Here take mine.
Just mucking about in other people's sandboxes. I promise to put them back like I found them when I am done.Author's Notes:
Written for Papervalentine
for the 2006 DG_Smutakkah
There were two main inspirations for this fic, above and beyond the requests. Of late, I had been complaining about the lack of smut fics that portrayed couples that had been together for a while. First times are great to write and read, but there is something particularly hot about the interactions when characters have had years to get to know each other and learn their way around each other. Also, more mature couples face very different and frankly adult sorts of challenges missing from so much young love fic.
Secondly, author Jonathan Carroll has an online blog and every now and again he posts something that really makes me stop and think. He recently posted a list of phrases and asked when the last time was you said them and genuinely meant it. His list appears here as the chapter titles/themes for each section. Interesting to think when YOU last said these with sincerity. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ I. Here take mine.
She’d only been awake for two hours and had already diverted twelve potential disasters. There were lost socks, an escaped toad, mislaid books and two fights that had ended with her youngest wailing, tears streaming down her face. Twelve near disasters and they hadn’t even made it down to breakfast yet.
Pulling her daughter’s silky blonde hair back into a neat ponytail, Ginny was mentally checking off everything they’d just packed into her trunk against the list provided, as well as her own list of what was needed.
“What if I’ve forgotten something?” Mirabelle asked, obviously thinking the same thing, her mouth twisting down into a worried frown.
“Don’t fret, sweetness. We can always owl along anything you’ve left.”
Ginny hastily tied the ribbon into a neat bow and sent Mirabelle scooting with a light pat on her rear. “Now get downstairs and get some breakfast in you before it’s time to go.”
Watching her youngest happily skip away, worries forgotten, Ginny fought back tears.
She knew this was going to be hard, but now that the day was actually here she wasn’t at all ready to see both her children head off to a new year at Hogwarts.
Peeking in on her son, she found him lost in a comic book. “Albin Wynn Malfoy – I told you to pack that and get downstairs twenty minutes ago. Now, young man!”
He sighed and tossed the book into the open trunk at his feet. “Yes, Mother.”
She swore he was getting sulkier with every passing day. It was like there was some magic switch that had flipped on his fourteenth birthday, and now the ‘rules of cool’ required he say as little as possible to his family members and mumble the few responses he did give.
“I’ve already charmed both yours and Mirabelle’s trunks. Can you see they get downstairs and to the front door?”
His head, usually pointed at the floor lest he accidentally make eye contact, shot upward. “You want me to do magic outside school?”
She hid a smile at the sudden light in his eyes. “Just this once. Besides, it’s not very much magic so I think it’ll be okay.”
Her usually sedentary son was suddenly a whirlwind of activity, throwing a few last items into his trunk and readying his wand.
She enjoyed this rare moment, Wynn too excited to bother pretending he wasn’t, and she wondered how much longer she’d see even these little hints of boyish glee.
She headed downstairs to see how Mirabelle was getting along, hoping to actually find her daughter eating something.
Draco was, as usual, hidden behind his morning paper and Mirabelle was dutifully working on her plate.
“Tell me about the boats again, Daddy,” she said around a mouthful of grilled tomato. “Are they awfully dangerous?”
Before he could answer, she had already moved on to a million other questions. “What if I get lost? What if none of my housemates like me? Are the ghosts really scary?”
Draco lowered a corner of his paper to smile indulgently at her. “You’ll be just fine, half-pint. By the time the train leaves the station, you’ll have a dozen friends and have forgotten all about your mother and I.”
Her eyes got wide. “Oh no, I would never do that!”
He smirked a little at her terribly earnest reply and went back to his reading, taking his cup of tea with him behind the paper.
Mirabelle chewed in silence for a few moments, but soon returned to her happy chatter. “Do you think I’ll be in Slytherin like you and Wynn or Gryffindor like Mummy? What if - What if get sorted into Hufflepuff
Wynn skulked into the kitchen, snatching a sausage from his sister’s plate. “Wouldn’t worry about it. The brains end up in Ravenclaw, the wannabe heroes in Gryffindor and all the really good sorts in Slytherin. You only end up in Hufflepuff if you’re rubbish at studies, not very brave or not very quick…you know, not good at much of anything. Oh wait – I guess you probably will
end up a Huffle…”
“Wynn!” Ginny and Draco snapped at the same time.
“Stop trying to scare your sister,” Draco growled, dropping the paper to his lap and fixing his son with a warning glare.
Wynn just shrugged and resumed shoveling his breakfast into his mouth.
With a sigh, their father rose from the table. “Both of you hurry and finish your breakfast. I’m going to go check on the hired car. We’re leaving in ten minutes – no exceptions.”
The damage, however, was already done and Mirabelle’s eyes were suspiciously bright. One fat tear rolled down her cheek and Wynn had the good grace to look somewhat sorry.
“Geez, I was only kidding. Learn to take a joke, sis.” He patted his sister awkwardly on the shoulder, but she pushed his hand away, her elbow knocking over her glass of juice in the process.
Most of it sloshed onto the plate holding her toast and she looked like she might start crying again at her now ruined breakfast.
Wynn headed her off, shoving his toast at her.
“Here, take mine.”~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
The first time Ginny had ever seen Draco Malfoy was at Flourish and Blotts before her first year at Hogwarts had even begun. She was eleven.
The first time she saw Draco Malfoy and didn’t immediately think that he was an arrogant, spoiled prat with a ridiculously over inflated opinion of himself wasn’t until many years later.
She had squirreled herself away in a back corner of the library and was desperately trying to finish an essay for Potions she’d put off for way too long. She was trying to think of all of the possible uses for powdered horn of Graphorn and, after much brain-wracking, had come up with no less than sixteen.
Four inches of parchment later, she described the last with a sigh of relief. However, she was a little too exuberant in tapping a period onto the end of the sentence and she felt her quill tip give way with a crack.
“No, no, NO! Of all the piss poor timing…”
She wiggled the broken end, trying to figure out if would be better to keep on with the wobbly tip or just make a new break and hope the edge left would be sharp enough for her to scratch out the other five inches about the pros and cons of using Graphorn she needed.
The quandary was soon solved as she pressed a little too hard and the tip snapped off. The rest of the quill had a split up one side and would never work well enough for her to continue.
She didn’t have another quill with her and now she was going to have to pack up and trek all the way back to the tower to finish this, which meant she wasn’t going to finish at all since the Gryffindor Girls’ rooms were the absolutely number one in gossip and hair braiding fun but somewhat less known for being a good place to actually get anything done.
She tossed it aside angrily. “Shite.”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
She turned, a snappy reply ready until she saw who had snuck up on her.
He smirked a little, but it was a rather poor imitation of his usual smirks, which tended to make one feel like they were a bit of slug stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Pretty language for a lady…”
Ginny grimaced. “I’m not a lady – I am a soon-to-be-dead Potions student.”
“Well, can’t have that. Quite enough people are dead already.” The last was said with a sort of bitter sadness and it occurred to Ginny that she wasn’t aware Draco Malfoy could even feel regret or, you know, any of the usual sorts of human emotions.
He rummaged through his bag. “Here, take mine.”
She looked at the offered quill as if were about to turn and bite her at any moment.
When she made no move to take it, he set it down on the table with a scowl and turned to go.
Her manners took over, in spite of herself. “Err, thanks. I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “No need. Just try not to become Professor Ellsway’s latest victim.”
And he left, leaving her to lose another twenty minutes that should have been used to finish her essay, but were instead used wondering just who had hexed Draco Malfoy into acting like a real boy and what she should send by way of a thank you.
If there were another ten minutes used contemplating the rather startling fact that said Draco Malfoy was not half-bad looking when he wasn’t sneering at all and sundry, well, Ginny didn’t have time to think too hard about that fact.
She had an essay to finish.End Part I of VII.