“Well, Weasley, this is a surprise. I didn’t think your parents taught you to read.”

And there he was again, in all his blond, smirking glory. Really, it could be no coincidence that he always chose to assault her in the library with his silly barbs. He seemed to draw a wicked kind of enjoyment from disturbing what little peace and quiet she found, these days, but after all, Draco Malfoy liked nothing so much as jarring people’s orderly thoughts.
She dropped her book an inch so she could glare at him over the edge of her page. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He sauntered past her, skimming his fingers along a row of books that stood tidily on its shelf, picking up volumes here and there, pulling out bookmarks – in all, making a big mess of the place. “I don’t feel like being quiet.”

Ginny huffed, but tried to focus on the page before her. The gentle healing properties of an essence of chamomile must not be forgotten as an antiseptic and antispasmodic in every witch’s household potions kit…
She jumped when the pages suddenly fluttered with a gust of wind, the book was yanked from her hands by an invisible force, slammed shut and dropped on the table with a loud bang.

Malfoy was leaning nonchalantly against a shelf on the opposite side of the room, twirling his wand between his pale fingers. “You’re boring when you read,” he informed her gleefully.

Ginny crossed her arms in front of her chest, glowering at him. He ignored her scowl, deliberately staring at her breasts instead of her face. That bastard! Really, she had no idea why she even put up with him. He was terrible, always had been. Always would be. “Well, I don’t exist for your entertainment.”

“Oh?” he drawled, pushing off the shelf and advancing on her, a glint in his eye that told her trouble was heading her way. Ginny shifted warily in her chair, fighting the urge to go for her wand, which she’d stuck into the messy pile of hair at the back of her head. It’d only make him think he had unnerved her. And he hadn’t. He really hadn’t, and that quiver in her stomach had nothing to do with his presence at all.

He was close now, so close that she had to tilt her head against the back of the chair to look up at him. The light of her candles and the fire in the library’s grate cast a healthy, golden glow over his skin and fair hair, and in spite of his perpetual smirk, he looked very handsome. She made a face at her own thought. A few years ago, finding Malfoy handsome would have been impossible. Things had changed, though. Lots of things. Not that she’d ever tell him that.
“But if you’re not even entertaining, why should I bother with you?”

“You shouldn’t,” she said with mock sweetness. “And yet, you always do. Why’s that, Malfoy?”

“Hmm.” He looked down at her in his arrogant, superior manner. “I don’t know, Weasley. Your relations are abominable…”

“Likewise,” she retorted.

He actually seemed amused at her testy tone. “…But you have a kind of vulgar appeal.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. “I feel very flattered.”

“You should,” he nodded. “I don’t usually waste time on blood traitors.”

“And I don’t waste mine on Death Eaters,” she hissed, lip curled in a perfect imitation of his customary sneer.

He snickered, and even while she was exchanging barbs with him, Ginny felt grateful that all that was behind them now, far enough away that he could laugh about it. “Not even one who saved your life? And that of countless other people?”

She shrugged with feigned disinterest, reaching past him to grab her book once again. He wouldn’t hear gushing praise from her. He was too full of himself already. That was another thing which hadn’t changed and never would. “Because you’re an opportunist, Malfoy. That is all.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Can’t be sure, can you?” He caught her wrist before she could reach the book. Her arm seemed tiny in the loose circle of his fingers, but she was well aware that if she wanted, she could pull away at any time.
She didn’t. Instead, she let him bring her hand up between them slowly, until it was splayed across his stomach, her fingers trapped under his. The warmth of his skin seeped through the white shirt he was wearing, and when she flexed her fingers, muscles jumped beneath her touch.

She peered up at him again with wide brown eyes when she heard him chuckle, and found him watching her. “And yet…” he drawled, and one corner of her mouth curled upwards in response.

“Yes,” she murmured impishly. And then, she yanked him forward by his shirt, so he fell towards her. He gasped, catching his fall with his arms against the back of her chair, and before he could recover, her hands were on his cheeks, and she was sliding her tongue into his mouth.

“You know, you could call that assault,” he muttered when they broke apart, his breath cool against her moist, swollen lips.

“You could,” Ginny nodded, kissing him again. “If you didn’t like it so damn much.”

“What makes you think I like it?” he teased, biting lightly at her lower lip, and with a indelicate grunt, she reached out to cup the bulge in his trousers and squeezed. It was his turn to groan. “Normal reaction,” he rasped, pushing back against her hand as she rubbed her palm up and down his length. “Long day of work, and you’re the first pretty girl I came across…”

He broke off with a strangled moan as she tightened her grip. “Long day, yes,” she said sternly. “What kept you?”

“My father…papers…” With a huff, he dropped his head to her shoulder, resting a bit of his weight against her. She was pushed back into the armchair, and for a moment, she basked in this feeling of delicious languor – the softness of the cushions behind her, the wispy warmth of her silken nightgown, the sleekness of his silvery hair resting against her cheek.

Then, she ceased the motion of her hand, and he made a whining sound of protest. “I hate your father,” she said as she pushed him backwards and stood. His scowl made her grin. “But you’re home now.”

She made quick work of his robe’s fastening, the buttons on his shirt, his belt. Fingers dipping  beneath the waistline of his trousers, she stopped, looking up at him through her lashes. He was much taller than she, but at that moment, with her hand halfway down his underpants, she was the one with all the power. Ginny was far from being an innocent little girl, had been for a very long time, but the feeling still made her lightheaded.

But Draco was never one to yield for long, especially when she was making no move to touch him, save for the fleeting brush of fingertips against his lower belly. Within an instant, his hands came up to touch her, tug at the straps of her nightgown, clumsy with impatience. She giggled. “Here?” she asked coyly.

“You still feel up to apparating to a bed?” The straps slid down her arms, and she felt the lace-trimmed neckline of her nightdress drop an inch, two, under his insistent pulling. “I should rectify that.” The fabric stretched taut over her breasts, scraping her sensitive nipples until she thought she’d go crazy if he didn’t yank it down soon. When he did, he was all over her in a heartbeat, kissing, sucking, and now, it was Ginny’s turn to cling to him and moan incoherently.

“Alright,” she gasped when he sucked one nipple into his mouth. “Here. Now.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t have to open her eyes – she could hear his smirk, feel it against her skin. He never broke contact between them as he lowered her to the floor in front of the fireplace, the carpet warm and soft against her back. Giddy with lust, Ginny wrapped an arm around his head to hold him firmly in place, and let the feelings wash over her.

This was bliss – existing only here, now, and for nothing but pleasure, when thoughts and regrets and memories faded away until they were mere specks at the margin of her awareness. Nothing mattered, with Draco, it never had, and in the beginning, she had thought this a sin – forgetting so easily. But it wasn’t. It was a rare gift, and there was no other way to live, with the wounds they had suffered. This was her whole world.
“Yes,” she breathed, moving against him restlessly.

He chuckled, and she could feel the vibration of his laugh echo through her body. “Such deference. How disappointing.”

His lips left her skin as he talked. Impatient, she arched her back, but he smirked and drew further away, just far enough to hold her down without giving her the touch she needed. With a groan, Ginny struggled against the hands on her shoulders that were pinning her to the floor. He grinned, and she glowered up at him. “Get back to that right now.”

“To what?” he asked innocently.

He was still far too composed, too controlled. She wouldn’t have that. With a wicked smile, she brought up one knee to rub against his crotch.
He gasped sharply, his grip slackening, and Ginny jerked her arms free, wrapped them around him and pulled him down against her for a wild kiss. The feeling of skin against skin was delicious, and she wanted more of it.
They rolled around on the floor, wrapped around each other, unwilling to let go for even a moment as they struggled together to shove down his remaining clothes.

“About damn time,” she growled, one second before he finally slid inside her, and the ferocity of her need, coupled with this sudden fulfilment, almost brought tears to her eyes.
She moved against him urgently, torn between wanting everything at once, and wanting this to last forever. His languid thrusts sent shockwaves through her body, and once again, she struggled beneath him, so he’d move, move, move.

“Patience is a virtue,” he murmured, and faintly, she wondered how he could tease her so terribly and make her body hum with ecstasy all at the same time.

It didn’t matter, how. All she knew was that it was good, so good, and that she never wanted it to change. “Please,” she whispered, close to his ear, as he painted patterns on her bare skin with his lips and tongue and fingers. “Oh, please, Draco.”

He shivered, and with a quick, fluid motion, rolled them over so she was on top of him, free to move at last. She smiled down at him. He would never admit it, but she knew that breathy way of saying his name did him in, always. What they were wasn’t pretence, hadn’t been for a long time – but this, now, was her gift to him still, her embracing the life they led. Him.

Ginny shivered as she sank down on him, feeling his hands all over her, rubbing, teasing. They settled on her hips, and when he pulled her against him, she cried out, the sound echoing off the high walls sharply.
In another life, she might have been less needy, more controlled and proper. Just like she was expected to. But now, she didn’t care about any of that – all Ginny wanted, needed, was to chase that searing, blissful feeling that was spreading out through her body from the pit of her stomach, till she could feel it in her fingertips, even, warm and sparkling and fluttering like a golden snitch, and she was getting closer…closer…

He jerked violently beneath her, eyes squeezed shut and face distorted, and the rush of heat inside her as he came shoved her over the edge, suddenly, unexpectedly in spite of her anticipation, because this was always different, always new. For a moment, she floated in space, weightless – then she was falling, falling, as if over a cliff, but he caught her at the bottom, a pale sliver of light in her darkness.
“Ginny,” he said, so reverently that she thought she must be dreaming, and kissed her.

He was still kissing her when she came back to her senses, awareness slowly flowing back into her body. She was sprawled atop him on the carpet, sticky and sore and sated, breathing heavily. She pulled back and slumped down on his chest, his heartbeat a rapid staccato beneath her cheek, listening to its soothing rhythm till it had slowed down again to a steady thump-thump. From half-closed eyes, she could see his left arm flung to the side, the firelight glinting off the thin ring around his finger, and dancing over the mark just above his wrist. Both tokens of allegiance he had sworn – but that he could wear her ring now, along with his mark, in spite of it, made her fiercely happy. The world was healing. Anything was possible.

His other arm came up around her back, heavy with tiredness, and when she peered at him, she saw that he was already half asleep.

She smiled slightly as she watched him. They were stolen moments now, these quickies in the evenings, just like their relationship had always been – a rush to the head, an explosion of feeling, a spark of fire in the night. Dark times were behind them, but still, Ginny cherished the memories, and kept them locked in her soul with the bright and sparkling, the dark and sinister. This was what they were, and it was good.

“Come on,” she said fondly, before he could fall asleep completely. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He gave the obligatory whine of protest, but stood up nevertheless. After the warmth of the library, the hall felt very cold, and he pulled her into his side when Ginny shivered.
In their bedroom, the flames crackled merrily at a wave of her wand, and while she rummaged through her vast wardrobe for her dressing gown, he disappeared in the adjoining room, leaving the door open for her to follow.

Ginny smiled to herself, ruffling the pillows on the bed and turning down the covers as she crossed the room. Everything was nice and cosy, and only now did she realise how pleasantly tired she was. She snorted softly to herself. She had always liked to think she could handle anything, but living with Draco *and* mothering his baby sons might just push a witch to her limits. Still, never let it be said that Ginny didn’t enjoy a challenge.

“Hey,” she said softly as she entered the nursery, finding the twin boys wide awake in their double bassinet, and gurgling with laughter as Draco leaned over them. She suspected that he pulled funny faces for the babies whenever she wasn’t looking, but so far, she had never been able to catch him at it. “What’s so funny?” she asked, approaching the crib.

He shrugged. “They’re just happy.”

“Yes.” She looked down at the blond babies with satisfaction. They were happy, and they would grow up in a world without war and fear. This was what she had wanted. What she had fought for. Well – perhaps not exactly *this*, but instead of what she had wished for, she had got what she *needed*.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and smiled up at him a little wistfully, and Draco lifted an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

Ginny’s smile broadened to a grin. “That I used to not like you.”

His lips twitched. “And now you do?”

“I didn’t say that,” she protested quickly.

“So you don’t?” he retorted.

“I didn’t say that, either,” she answered sweetly. “You *do* make pretty babies, so you’re not completely useless.”

“Charming, Weasley,” he snapped, but the impact of his sneer had started to weaken a long time ago.

“That’s Mrs Malfoy to you,” she said with a lofty smile, and after a few seconds of trying valiantly to maintain his nasty expression, he broke down and smirked, looking very pleased with himself and the world in general.

“Right,” he drawled, draping his arm loosely around her shoulders. “I forget, sometimes.”  They stared at each other silently for a few moments, and Ginny felt all kinds of silly emotional things at the tip of her tongue that she was going to blurt out, inevitably, if he kept looking at her like this.

Then, one of the babies started to wail, and with a bit of relief, she drew away to lift him out of the crib. Over their son’s downy blond head, she watched Draco watch her, knowing that she couldn’t put off that last moment of truth forever. But, Merlin – for all their acidic wit, they were pathetic when it came to real talking.

Ginny snorted softly. “Mummy loves you,” she murmured against her baby’s chubby little cheek, because saying that was easy, and natural, and expected, and it relieved some of the glorious, beautiful ache in her heart that was growing each day, ready to burst forth in some sort of stupid, breathless, joyful declaration.
But she busied herself with putting the baby back to bed, tucking the blankets around him and his brother, winding up the music box on the windowsill. “We don’t deserve this,” she said softly, looking down at the children, then. “Being so lucky, when so many other people were hurt in the war…”

“We don’t,” he agreed, sidling up to her once again until she felt his body press against her back. “But fortunately, we don’t really like each other, so it’s not too perfect.”

But it was. It was, and one day soon, she would tell him. Without looking back at Draco, she smiled. Never let it be said that Ginny Malfoy was a coward.