This was written for dwellingindreams in The DG Forum Fic Exchange - Summer 2018 by a member of our forum. For more details, please visit our page.
Hello, everyone! This is a Hogwarts-Era AU and it contains mature sexual themes—I'll put a warning in the specific chapter. A huge thank you to my wonderful Beta. This would have been complete shit without her. Enjoy.
Draco Malfoy was having a terrible day.
It was just another universal truth: the sky is blue, Potty stinks, Draco Malfoy was having a terrible day. Simple as that.
It started with an annoying headache the moment he opened his eyes to the green, silk curtains of his four poster bed. When he went looking for a potion to take care of it, he tripped on Pansy's cloak—honestly, the bint was a menace and left all of her things out of place for the elves to take care of. Now, with a considerable bruise on his shin, courtesy of his ruddy settee that he could swear just up and attacked him, he found out he was out of headache potion.
His day got progressively worse from there, and he had half a mind to go back to sleep and beg Merlin to let him start again.
Breakfast was disastrous. Blaise "accidentally" ate all of the french toast, and then he met his father on the way to the Slytherin team's changing room. His father who was apparently having a shitty day too, and had decided to watch the first game of the season with some of the other governors of the Board. Draco knew that it was just a pretence for some kind of politics.
Short conversation with even shorter tempers aside, it was no time at all before he was up in the air. And losing terribly.
One hour into the game and they managed to take down McLaggen—the Gryff's Keeper—with a nicely aimed Bludger to the head. But that was as far as they got.
It didn't matter that Weasel was shaking on top of that thing he called a broom and couldn't save a single shot when he subbed as Keeper.
It didn't matter at all because the She-Weasel seemed to be glued to the bloody Quaffle. Half the time she was scoring on them and the other half she was stealing their passes.
If Draco hadn't been in such a foul mood, he would have been impressed.
It seemed as if the gods or whatever the fuck controlled the sky was sharing his thoughts because the sun hadn't once peaked from between the grey clouds. No sun meant no light to reflect on the Snitch, and no Snitch in sight meant furthering their massacre.
It didn't matter that Pansy liked to call him a Drama Queen—and, really, Queen? He much rather be a Drama King—Draco Malfoy was having a terrible day, and no one could say otherwise.
However, he'd never been the kind of man to sit by and take whatever shitty hand was given to him quietly. Draco prided himself in being cunning and hardworking enough to get what he wanted. The insufferable mudblood got better grades than him? Not for long. Potty was being unreasonable and denying him friendship to side with the King Weasel? Well, Draco would show him.
He couldn't change the weather, though. Nor could he magically get rid of his progressively intense headache or even change this catastrophe of a game's outcome. There was only one thing that could make his day better now and that was to see the look of utter rage on Four Eye's face.
With renewed sense of purpose, Draco passed the teachers' and outsiders' stands and had to suppress a shiver. He could feel his father's annoyed gaze on his back. Lucius apparently had no sympathy for how bad of a day his son was having and must have been hoping Slytherin would win the match. Draco felt a little better just thinking that the almost-guaranteed loss was going to piss his father off.
He was next to Potter in no time and from there on it was as easy as breathing to rile his rival up. One stab at his intelligence here, a word about his mother there, and he was rewarded with the red-faced, rage-filled look he was so used to seeing. All was well in life. A grin—small as it was—even made it on his face before he realised something.
It seemed he had, for the first time in his life, underestimated Potter.
Maybe he had gone a tiny bit too far, or, more probably, Potty was having as bad a day as he was. It didn't matter the reason. The next thing he knew was the idiot's fist connecting with his nose before everything went black.
Ginny Weasley was having a great day.
She had woken up to find her hair surprisingly well-behaved and her usual morning lethargicness nowhere in sight. Her roommates were still their overly-enthusiastic selves, sure, but it hardly mattered because today was the day.
She had finally made Chaser last year after long nights training with the twins' old Cleansweep in secret. All that training had panned out into hard-earned success. But now was the start of a new season and she knew it would be good.
Absolutely nothing could get her mood down.
She headed downstairs already dressed in her Quidditch robes and paused slightly when she entered the Great Hall to search for her friends. Colin's dirty-blond head caught her attention from somewhere in the middle of the Gryffindor table, and she set her course. Before she could go much farther, she felt fingers grabbing hers and pulling lightly. Ginny turned to look at Ritchie Coote.
He was in her year and one of the Beaters for Gryffindor and could actually make her laugh if he tried hard enough, which he often did. His dark skin and chocolate eyes weren't bad on the eyes at all, and he had taken to flirting with her of late.
"Coote," she greeted with a nod and let her fingers linger in his for a moment longer before extracting them.
"Hey, Ginny." He beamed in the way that showed many pearly white teeth and, if she was being honest, always succeeded in blindsiding her for a minute. "Ready for today?"
"You betcha." She winked at him and continued on her way to Colin.
She had admittedly been a bit curt, especially if she wanted something more from him. The thing was, she wasn't exactly sure she did. This was her sixth year; she was supposed to enjoy it with a nice beau on the arm, and Ritchie was kind of cute, but she had a little too much on her plate to be considering anything serious right now. The teachers had decided to pummel them with homework, and she was pretty sure she was failing potions, so dating wasn't exactly something she had in mind.
Besides, after the disaster with Dean, she had learned her lesson. Boys had absolutely no idea how to keep things casual.
The slight dampening to her mood was immediately lifted as she sat down across from Colin and saw him dressed from head to toe in red and gold. Today was Gryffindor's big game against Slytherin, the season opener, and she was ready to crush some snakes.
After a short breakfast, Harry gathered the team and they headed for the changing rooms together. Ginny tied her hair back and tuned out his pep talk. She loved Harry like a brother nowadays, but good Godric, he was terrible at public speaking.
Her story with him was also complicated, to say the least.
When she was in her fourth year, and beyond annoyed that Michael Corner had gone for Cho Chang after she broke up with him, she had—after one too many butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks—fallen into Harry's bed. Her eleven-year-old self had been happy at the time, but she had quickly realised what a huge mistake it had been.
First of all, she'd found out that Harry really wasn't who she wanted. Then there was the whole drama with her brother where Ron hadn't spoken to either of them for nearly a month before the twins intervened. Now, she was happy to shove Harry into the box strictly named 'Brother' and never let her eleven-year-old self make any kind of decision regarding her love life ever again.
Finally, Harry ended his crappy speech and they were up in the air. Ginny found herself grinning as the crowd roared and her blood pumped excitedly. This was it. Right here, she was completely in her element. She didn't have any explanations as to where she got her energy other than that she was having a really good day. She hardly even noticed when McLaggen was hit and her brother took his place. Instead, she intercepted pass after pass from the Slytherin Chasers and scored goal after goal.
The rush was amazing.
Until it all crashed when the crowd screamed and gasped in horror. She turned her head just in time to see the big git Malfoy blacking out from Harry's punch and sliding off his broom.
Time seemed to slow, allowing Ginny to make a couple of assessments. The first one being that she hadn't known Harry could throw a punch like that. The second, and arguably the most important, was that the Great White Ferret was falling to his death and, as the seconds ticked by, it became obvious that she was the only one close enough to do anything about it. So she did.
She barely had to think before her arm shot out and grabbed him by the back of his robes. The extra weight pulled her broom closer to the ground, but she kept her thigh muscles tight around the wood and used both hands to stabilise him. The descent was slowed as the crowd applauded her for her heroism.
Time sped faster after that. The teachers were already converging on the pitch with Madam Pomfrey in the centre and some other adults she didn't know in the back. Everyone was rushing by and then Malfoy was levitated back to the castle. The game continued. Slytherin's reserve Seeker made a fool of himself and Harry quickly caught the Snitch. There was barely any applause, though, and what was supposed to be a great match ended up giving Ginny a bad taste in her mouth.
There were a few things Draco noticed when he came to. First was his father. Lucius was standing near the foot of his bed and looked pissed. The second thing was that he was in the Hospital Wing. Nowhere else had that particular smell of health potions and cleaning spells. The third and last thing he noticed was that the headache he'd been complaining about was infinitely worse and, by then, that was the only thing he could focus on.
"Fuck." His hand met his head and felt around his still tender nose.
Madam Pomfrey was immediately on him, forcing terrible tasting potions down his throat and waving her wand around his nose. When his headache got a little better, he was able to hear the conversation going on.
"I demand the boy be properly punished."
"Come now, Lucius. Mr. Potter has already been given detentions," the headmaster responded.
"He should be tried for assault," a pompous voice called from behind his father, and Draco guessed it was from one of the more brownnosing members of the Board.
"Ah, but that would be the same thing as to assume that Mr. Malfoy didn't provoke Mr. Potter," the headmaster said, showing off his typical favouritism for Potter.
"Potter showed complete disregard for my son's life, Headmaster. The least that should be done is to strip him of his captaincy."
Draco knew that tone of voice. It was the same one his father used to discipline him and it still left him feeling chastised even if it hadn't been directed at him.
"Very well, Lucius. Although, you should know that I can't let Draco go unpunished. It would set a bad example for the rest of the students. It was clear that Harry had been provoked.
"What kind of punishment do you have in mind, Headmaster?"
"A month of detentions should do it."
Draco knew that his father was getting progressively pissed. Normally, he would have gladly sat back and watched the spectacle unfold, but today he was just not in the mood. Madam Pomfrey was still working on his nose, his headache hadn't gone away, and he just didn't want to deal with his father's manipulating right now. So he intervened.
"A month sounds appropriate, Professor." He cleared his throat and looked around the fat figure of the school's nurse to the old man. "I must apologise for my behaviour. It was most unfitting of a Head Boy and team captain. I will take whatever punishment you see fit."
The words were polite, but they were also a reminder to his father of his accomplishments. That he was still coming out of this on top never hurt either.
His father frowned at him as Madam Pomfrey finished her work and began clean up duty. Lucius looked well and truly pissed and it made Draco hesitant for a second. But one thing he'd learned from his father was how important connections were. So what if his father always said Dumbledore was an old coot who should be retired. The reality was that this old coot was the headmaster and Head of the Wizengamot, and if Draco wanted to intern as secretary for the Minister of Magic that summer, he had to suck it up and endure the old fartbag.
"Ah, Draco," The old man looked at him from above his half-moon spectacles. "It's good to see you've awakened."
"A month of detentions is completely out of proportion. My son already has a broken nose; there is absolutely no need for such a stain on his records."
Well, no one could say his father gave up easily.
"Very well," the headmaster began, and Draco suddenly felt uneasy to see that particular gleam in the professor's eyes. "Perhaps we can come to an agreement."
"I'm listening." His father motioned impatiently with his gloved hand.
"There is a sixth-year student in need of tutoring for Potions who could benefit from young Mr. Malfoy's help in the subject."
Draco barely had to think this through. It would prevent a month's worth of detentions from showing up on his records when he applied for the internship and even possibly increase his chances of getting in. Tutoring was good to have on your CV, right? Kind of like charity and shit?
He spoke up before his father could.
"That is a great idea, Professor. Thank you for this opportunity." He met his father's gaze but had to lower his eyes when he saw the flicker of annoyance. His eyes met the Headmaster's instead and that gave him pause.
The almost mischievous glint he saw in the old coot's eyes was enough to send a shiver of apprehension down his spine. What had he gotten himself into?
Ginny looked at the spiral stairs behind the gargoyle worriedly. The last time she'd been in the Headmaster's office was in her first year after she blackmailed the twins into letting her into one of their more malicious pranks. She'd ran as fast as she could when they had heard Filch approaching, but in the end Mrs. Norris had found her hiding place. She thought she had done a good job of playing it off and ending up with only a detention for being out past curfew.
Ginny had learned a valuable lesson that day, and that was to never get caught again.
Today she felt irrational fear as she set up the steps. Maybe this was about that prank against McLaggen last week? It wasn't her fault he was being a troll and needed to be taught a lesson. But no, she had made sure that particular incident couldn't be traced back to her, and surely the Headmaster had better things to worry about that Saturday.
Harry had punched Malfoy straight off his broom. And she knew Malfoy's dad had been in school earlier that day. She frowned when she thought about how much he could make Harry's life a living hell, even with all the influence her friend had. It was no use to ponder on it any longer, though. She'd arrived.
"Ah, Ms. Weasley. Glad you could make it," Professor Dumbledore said, as if he hadn't basically ordered her to his office.
He was sitting on the plush chair behind the large mahogany table with his hands crossed on top of it. And Professor McGonagall was there next to him. Ginny inwardly began to go through all the reasons for both her headmaster and head of house wanting to speak to her.
"Professor…" She tried to muster some courage to give them a polite response, but only managed a short nod of acknowledgement.
"Lemon drop?" he offered with a casual swing of his hand towards a crystal recipient full of yellow candy.
"Uh, no." Ginny stared at the old professors with wide eyes before rushing to finish. "Thank you, Professor."
"You must be wondering why you were called here today." He looked at her over his half-moon spectacles with a benign smile that calmed some of her nerves.
Ginny didn't have time to reply because, apparently, Professor McGonagall couldn't take too much of small talk.
"Mr. Potter got stripped of his captaincy this morning and barely kept his position as Seeker." She looked out the window, frowning in the direction of the pitch. "And got a month's worth of detentions, of course."
Ginny's eyebrows climbed up her forehead. "Harry got demoted?" She shook her head slightly. "Does that mean McLaggen is captain now?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The team would be fine in his hands, but that didn't mean she liked the jerk.
"Not exactly, Ms. Weasley," the headmaster said with a small smile. "We were, in fact, considering you for the role."
This was everything she'd ever hoped to hear, but she had figured it probably wouldn't happen until her last year. There were other players who had seniority over her, even if they didn't surpass her in skill. She couldn't believe this was happening.
"Yes, Ms. Weasley. You." Professor Dumbledore chuckled under his breath before he crushed her hopes. "The only condition is for you to have passing grades in Potions. From what I hear from Professor Slughorn, you are almost failing the subject."
"But, Professor," Ginny pleaded, "I don't think I'm going to take my N.E.W.T.s for Potions. I don't even need it if I'm going to be in the Harpies!"
"Very well," the old man said, lifting her spirits completely before crushing them yet again. "If being captain isn't that important to you, I will give the position to Mr. McLaggen. Perhaps I should reconsider things and take you off the team entirely. Surely the extra time would do your grades some good."
"Professor, you can't!" Ginny was flabbergasted. Never in all her life would she have imagined herself in this situation. One look at the raised eyebrow of her headmaster told her he wasn't kidding. "All right! Fine, I'll get my grades up."
"Wonderful, Ms. Weasley! Truly wonderful." The old man clapped his hands together, and she could barely refrain herself from glaring at him. "Your tutor will be Draco Malfoy. You are to meet him this Monday after dinner in Dungeon Five and once more this week. The tutoring should happen for two hours, twice a week. I'm sure the both of you can arrange some time that is convenient for you both."
Ginny couldn't form a single sentence. Scratch that, she couldn't form a single sentence that didn't contain one curse word. Or seven. What had she ever done to deserve this? She almost called the whole thing off and gave up, but she couldn't give up Quidditch. It was her life. Ever since she was a little girl, she knew she wanted to be like Gwenog Jones. She knew she could make it to the Holyhead Harpies.
"Are you sure you can't assign me another tutor?" She knew she was grasping at straws. "Harry?" She cringed even before the name was out of her mouth.
"Very well now, Ms. Weasley. Off you go. I have another appointment with a student who'll be here anytime now."
Apparently her question wasn't even worthy of a reply. Fighting back a monumental sigh, Ginny got up and moved to the exit before her temper got the best of her. Or worse. Before she cried.
When she was about to descend the stairs, she accidentally bumped into someone coming up. "Oops, sorry," she said, steadying herself on strong arms.
She had half a second to recognise Draco Malfoy before he seemed to do the same and instantly sneered at her.
"Watch it, Weasel." He let her go so abruptly she almost lost her balance again.
"Hey, you should be thanking me, not being your usual gittish self, Ferret."
"Thank you for almost head butting me down the stairs?" He raised an incredulous eyebrow at her.
Ginny stared bewildered at him. "No one told you?"
"No one told me what?" Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I don't have time for this." He moved past her, but she didn't let him go any further.
"I caught you before you fell today." She saw him pause with his back still to her. "You wouldn't be alive if it weren't for me."
It was with great pleasure that she saw his shoulders tense. Pureblood tradition dictated that he now owed her a life debt. Her family wasn't exactly all into tradition, but his definitely was. That would teach him.
He turned his face towards her so she could see his aristocratic profile and the mocking smirk gracing his lips. "Do you want a medal for that?"
And with that he was gone.
He entered Dumbledore's office, leaving her with an open mouth in disbelief. What an arsehole! With an angry huff, she turned away from the door and started making her way back to the pitch. She needed to work off some steam.
At first, Draco had thought that tutoring was not exactly a great idea—he wouldn't go that far—but maybe a not so bad one. He could keep a month's worth of detentions off his records, which was great. He also escaped the fate of having almost every Saturday occupied, which would have been absolute hell. Almost all the parties at Hogwarts were on Saturdays, and Draco was sure the old coot knew that.
There was even a bonus of having tutoring written down on his curriculum vitae; it surely couldn't hurt when applying for the undersecretary internship.
He had been wrong. It was bad and it did hurt. It was worse than he could have possibly imagined because the old fartbag had given him Ginny Weasley as a student. They had to meet twice every week and the redheaded heathen had to have passing grades come the midterms in late January. That meant two whole months with her. Detentions were sounding like heaven.
He didn't have much to say about the stupid bint other than that she was a stupid Gryffindor with far too many freckles and far too little influence in society. That is, if you didn't count the whole stupid Order of the Phoenix bullshit. Which he certainly didn't.
He didn't know much about her, but one thing he did know. She was the Weasley Git's baby sister, and that alone was enough to make him hate her.
With a great sigh, Draco reclined against the headrest of the tub in his private Head Boy quarters.
Her last parting words were troubling. If it was true and she had indeed saved him from the fall, then he was indebted to her. A life debt. The kind that was branded into his magic and hers, and also the kind he couldn't ignore.
He needed to find out if it was true. He needed to find someone to tell him what exactly had happened. But that could wait until he finished his bath.
It was true.
According to Blaise, he'd gotten knocked out cold and if it hadn't been for the Chaser who'd been strategically positioned beneath them, he would be dead.
Now, he didn't know the exact specifics regarding life debts and neither did he want to research that. What he did know was that the least he could do was to not antagonise her and to actually have something prepared to teach her come Monday.
And that's what he did.
Draco spent the rest of his Saturday going through last year's notes and familiarising himself with the sixth-year curriculum again. It was all ridiculously simple to him, but he guessed not everyone else had the same genes.
By the time Monday came, he wasn't any more ready to have to spend two hours with the younger girl, but he had at least gotten his resentment under control. Mostly.
He had dinner as slowly as he could, even going as far as to enthusiastically engage in the conversation going on around him. Before long, it was time to go, so he turned to Pansy.
"All right, love." He kissed her on the lips and was glad that it got her to stop talking. "I have to go now. See you tomorrow."He left before she could say anything else.
He went down the familiar path to the dungeons, but instead of turning left to go to his rooms, he turned right. At the end of the hall was Dungeon Five. The classroom had been where he'd found his passion in Potions. It was in his third year, back when Professor Snape was still a teacher before the older man had retired.
The good thing about the classroom was that, despite it often being dirty from where the first to third years practiced, there was an unused office connected to it. Draco gingerly crossed the stained floor to where the other door in the room was and entered, leaving both doors open so Weasley could see him when she came in.
His nose wrinkled in disgust at the sight that met him. The whole floor was filled with dust and the ceiling with cobwebs. There was a sofa on the far left that he reckoned used to be Slytherin green, a settee next to it, and across from both a desk. All of which were suspiciously clean.
He narrowed his eyes. He'd never used this particular room for these kind of activities, but he knew what it meant. This was a hookup spot. Just his luck.
With an annoyed huff and an agitated hand running through his platinum-blond hair, Draco made his way towards the chair behind the desk and sat down. He figured that was the safest place. He turned around almost lazily and set the fire going in the fireplace before crossing his hands over his stomach and preparing to wait.
And wait he did.
It must have been at least fifteen minutes before he gave up any pretence at patience and got up to pace around the room. She was making him wait. When he was about to give up and go to his rooms, he heard footsteps coming closer. Ginny Weasley entered the office.
"You're late," he ground through his teeth while giving her his best glower.
It appeared that she wasn't the kind of girl to take any shit, because she immediately glared right back at him. "I'm not late."
"Yes, you are. Professor Dumbledore clearly said that we were to meet here after dinner."
"Dinner isn't over yet." She looked at him as if he was crazy.
Oh. Well. In that case.
"It's common courtesy to arrive at least ten minutes before a set time." He looked down his nose at her.
"Which I did." She rolled her brown eyes. "Not that you deserve any type of courtesy, but it's still fifteen minutes before dinner ends."
He actually had no response. Not that he would ever admit it, so he just sniffed and returned to his safe chair. Draco watched her as she looked around the room and wrinkled her nose just as he had before.
"This place is nasty."
And with simple waves of her wand, all the dust and cobwebs vanished.
"How did you do that?" He tried to hide the astonishment in his voice and was quite happy that he succeeded.
"It's just a simple Scourgify." She frowned at him. "Have you never done a cleaning spell in your life?"
Draco scoffed. "That's what house-elves are for." He was amused by the weird face she made at him, but his features remained stoic as ever. "Maybe you should clean those too." He pointed towards the furniture he had avoided earlier.
"I'm not your servant," she snapped, and Draco rolled his eyes.
"Clearly." He shrugged at her angry huff. "Suit yourself. I'm not the one that'll have to indirectly come into contact with other people's arses."
"What?" she asked him blankly.
"Look around you." A smirk crawled up his face. "The only previously clean things in the room were this table, the sofa and the settee." When she continued to look at him with the same blank expression on her face, he huffed annoyedly. "Come on, don't tell me you're a prude."
Weasley's face contorted in horror as she finally realised to what he was alluding. "You mean, this—ugh."
Her nose wrinkled again and she even shook her head a bit. Draco found himself fighting back a laugh. Even though he had decided that he would treat her civilly, it didn't mean he would give her any familiarity.
The girl used her wand to clean everything at least twice before she sat down in the chair opposite him with a very unladylike huff that made the tiny strands that had fallen free from her ponytail bounce. Draco pretended he hadn't been staring at her and dug out his old notes.
"Here is everything I have on sixth-year Potions."
Weasley raised an eyebrow at the not at all impressive amount of parchment in his hands. "That's it?" she asked suspiciously.
The nerve of her.
"Yes, that's it. Read it, study it, and if you have any questions, don't ask me."
There. He figured that was civil enough, right? He had managed not to make any comments on how ridiculously easy Potions was. With that, he dug out his Transfiguration homework and proceeded to ignore her for the next hour. Until he finally had enough of her sighs, that is.
"What, Weasley?" He scowled at his half-written essay.
"This isn't working." She dropped his notes carelessly on the desk. "It doesn't make sense for teachers to ask us to do this ridiculously difficult potion that nobody can actually do right! What is even the point of this shit?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "The point isn't to get it right. It's to familiarise students with different types of procedures."
"Why doesn't he just ask us to do the ingredients preparation and be done with it?" She frowned at him, her brown eyes reflecting her frustration like an open book.
"I reckon Slughorn thinks it's supposed to show us the intricacies of potion making." Draco shrugged. "Besides, the only potion he actually asks you to make in the first term is the Draught of Living Death. Wait until you get to poisons. Then you'll have a hard time."
And with that he was done with chit chat and went back to his homework. It wasn't even a full minute, however, before another sigh came from the other side of the desk.
Draco took a deep breath and gave the redhead a bored look. "Study the ingredients and how they react, Weasley. The rest will come much easier if you know that by heart."
He pretended not to watch as she scoured her book and frowned unhappily.
"There isn't anything about the ingredients in this," she complained.
Draco hummed in response and waited for her annoyed huff before saying anything. "There's a book in the library called Magical Ingredients by Arsenius Jigger. He's the one who wrote the textbook we used in our first year and is a much better writer than the baboon who wrote our sixth and seventh-year books." Draco took a deep breath and gathered all the patience he had. "Bring it the next time we meet and I'll walk you through it."
She-Weasel looked at him half in incredulity and half in relief. Draco noticed for the first time that her uniform tie was missing and the top few buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned. The skin revealed was surprisingly captivating to look at except for the tiny spot he found there. He was shaken out of his thoughts when he realised she was nodding.
"Okay." She bit the inside of her lower lip. "I have a free period Wednesday after lunch."
Draco scowled a bit at how she said it. It sounded too much like they were simply setting up a time to see each other and not like they had been practically forced into this. It was no use getting worked up over it, though, so he decided to let it go.
"Me too, but I have Quidditch practice. Thursday after dinner?"
"That's when the pitch is booked for my team." Weasley shook her head at him. "Friday, then?"
Draco fought a wince. Pansy usually spent Friday nights in his dorm with him and she didn't take well to having her plans cancelled. He knew it had to be Friday, though, because otherwise they would have to meet on the weekend, and that was something he did not want to ever happen.
"Fine." He got up and started putting his stuff back in his Italian leather messenger bag. "Keep the notes for now, but I want them back in one piece when this is over."
He didn't wait for her reply and simply left the classroom without a backwards glance.
Steph's Prompt #2
Basic premise:Sixth-year Ginny Weasley must raise her potions grade or be suspended from the quidditch team. Draco Malfoy is her tutor.
Must haves:loads of snark and sexual tension, enemies to lovers
No-no's:extreme ooc, Ginny being a total harpy (and I don't mean the pro quidditch kind)
Bonus points:Ron blustering about a Malfoy tutoring his baby sister, and Ginny defending Draco (even though she's just as unhappy about it as Ron)