see that working. I guess there is no polite way to tell someone they were just a bit of fun.
I need to talk to Hermione post haste!
~}~}~}@
"She doesn't remember!" Draco flopped onto his bed and closed his eyes in disgust "The most incredible night of my life and she doesn't even remember it." He knew he should forget all about the events of that night; let it slide from his memory into oblivion. He had only done it to win a bet, so it should not be so difficult to turn his mind from it
He had been bragging, in typical Malfoy fashion, about his sexual prowess when one of his many followers simply could not take it any more.
"You talk big Malfoy, but none of us have ever actually seen one of your so called conquests." There was a flurry of agreement from the rest of his listeners; each was a tad bolder then the previous had been. In the end, it was Blaise who blurted out "Why don't you put your money where your mouth is!"
Draco had blanched at the words but held his ground. He had, of course, accepted the challenge, thinking the worst that could be inflicted on him was one of those gangly freshmen with too much lipstick and not enough powder to cover their spots.
He had been wrong.
They picked out Miss Virginia Weasley, freshly returned from some sort of exchange program in the States. He had not seen her in over a year and did not realize that the only female Weasley had finally grown up. Up to that fateful night he still pictured her with her unruly hair pulled back in braids and dirt on her chin.
Who would have thought those six months in a place as inelegant as Chicago would have worked such a miracle? Then again, it was entirely possible that she has changed slowly over the years and it was only her absences that had opened his eyes. In all honesty, he had given her such little thought that he could not say for sure which of the two it was. The only thing he could say with certainty was that the sight of a slightly pissed Virginia had sent his pulse shooting to record heights. Lust swam through his body as thoughts of that night inundated his brain. He shifted uncomfortably on his bed. Miss Virginia Weasley indeed. It was utterly absurd for him to be so taken with her. Of all the twittering girls at the University of Witchcraft and Wizardry, London, he had to fall for the only one to which his family name meant nothing. He winced and corrected that last thought. He would have much better chances with her if his name truly meant nothing. Instead he had to try to find some way around the distrust and outright hatred between their two families. "It really is true that the Gods love a comedy." He said to his empty room, unable to keep the bitterness he felt to himself.
The next time Draco saw her, she was in a complete state of turmoil. She was sitting in a little campus café talking her head off to that vile Hermione Granger. He had not seen that sorry excuse of a witch for going on four years now, and for that he was grateful. He never quite understood why someone so gifted at all things scholarly would opt out of college to join the mind numbing Ministry of Magic. But then, he had never understood a single thing that particular mudblood did. Not that it mattered much. He seemed to recall hearing that Granger was giving a good showing of herself and that, if she kept going in the direction she was headed, she would find herself running the place in no time at all. Pity that. Granger in charge would mean all sorts of radical changes. Best not to think of it at all, he decided. He put his focus back where it should have been, on the delectable Miss Virginia Weasley.
Unfortunately for him, she was so caught up in whatever it was she was rambling about that she did not even hear his nasty little comment he sent her as a welcoming. It was Granger who's back bristled and Granger again who spat back a witty retort. Sadly all his best comebacks were on his lips before he remembered he was trying to court her companion. By the time it occurred to him that maybe he should tone it down some it was far too late for damage control. Blast and damn! He knew wooing Virginia was going to be difficult, but he never thought he would turn her slight dislike of him to full blown disdain so soon into it. When Virginia lashed into him all he could come up with was something tragically lame about her 'big cow eyes' and, along with the tattered remains of his dignity, he gave the idea courtship of all together. Cleary something much more devious was needed to entice her back into his arms.
~}~}~}@
July eighteenth, quarter to ten
I finally got to chat with Hermione. I knew she was busy with work and Ron, but honestly! It took me two whole days to pin her down. What sort of a soon-to-be sister-in-law is she? All my indignant ranting aside, talking things out with her was wonderful. She always seems to have a way to put things into perceptive. Her advice is as follows:
Be an ice queen at all times. Don't let Ayden know where I live and never think to introduce him to my friends. Make it very clear that, while flattered that he would travel so far a distance to see me, I am in no mood for a relationship. I am to play up my need for independence and play down how horribly unsuitable a mate he is. I am to be a perfect hostess and show him all those sites muggles want to see (she gave me a list). When the trip is over I'm to tell him I'll write. Most importantly, I am to disconnect my phone the second he leaves.
Is not she wonderful? I find it simply marvelous to have a big sister to talk to.
The only dark spot on our lovely day was that nasty Draco Malfoy. Just seeing him in flesh after all those steamy dreams was enough to make my face match my hair. He had been eavesdropping on our conversation. I did not even notice him till Hermione started cussing him off. From what she said later he had made a smarmy little comment about how very odd it is that anyone would want me. That prat. I got a few good ones in, but was so confused by his last insult, if one could call it that, that I let him walk off having said the last word. What did he mean by "you have the biggest cow eyes I have ever seen?" That is not an insult. Hermione just stared at him as if he had lost his mind and he sulked off in a huff. For hours after that all I had to do was say 'cow eyes' and Hermione would laugh uncontrollably.
August thirteenth, four twenty-two in the afternoon.
I really do not want to write about this, but I have no choice. I had hoped that my dreams about vile Malfoy would stop. That is not the case. Since I first reported their occurrence they have been coming near nightly. It is ghastly. I broke down and told Lavender about it and that twit had the audacity to laugh! I see nothing remotely funny about the situation. On top of it all, that repulsive man has been throwing himself into my path.
Oh, that is a bit much I guess. It is just that I see him three or four times a day now that classes have started. I'm an undergrad; there is no logical reason for me to bump into a grad student as often as I do him. If it were not for the fact that I know he despises me as much as I do him I would think he is doing it on purpose. What makes it worst is the way I blush when I see him. He always makes a snide comment about how I should wear more red so that my whole body can match. I never noticed before how very hansom he is. Now I see his razor sharp cheekbones and sexy little smirk whenever I close my eyes. If I end up with bad marks this term it will be due to my persistent daydreams. I must stop this!
I plan on setting up a study date some time next week with Anna Von Steffen. She is my partner in Muggle Etiquette of the Late Middle Ages. I do not see why she is a Muggle Studies major, as she hates them with a passion found only in the Slytherin. I once overheard her tell a friend that the best way to defeat your enemies is to know them, and have always assumed she was explaining her choice in majors when she said it. She is a hard worker though, so I have no real objections to her as a partner.
I take that back, I do have an objection. I just remembered who her boyfriend is. Blaise Zabini. Yuck. I do not care how attractive he is, he has shagged half the school by now. At least Malfoy is discriminating about who he dates. I hardly ever see a take notice with his name in it. Did I just write that? What the devil is wrong with me? I need to finish my homework and catch up on my reading. Hopefully I can get that blondie out of my mind long enough to do it.
~}~}~}@
"Damn her and all other redheads to the seventh circle of hell!" Draco swore into his fireplace. That Weasley was ignoring him. He made a point of showing up around her every chance he got and he was bribing that bimbo Blaise was dating to feed him information as well. There was still no response from her.
Draco frowned as he crossed his room to look out the window. There were students of all shapes and sizes enjoy the last bit of summer of the lawn below him. He searched the shapes in hopes of finding her now familiar one. His scowl deepened when he realized she wasn't there. He pushed away from the window and went back to the parchment on his desk.
His lips curled in a slight smile as he read the hastily penned note from Van Steffen. So she and Virginia were having a study session were they? He raked his mind to find a way to use this get together to his advantage. Finally a thought stuck and a plan began to form. His eyes glowed and a cocky grin was plastered to his face as he started writing furiously.
"She is going to hate me" he cackled.
The first time I really saw him was at a discothèque. True, I had encountered him on a fairly regular basis for going on ten years before that night, but I had never looked beyond the horrid boy I slightly new to the man he had become. Not that I had matured to the point of being able to see past our differences, even I'm not so far gone that I think myself that noble. No, being noble had nothing to do with it. The only way I got past my innate distrust of him was by being tricked into it.
One of my oldest friends sold me out for a mere fifty galleons. He offered and she thought it quite a lark to be paid to play 'the prank of a lifetime' on me. Her words, not mine. She later confessed that she would have done it for free, that the look on my face when I realized who it was I spent the night locked in an all too intimate embrace with was worth much more than money.
I cannot say she was high on my buddy list for some time after that, but once I had come to grips with what had occurred, and finally figured out that what I took for lust was in fact love, she became my closest confidant once more. I guess I have much to thank her for, with out her love of a good jest my feelings for him never would have moved past a petty disdain.
It was my own fault really. I have always known my limits when it comes to liquor, so there is no one to blame but myself when I pass them. On a typical night I never drink more than one and a half pints of hot buttered rum, but that was no typical night. I had recently returned home from a semester abroad and decided to let my hair down. The joy of being on my native soil translated itself into three rums over my normal intake.
More than slightly toasted, I was in no mood to contradict Lavender's suggestion that we visit the local teenaged hot spot. It never even entered my mind to question why a witch who had never had a glimmer of interest in the strange behavior of muggles would suddenly think it the done thing to mix with them. To my inebriated logic, dancing the night away to a form of music I had only briefly heard in my Muggle Studies courses made the prefect end to what had been to that point a pretty boring day. Besides, what was the purpose of celebrating if we did not do something slightly provocative?
Needless to say, we went.
I somehow managed to pour myself into a cab and tried to pay with normal money, completely forgetting that odd paper stuff, when the ride was over. Thankfully, my obviously drunken state was more then enough to cover what would have otherwise been a serious breach in muggle wizard relations. Lavender laughed off my faux pas and we set out on our merry way.
To this day I have no memory of our trip from the cab to the club, and, from the many recounts I have heard of it, I consider that a blessing. Instead of focusing on my dreadful behavior, my memories of that night revolve around him. If I close my eyes I can still see the icy blonde of his hair, slicked back as it ever is, and the piercing cloudy gray of his eyes. He was dressed exquisitely; his perfectly tailored shirt and trousers complemented his body in ways mine never do. When replaying the events of that night I never cease to marvel at how I did not recognize him. Then again, who would have expected to find the famed Draco Malfoy, hater of all things muggle, pressed up against nigh on a hundred them on a smoky dance floor? That which is foremost in my mind is his utter inability to dance. His otherwise graceful body was swaying to and fro with no particular rhyme or reason. His arms were slightly askew, looking for all the world as if he had no idea what to do with them and had plastered them to his sides in a desperate attempt to fit in. his face was contorted with ill concealed panic and he stiffened involuntarily whenever a fellow dancer happened to touch him. It was the only time in my life that I have ever seen him so awkward and out of place.
I like to tell myself that it was his gawky air that lent him such charm, that I was drawn to the vulnerable part of him that I had never before witnessed, but the truth of the matter is that he was just plain sexy. I circled him like a moth does a flame. My desire to be near him had me traveling in ever shrinking lopsided ovals. When I finally did reach him, I tripped over my feet and landed hard against his chest. I tried to say something to smooth over my lapse in poise, but my tongue was stuck behind my teeth and all that came out was a soft grunt of surprise.
He told me later that he had been waiting for my appearance for some time and was in no mood to have me wandering off, so he pulled me firmly into him. We did something that could be classified as dancing for an hour or three before the throbbing beat turned into a pounding headache. I tried to excuse myself, but he was having none of it. He dragged me into the darkest corner that I have ever seen, before or since, and told me to be still while he fetched me a glass of water. After that my memory once again fails me. Sometimes, on a particular sultry night I wake covered in sweat with only the vaguest of images of hot glances and passionate kisses. He says I locked those memories away because I do not want to face the fact that I fell in love with his bedroom skills long before I fell in love with him.
Comments like that are usually accompanied by outrageous eyebrow rising and a swift reply made by a pillow hitting the side of his face. I do not know if I fell in love with him that night. To be honest, I am not too sure when our relationship moved beyond pleasures of the flesh. All I can do is recount the events that lead up to it and hope that the ages will forgive a Weasley for marrying a Malfoy
Chapter One
June fifth, far too early in the morning to be writing Damn insufferable man! I am not quite sure, but I think he is lording something over me. The sheer nerve of that Malfoy! I saw him late last night at a party I thought was restricted to decent people. He was so very coy, dropping all sorts of unsubtle hints that he knew who my mystery man was.
Blast Lavender for spreading around the fact that I don't quite remember who it was that left those vivid red marks I was sporting on my neck last week. Very bad form indeed. One doesn't go blabbing a friend's secrets; it just isn't done. Nearly everyone was buzzing about me having them in the first place; there was absolutely no need to add to the gossip.
Off that subject and back to the more pressing matter: Malfoy told he knew for a fact I had matching marks on my left shoulder and the top side of my right breast. How did that happen? I told no one, repeat no one, about those two gifts. It is bad enough that I let some stranger have access to my neck, just think what would be said about me if it got out that I let said unknown stranger maul less assessable parts of my body? The absolute shame of getting tipsy and going clubbing! I swear I will never over indulge again.
Once again I digress. How did that trice damn Malfoy know about my extra love marks?
June twenty-fifth, slightly past dusk
I'm suppose to be on summer holiday, so why is it that I have seen more of Draco bloody Malfoy in the past two weeks then I have in the school year? That vainglorious little prig had the audacity to smirk at my neck as if he could still see those awful marks when I know full well that they faded on the sixth. Thank God for that spell Hermione taught me.
"Had any memories resurface Weasley?" He asked in that condescending tone of his. All I could do was blush as his slimly friends snickered at me. "Maybe I could be of assistance; I happen to know quite a few memory spells. There is a chance you might find one of them useful." He walked off laughing.
The sheer nerve! As if I would want that man rummaging around in my thoughts. Honestly!
July tenth, half past midnight
I just had The Worst Nightmare Ever! It started out innocently enough. I was at a bar of some sort. I stood all alone on a dance floor that seemed to go on for miles performing Apollo and the Three Muses. Somehow I was dancing all the parts at the same time and was just about to finish when the floor split open and I started to fall. I kept going farther and farther down then, with a jolt, I landed in the most opulent bed I have ever seen. I lay there, enjoying the feel of the silk and satins when I noticed a hand on my bare stomach. With a start I realized that I was not alone in the bed and that both of us were utterly naked.
I could not see who the hand belonged to, but it felt so good that I did not protest. From there things got down right wanton. Then, right in the middle of the best sex my virgin mind could conjure up, the bed was flooded with light. It was so bright that I got spots in my eyes and when they finally started functioning again I got the shock of my life.
I saw who it was that I was letting enjoy my body.
Draco Bloody Malfoy.
Now what sort of a dream is that? The most horrid, rotten nightmare of my life, that's what! I woke up with a scream and just knew I had to write it all down to make sense of it. Give thanks that I never really believed all the dream interpretation stuff to begin with.
June sixteenth, who cares what bloody time it is?
I am in a state of panic. Ayden just rang me up. I knew I should have disconnected my mobile before I came back home. Now I'm in for it. Ayden said he missed me ever so and that he called to tell me he had a surprise for me. He went on and on about how dull things have been since I left and how he just had to see me one more time before the start of the school year. I wasn't paying him much mind, as I was trying to figure out a nice when to get off the phone fast. I started to notice for the first time how very grating his New England accent was and that he was not a very good conversationalist. About the time that I was ready to break off the chat, he hit me with this:
"Ginny darling" he said, his clipped voice oozing with excitement, "I just could not stand another moment without you, so I called up my travel agent and I'm all set to fly to London. Honey, I'll be there in little under a week." He paused and waited for me to say something. "Well, what do you think?" was followed by yet another long silence. "Ginny?" I finally managed to choke something out and got off the phone pronto.
Can you believe it? He is going to be here on the twenty-third! What am I going to do? Goodness, I only went out with him a few times, we didn't even kiss. A muggle is coming all the way here from America to visit me. Mum is going to have kittens!
She was proved right I guess. She said from the start that a student exchange with a muggle University was just asking for trouble. Mum said she did not care how much research I would get done, that living for six months as a muggle could never be considered wise. But I had inherited my father's fascination for all things muggle and could no more pass up the chance to study them in their natural habitat then I could cut off my right hand. So I went. I spent a semester at the University of Chicago, which is the top school in its nation for Sociology. My major, Muggle Studies, was so closely related to Sociology that I had no trouble what so ever fitting in. The whole experience was marvelous. I did everything the way a muggle would. I ate what they eat, I made muggle friends, I even went out on a few dates like any muggle girl my age would. I developed a fondness for ice cold Coronas with a slice of lime and, after much trying, finally figured out how to use their phones. Which brings me back to the matter at hand: How do I tell Ayden that he was simply an experiment? "Sorry mate, but I only wanted to see what passed for dating in the muggle world." Somehow I don't see that working. I guess there is no polite way to tell someone they were just a bit of fun.
I need to talk to Hermione post haste!
~}~}~}@
"She doesn't remember!" Draco flopped onto his bed and closed his eyes in disgust "The most incredible night of my life and she doesn't even remember it." He knew he should forget all about the events of that night; let it slide from his memory into oblivion. He had only done it to win a bet, so it should not be so difficult to turn his mind from it
He had been bragging, in typical Malfoy fashion, about his sexual prowess when one of his many followers simply could not take it any more.
"You talk big Malfoy, but none of us have ever actually seen one of your so called conquests." There was a flurry of agreement from the rest of his listeners; each was a tad bolder then the previous had been. In the end, it was Blaise who blurted out "Why don't you put your money where your mouth is!"
Draco had blanched at the words but held his ground. He had, of course, accepted the challenge, thinking the worst that could be inflicted on him was one of those gangly freshmen with too much lipstick and not enough powder to cover their spots.
He had been wrong.
They picked out Miss Virginia Weasley, freshly returned from some sort of exchange program in the States. He had not seen her in over a year and did not realize that the only female Weasley had finally grown up. Up to that fateful night he still pictured her with her unruly hair pulled back in braids and dirt on her chin.
Who would have thought those six months in a place as inelegant as Chicago would have worked such a miracle? Then again, it was entirely possible that she has changed slowly over the years and it was only her absences that had opened his eyes. In all honesty, he had given her such little thought that he could not say for sure which of the two it was. The only thing he could say with certainty was that the sight of a slightly pissed Virginia had sent his pulse shooting to record heights. Lust swam through his body as thoughts of that night inundated his brain. He shifted uncomfortably on his bed. Miss Virginia Weasley indeed. It was utterly absurd for him to be so taken with her. Of all the twittering girls at the University of Witchcraft and Wizardry, London, he had to fall for the only one to which his family name meant nothing. He winced and corrected that last thought. He would have much better chances with her if his name truly meant nothing. Instead he had to try to find some way around the distrust and outright hatred between their two families. "It really is true that the Gods love a comedy." He said to his empty room, unable to keep the bitterness he felt to himself.
The next time Draco saw her, she was in a complete state of turmoil. She was sitting in a little campus café talking her head off to that vile Hermione Granger. He had not seen that sorry excuse of a witch for going on four years now, and for that he was grateful. He never quite understood why someone so gifted at all things scholarly would opt out of college to join the mind numbing Ministry of Magic. But then, he had never understood a single thing that particular mudblood did. Not that it mattered much. He seemed to recall hearing that Granger was giving a good showing of herself and that, if she kept going in the direction she was headed, she would find herself running the place in no time at all. Pity that. Granger in charge would mean all sorts of radical changes. Best not to think of it at all, he decided. He put his focus back where it should have been, on the delectable Miss Virginia Weasley.
Unfortunately for him, she was so caught up in whatever it was she was rambling about that she did not even hear his nasty little comment he sent her as a welcoming. It was Granger who's back bristled and Granger again who spat back a witty retort. Sadly all his best comebacks were on his lips before he remembered he was trying to court her companion. By the time it occurred to him that maybe he should tone it down some it was far too late for damage control. Blast and damn! He knew wooing Virginia was going to be difficult, but he never thought he would turn her slight dislike of him to full blown disdain so soon into it. When Virginia lashed into him all he could come up with was something tragically lame about her 'big cow eyes' and, along with the tattered remains of his dignity, he gave the idea courtship of all together. Cleary something much more devious was needed to entice her back into his arms.
~}~}~}@
July eighteenth, quarter to ten
I finally got to chat with Hermione. I knew she was busy with work and Ron, but honestly! It took me two whole days to pin her down. What sort of a soon-to-be sister-in-law is she? All my indignant ranting aside, talking things out with her was wonderful. She always seems to have a way to put things into perceptive. Her advice is as follows:
Be an ice queen at all times. Don't let Ayden know where I live and never think to introduce him to my friends. Make it very clear that, while flattered that he would travel so far a distance to see me, I am in no mood for a relationship. I am to play up my need for independence and play down how horribly unsuitable a mate he is. I am to be a perfect hostess and show him all those sites muggles want to see (she gave me a list). When the trip is over I'm to tell him I'll write. Most importantly, I am to disconnect my phone the second he leaves.
Is not she wonderful? I find it simply marvelous to have a big sister to talk to.
The only dark spot on our lovely day was that nasty Draco Malfoy. Just seeing him in flesh after all those steamy dreams was enough to make my face match my hair. He had been eavesdropping on our conversation. I did not even notice him till Hermione started cussing him off. From what she said later he had made a smarmy little comment about how very odd it is that anyone would want me. That prat. I got a few good ones in, but was so confused by his last insult, if one could call it that, that I let him walk off having said the last word. What did he mean by "you have the biggest cow eyes I have ever seen?" That is not an insult. Hermione just stared at him as if he had lost his mind and he sulked off in a huff. For hours after that all I had to do was say 'cow eyes' and Hermione would laugh uncontrollably.
August thirteenth, four twenty-two in the afternoon.
I really do not want to write about this, but I have no choice. I had hoped that my dreams about vile Malfoy would stop. That is not the case. Since I first reported their occurrence they have been coming near nightly. It is ghastly. I broke down and told Lavender about it and that twit had the audacity to laugh! I see nothing remotely funny about the situation. On top of it all, that repulsive man has been throwing himself into my path.
Oh, that is a bit much I guess. It is just that I see him three or four times a day now that classes have started. I'm an undergrad; there is no logical reason for me to bump into a grad student as often as I do him. If it were not for the fact that I know he despises me as much as I do him I would think he is doing it on purpose. What makes it worst is the way I blush when I see him. He always makes a snide comment about how I should wear more red so that my whole body can match. I never noticed before how very hansom he is. Now I see his razor sharp cheekbones and sexy little smirk whenever I close my eyes. If I end up with bad marks this term it will be due to my persistent daydreams. I must stop this!
I plan on setting up a study date some time next week with Anna Von Steffen. She is my partner in Muggle Etiquette of the Late Middle Ages. I do not see why she is a Muggle Studies major, as she hates them with a passion found only in the Slytherin. I once overheard her tell a friend that the best way to defeat your enemies is to know them, and have always assumed she was explaining her choice in majors when she said it. She is a hard worker though, so I have no real objections to her as a partner.
I take that back, I do have an objection. I just remembered who her boyfriend is. Blaise Zabini. Yuck. I do not care how attractive he is, he has shagged half the school by now. At least Malfoy is discriminating about who he dates. I hardly ever see a take notice with his name in it. Did I just write that? What the devil is wrong with me? I need to finish my homework and catch up on my reading. Hopefully I can get that blondie out of my mind long enough to do it.
~}~}~}@
"Damn her and all other redheads to the seventh circle of hell!" Draco swore into his fireplace. That Weasley was ignoring him. He made a point of showing up around her every chance he got and he was bribing that bimbo Blaise was dating to feed him information as well. There was still no response from her.
Draco frowned as he crossed his room to look out the window. There were students of all shapes and sizes enjoy the last bit of summer of the lawn below him. He searched the shapes in hopes of finding her now familiar one. His scowl deepened when he realized she wasn't there. He pushed away from the window and went back to the parchment on his desk.
His lips curled in a slight smile as he read the hastily penned note from Van Steffen. So she and Virginia were having a study session were they? He raked his mind to find a way to use this get together to his advantage. Finally a thought stuck and a plan began to form. His eyes glowed and a cocky grin was plastered to his face as he started writing furiously.
"She is going to hate me" he cackled.