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December 13th, 2007—Septemvri, Bulgaria
Ginny Weasley raced through the train station, Draco Malfoy hot on her heels, cursing under his breath.
“Damn it, Weasley, you said 8:15—”
“I know, I know, I know!” She didn’t dare say more now; she needed to use all of her lung power for running. She and Malfoy both knew she had read the timetable wrong, and there was no point arguing about it now. If they could run just a little bit faster—
All around them, curious Muggles stared as they bolted for the platform, and Ginny silently thanked Celestina Roberts, their supervisor at the Department of Mysteries, for insisting that they go disguised for this assignment. She could only imagine what kind of scene they would be making if they weren’t in Muggle clothes…
The train horn blared, and Ginny’s heart plummeted into her stomach as she saw the distant train doors begin to slide closed.
“Wait! Wait!”
She didn’t know why she said anything. The train conductor obviously couldn’t hear her. She and Malfoy picked up speed, sprinting for the door. For one impossible moment, she thought they actually might make it—Malfoy got so close that he was actually able to press his hand to the window glass, but the doors clicked shut, and after a moment, the train began to slide away.
“Well. That’s that then,” Malfoy said flatly, dropping his hand down to his side. “Bloody well done on that one.”
“I said… I was sorry…” Ginny panted, her hands on her thighs as she tried in vain to catch her breath. Her face was flushed, and she knew it wasn’t only from exertion. “Maybe we can Apparate on.”
“Did you see how packed those train cars were? We’d be seen without a doubt, and that’s before contending with Apparating onto a moving train.”
Ginny grimaced, the reality of their situation settling in. They couldn’t Apparate onto the train, and they couldn’t Apparate to their destination, deep in the Rhodope Mountains, as they had never been there before and, given the nature of the strange magical activity they were investigating, needed to be stealthy with their arrival. They had no Portkey, and seeing as the Bulgarian wizarding government wasn’t strictly aware of any British presence here, it would be foolish to try to create an unauthorized one and thus risk Auror interception. And as for flying… well, the weather had decided that part for them.
“Come on,” Malfoy said with a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s go see if there’s another one scheduled.”
Sheepishly, Ginny followed behind him as he approached the ticketing booth.
“Er. Zdraveyte,” he said to the stern-looking man behind the counter, and proceeded to ask, in very broken Bulgarian and with much pointing, about another train route headed to Bansko, the town closest to their ultimate destination.
The station employee was having none of it. He yanked a laminated sheet of paper off of the wall next to him and slapped it down on the ticket counter in front of Ginny and Malfoy, pointing at the timetables.
“8:15 is last train,” he said in English, his accent quite thick. “Come back tomorrow.”
Fuck. Celestina’s going to kill me.
“Thanks,” Malfoy said, not bothering to try to answer in Bulgarian before grabbing Ginny’s arm and pulling her away from the counter.
“Hey! Let go!”
Malfoy did, though he kept walking toward the exit. Ginny huffed in annoyance before jogging to catch up to him.
“Well, what are we going to do now?” she asked. “Just… look for somewhere to stay the night? Even if I had my broom, I don’t think I could make it all the way to—”
“It’s generally ill-advised to fly out into an upcoming blizzard, I agree,” Malfoy interrupted as he opened the train station door, glancing up at the darkened sky. “Come on. Let’s look for a hotel or something.”
Ginny followed him out onto the snowy street, pulling her coat tighter around her and resisting the urge to defend herself about misreading the train’s timetable. She had already said she was sorry—thus admitting it had been her fault. But Celestina already thought Ginny was incompetent… If word got back to her that missing the train had been Ginny’s fault, she might even be facing an inquiry once they made it back to London.
Fucking hell. This can hardly get any worse…
Not least because she was stranded here with Draco Malfoy of all people.
Keeping her eyes deliberately away from her mission partner, Ginny looked around at the buildings on this street, looking for any obvious signs of a hotel. In spite of herself, she smiled as she took in the sights. It really was a charming little town; twinkling Christmas lights lined the windows and roof lines, complementing the warm glow from the shops’ displays. Bright white snow covered the roofs and lined the street, and though it was bitterly cold, Ginny couldn’t help but feel a sense of coziness as they walked past what she thought was probably a bakery.
“Train doesn’t leave till ten tomorrow. We can stop here before if you want,” Malfoy said, noting her interest in the now-closed bakery.
“Oh. Uh—yeah, that’d be good.”
Merlin, Ginny…
What was it that Mum said? Just because you felt awkward, didn’t mean you were awkward? Normally, that was a comforting thought. This time, however, Ginny was sure it wasn’t true.
Memories of the Ministry’s Halloween party flashed in her mind, making her cheeks flush crimson. Why the hell had she gotten so drunk? And in front of Malfoy of all people…
“Now I know my Bulgarian is a little rusty, but what do you think the odds are that this is a hotel?”
Malfoy had stopped walking, and Ginny, distracted by her own embarrassment, nearly walked into him. She stumbled, catching herself, and looked up at the sign Malfoy was pointing at. It was a carved, wooden sign hanging out over the pavement; words were etched in Cyrillic lettering, but beneath the letters was a carved image of a bed and a cup of steaming tea.
“Looks like it,” Ginny said, suddenly eager to head to bed for the evening—to hide under the covers and not come out until morning. “Let’s try.”
Malfoy opened the door, and a little bell twinkled, announcing their arrival.
“Oh, dobre doshli! Nastanyavate li se za noshtta?”
An older woman who looked like she could be Mrs. Claus herself greeted them with a smile, and Malfoy approached the front desk, allowing Ginny a moment to take in the space. She felt as though she had entered a log cabin, like she might find far up in the mountains. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all made of wood, though the ceiling in this room had to be twenty feet tall. It was vaulted, with thick wooden beams running across it, and around each of the beams was garland interlaced with twinkling Christmas lights. To the left of the front door sat an enormous Christmas tree, covered in tinsel and lights and ornaments, its warm glow reflecting back in the large window looking out on the street behind them. A deep red velvet tree skirt stretched out from the bottom of the tree, lined in white fur.
“Oh, English!” Ginny heard the woman say to Malfoy, and she fought back a smirk. She wasn’t the only one who had been overconfident about this mission apparently.
“Er. Yes. Sorry—could we please rent two rooms—”
“Suite? You want suite?”
“Uh—”
“Suite is open. I give for you—is better. You ski?”
“I… sorry, what?”
Ginny turned to look at the woman, who was looking a tad impatiently at Malfoy.
“You ski? The mountain. Ski.” She mimed skiing, as though Malfoy might not know what it was, and Ginny did laugh then. Malfoy’s pale cheeks became tinged with pink.
“We don’t—”
“Yes,” Ginny interrupted, hurrying over to stand next to Malfoy. “We’re here on holiday. To ski.”
Come on, Malfoy—why else would two Brits be in this random tiny town?
The woman nodded, placated. “Come come. I show you suite, give hot cocoa.”
Hot cocoa did sound delicious. Ginny allowed herself a moment of relief as she and Malfoy followed the woman up the rickety wooden stairs to the second level, bypassing an open-air loft with a roaring fireplace and giant fur pelts covering the floor before heading down a hallway. She would drink some hot cocoa, do some stretches, and then take a long, long bath… and not think about Malfoy until morning.
The woman stopped outside of a door, opened it, and handed Malfoy an old-fashioned key. “Suite is here. Enjoy the stay. Breakfast tomorrow—I make.” She smiled at them and then headed back down the hallway.
Wait.
“Wait, what about mine?” Ginny called after her, aghast. Behind her, Malfoy started chuckling. Ginny whirled on him. “This isn’t funny.”
“It is a little bit. Here, you can have the key.” He tossed the key at her and, her Quidditch reflexes kicking into gear, she caught it.
“Malfoy, I need my own room—”
Malfoy had already started walking into the room, and Ginny’s stomach dropped when she saw that there was only one large bed against the leftmost wall.
“I’ll just go back downstairs and ask for another room…”
“Do you speak Bulgarian?” Malfoy asked, plopping down into one of the two armchairs positioned near the bay window. Next to him, a roaring fire crackled merrily in the grate. He began taking off his boots.
“No…”
“Well, this is the best my Bulgarian could get us. You heard me ask for two rooms—in Bulgarian and in English. And you’re the one who told her we’re on holiday together. She made some assumptions.”
“I’m going back downstairs—”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Weasley. It’s fine. There’s a sofa, look.” He nodded over to the second half of the suite, where a large sofa was covered in decorative pillows. “If you’re extra nice to me for the rest of the night, I’ll consider taking the sofa and letting you have the bed.”
He winked at her, and it took everything in Ginny not to slam the door shut and just camp out in the loft.
He’s just trying to get a rise out of me. Making it all a stupid joke. Fine—he’s getting the damn sofa.
“Fine.”
Her heart in her throat, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. The woman hadn’t been lying—it really was a suite. The bed was gigantic, and the space was really like two rooms in one, with a living area and mini bar off to Ginny’s right.
She glanced at her wristwatch. It was 8:45. Too early by far to excuse herself to bed, and how in the hell was she expected to sleep with Malfoy in the same damn room?
Ugh. What a disaster. Maybe I can just… I don’t know, focus on work. Work is a safe topic.
Work was the only thing she ever talked about with Draco Malfoy, and after thoroughly embarrassing herself at Halloween, she was determined to keep it that way.
The memory of the party flashed unbidden in her mind as she sat down in the armchair next to Malfoy’s and reached into her bag, ready to pull out her case notes.
She had been drunk. So had everyone else, to be fair—it was a damn holiday party. But somehow she had ended up standing by Malfoy’s table, and she had been on her fifth cocktail, and his stupid hair had been so damn shiny, and she had ended up babbling to him about wanting to run her fingers through it, and even as she was saying it she knew it was stupid but her mouth had run away from her and she couldn’t just stop talking… She thought she might have said something about his jawline too, but she couldn’t quite remember that part too clearly.
What she did remember was Malfoy’s amused smirk as she rambled, the sound of his drawling voice as he said, Weasley, I think you’re drunk.
She had excused herself, embarrassed, and when she saw him at work the next day, she hadn’t said a damn word about it, and neither had he. That had been nearly six weeks ago now. Six painfully awkward weeks. When she had been placed on this Bulgarian assignment, she had been ecstatic—a chance to get out of the country, and how often did one get an opportunity to investigate mysterious, spontaneously forming calderas seemingly belching magical energy left and right? But then she had found out her assigned partner—the only Unspeakable who spoke even a little Bulgarian, as luck would have it—and she had tried as hard as she could without looking like a lunatic to get Celestina to switch her assignment.
Even now, she could hear her boss’s stern voice. Don’t be ridiculous, Weasley. You’re the only one with any field experience related to spontaneous magical concentration—we need to get this looked at immediately. You’re going.
Ridiculous indeed. This whole thing was ridiculous.
“You can’t seriously be thinking about working now.”
Malfoy’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She held her case notes close to her, pulling them out of his view.
“I just wanted to review—”
He snatched them out of her hands. “There’s nothing to review. We already have the coordinates for the caldera, don’t we? And I know you don’t need to review any spellwork for this—it’s not any different from your Belgium trip last spring, is it?”
“Well, no, but this area is very remote and—”
“And if we get into trouble, we’ll Apparate away. There’s no work to be done until tomorrow.” He grabbed her bag and slid the notes back inside it. “You should enjoy your holiday.”
“We’re not actually on holiday.”
“Says who?” Malfoy stretched in his seat, lifting his arms above his head and arching his back dramatically before rising to his feet. “I’m counting it as a night off. We could be trekking through freezing snow right now, but we get to be by a cozy fire instead. Isn’t that better?”
“We told Celestina we would get there tonight.”
“And thanks to somebody, that’s impossible now. We should make the best of it.” Malfoy walked toward the mini bar, and Ginny had time to take in the fact that he was wearing Christmas-themed socks before his words fully sank in.
“I said I was sorry.”
“Apology accepted. I’m not complaining about it—like I said, gives us a night to relax before we have to brave the elements. Scoping the place out during the day might be better anyway—I know the caldera is only active at night, but we can get the lay of the land before charging in there, wands blazing.”
His back was to her still; he had busied himself at the mini bar, rifling through the cabinets and the small refrigerator built into the wall.
When Ginny didn’t say anything, he sighed and looked over his shoulder at her. “Relax, Weasley—we’ll make it back to the Department by the deadline. This was just an unexpected little hiccup. Come on—have a drink with me.”
Have a drink with him? Was he actually joking?
“No thanks.”
“Oh come on—lighten up. I’ve already seen you drunk once.” He winked at her, and Ginny bristled.
“Absolutely not.”
He sighed again. “Suit yourself.” He grabbed a large bottle of what looked like brandy, poured himself a glass and walked back over to the armchairs, plopping down into his seat. “Cute little place, isn’t it?”
“Yeah… yeah, it is.”
Part of Ginny wanted to go sit on the sofa, away from Malfoy, but she thought that might be conceding their sleeping arrangements, and she wasn’t giving up a bed for the night without a fight. She grabbed her sketchbook out of her bag instead and busied herself with sketching the view of Septemvri from their window, her knees tucked up to her chest in the armchair.
They sat in surprisingly not awkward silence for a little while after that. Malfoy drank, watching the falling snow, and Ginny sketched the town, her brow furrowed in concentration as she drew the individual Christmas light bulbs that dotted the roof line across the way. When Malfoy did not tease her or harass her or otherwise try to make her upset, she marginally relaxed, and when he got up to pour himself a second drink, she hesitantly accepted his offer to pour her one of her own.
“She never did come back with the hot cocoa,” he said as he handed her the glass. “Maybe she forgot about us.”
“Or she thinks we’re annoying.”
Malfoy chuckled as he sat down. “Or that.”
The brandy was good—not the same as drinking Firewhisky, but it would do for a Muggle equivalent. It warmed her chest just the same, and she reminded herself to drink very slowly. This would be the only one she would have, and then she would take a quick shower before insisting it was time for bed.
“Did you mean what you said before?” Malfoy asked after a few moments, his eyes on the snow outside.
“That she thinks we’re annoying? I mean, yes. Or else she—”
“No. About my hair.”
Fuck. Why did he have to bring this up now?
“No, I was just drunk.”
“I see.” He swirled the brandy in his glass, watching the liquid drip down the sides. After a few moments in which Ginny was sure she was going to die of embarrassment, he said, “You could. If you wanted to.”
“What?”
He smirked at her. “Run your fingers through my hair.”
She sunk lower in her seat, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. “Stop joking around.”
“Wasn’t a joke.”
“If you weren’t my colleague I would have punched you by now.”
Malfoy laughed. “Alright, alright, point taken. If you change your mind, the offer’s open.”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed as she kept her focus on her sketchbook. What was Malfoy playing at? In all the time they had been around each other since the party, he hadn’t teased her even once about her stupid drunken ramblings—had he just been keeping things professional, and now that they were alone together he could say what he was really thinking?
A couple of minutes passed and then, apropos of nothing, Malfoy said, “I like your freckles.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shot up as her pencil jerked across the page. “What?”
“I like your freckles,” he repeated. “They remind me of cinnamon.”
Ginny glanced at him, and rather than finding his expression mocking, he was looking at her as seriously as he ever had.
“You know, like cinnamon over whipped cream? They look like that.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
He lifted his brandy glass towards her as though in a toast. “Plausible deniability.”
“You’ve only had two drinks.”
“What can I say? I’m a lightweight.”
“Malfoy…”
“Just take the compliment, Weasley.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded at her before taking a sip of his brandy.
Is he… actually being sincere? No way, right?
There was only one way to find out. She downed the remainder of her brandy in one gulp.
“I’m a lightweight too,” she lied, her cheeks uncomfortably warm. “Is… is your offer still open?”
“Mmhmm.”
Oh Merlin. This is mad. Actually mad…
Sure that she would imminently come to regret this, Ginny put her sketchbook down and stood up, her heart beating fast as she took a couple of steps toward Malfoy’s seat, coming to stand in front of him. He tilted his head toward her as though in invitation.
This is stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
Still, as though they had a mind of their own, her hands lifted up and slowly, hesitantly, reached for his hair, as though he were made of glass.
She ran her fingers through the locks. His hair was soft, just like she had imagined it would be. It was finer than hers, but still thick enough that she could twine her fingers into the ends.
“That feels good,” he said softly. “Is it like you imagined it would be?”
He wasn’t laughing. That was a good sign… right?
“I… yes. It’s soft.”
He smiled, and Ginny dared to hope it was genuine. “Good.” A moment’s pause, then, “Can I have a turn?”
“A turn with what?”
“Your freckles. Can I feel them?”
Ginny laughed, caught off guard. “They won’t feel like anything.”
“You should let me test it.”
It was only then that the surrealness of the situation fully struck Ginny. Was this real life? Were they actually doing this?
What had Malfoy said about plausible deniability?
“Okay.”
She barely even registered as Malfoy pulled out his wand, summoning her armchair closer to them. It lifted itself up and floated until it sat down right behind her, across from Malfoy.
“Sit down,” he whispered. Ginny did so, her fingers leaving his hair, and in return he reached toward her, the tips of his fingers skimming over her cheeks. His touch was feather-light and yet more intimate than anything Ginny had felt before. Something about the gentleness of it, the near-reverence with which he caressed her cheeks, chased her doubts away; whatever this was, it was real.
“You were wrong,” he said quietly. “They’re soft.”
Before she could say anything in response, he leaned forward and kissed her. Ginny let out a startled noise, though she didn’t pull away, and after a moment Malfoy reached forward, cupping the back of her neck with his hand.
Warmth filled her as she started to kiss him back. His lips were full against hers, and he smelled faintly of pine—a warm, cozy scent that instantly put her at ease. Fighting the self-consciousness that wanted to creep in, she reached her hands up, twining her fingers back into his hair.
When he finally pulled away, he was smiling faintly, his eyes bright. “Can’t say I’m disappointed that we missed the train. Not when this is the alternative.”
He leaned in to kiss her again, but his comment about the train had brought Ginny back down to earth.
“But what about the magical activity?”
He kissed her. “It can wait one more day.”
“What about Celestina?”
“Fuck Celestina.”
She let out a startled laugh, and he kissed her again.
“She simply loves me,” he continued, leaning down to press a kiss to her neck, making Ginny’s heart skip a beat. “She won’t be too put out when I tell her I misread the departure time—not when we make it back in one piece, data in hand.”
“When you tell her you… Wait. You would do that? For me?”
“Mmhmm.”
The way his voice vibrated against her skin sent delicious shivers down Ginny’s spine. Warmth filled her, a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.
“And… and what about after today? After this?”
He lifted his head to look at her, the firelight glinting in his silver eyes.
“Today—this—can be whatever you want it to be. But I’ll tell you a secret.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’m not drunk. And neither are you. And I don’t need plausible deniability for this, whether that’s just tonight or—”
Ginny closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his and leaning her body forward out of her seat. Malfoy reached up, pulling her forward and into his lap.
Outside, a blizzard blew through the streets of Septemvri that night. Draco and Ginny hardly noticed.