Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This was written for Rainpuddle’s Great D/G Fic Contest of 2006, which required a story revolving around Ginny as a mail-order bride. All of the entries can be found at the ginnylovesdraco community on LiveJournal. I will post the story here in three parts.

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Unexpected Consequences

Part I: January

Oh, dear Merlin! What have I done? I thought it would be the best thing for both of them. I never thought… I never thought it would end like this.

I’ve only ever wanted my children to be happy and healthy. And I mean Harry and Hermione too, not just the children I gave birth to. The war forced them to grow up so quickly, it nearly broke my heart. But they all did the right thing, even though they were so young. I am so incredibly proud of every last one of them.

When the war ended and all of my family was still alive, if a little worse for wear, I was convinced that their time had come. Now they could live the lives they were meant for, free of the threat of You-Know… I mean Voldemort. They could live and love and raise families of their own. And most of them have done that. The older boys are all married. Bill and Fleur even have two little boys now—my first darling grandchildren. And Ron and Hermione have finally gotten engaged. It is such a joy to watch the two of them now, after all the time they denied their feelings. But Ginny and Harry… I worry about Ginny and Harry.

Ginny came back from her fifth year at Hogwarts so unnaturally quiet, but she wouldn’t tell me why. What teenager wants to confide in her mother? She wouldn’t talk to Hermione either, which was even more worrisome. Hermione told me that Harry and Ginny had had a relationship of sorts. Ginny seemed to walk on air for the time, she said. Neither Harry nor Ginny would say much about why it ended. Hermione thought Harry did it to keep Ginny safe. If that’s what happened, it was probably for the best. He had enough on his plate without having one more person to worry about. But no girl wants to hear that. Not from the boy she’s in love with, and certainly not from her mother. Poor Ginny has been withdrawn ever since, spending almost all of her time with the magical creatures she breeds. How can she be happy that way? Maybe if she was settled, with a home of her own, and a husband and children to care for… Maybe then she could be happy and I would have my Ginny back.

And then there is Harry. Poor, dear Harry. Since he defeated He-Who… I mean Voldemort, he hasn’t done anything, really. He tried Auror training, worked for Fred and George for a bit, even spent a month or two with the Chudley Cannons. But he can’t seem to stick with anything for very long. I would never have wished this on him, but I can’t really blame him either. He feels like he has “fulfilled his destiny” already. What can follow that? I can see just how miserable he is, how lost. He needs something to work for, something to help him find meaning in life again. And I was so sure I knew what that something should be.

Harry’s eyes always follow Ginny, and he seems to visit the Burrow when he thinks she might be home. I haven’t seen him put his elbow in the butter dish yet, but he reminds me a bit of how Ginny used to act around him. I’m sure he still has feelings for her. But Ginny avoids Harry. She is still hurt from the way Harry treated her—I figured she never got over him. I thought that all she needed was to see that he cares for her, that he won’t hurt her again.

I’ve tried inviting Ron, Hermione, and Harry for dinner on nights when I knew Ginny would be home. I tried to draw Ginny into my conversations with Harry. I even hung mistletoe at Christmas, hoping Harry could catch her underneath it. But Ginny hardly acknowledged Harry. She would talk to Hermione about the wedding plans instead, or disappear into her room. Nothing I did to bring Harry and Ginny together seemed to work. I had to try harder. If Hermione weren’t there, I thought, Ginny couldn’t avoid talking to Harry without being rude. I invited Harry for dinner tonight, without Ron and Hermione. And then I told Ginny a little white lie.

I had only the best intentions in lying to her. It was for her own good, her own happiness after all. But I’m afraid I crossed a line. And now my good intentions will surely pave the road to hell… my own hell, but worse, I’m afraid they will lead to Ginny’s hell as well.

***

Lucius would undoubtedly turn over in his grave if he knew what I have planned. He would rant and rave about blood traitors and Muggle lovers and the Malfoy name. But the Malfoy name is not what it used to be. And, as they taught us in Slytherin House, the ends justify the means. If my gamble ends well, and our family is restored to its rightful position in society, then that will more than justify its… less savory aspects.

Draco has worked tirelessly since the end of the war to cleanse the Malfoy estate and all of its properties of Dark artifacts, to free it of the stigma that it acquired when Lucius’s affiliation with the Dark Lord became public. But in the current political climate, his hard work has not been enough to mitigate the existence of the Dark Mark on his arm. Draco is free because he never actually committed a crime worthy of Azkaban, but most of the public conveniently ignores that. Apparently having the Malfoy name is crime enough. This is nothing new; he and I have endured this treatment for years now. But I realized one day last week, while shopping in Diagon Alley, that the situation had become intolerable. It would only deteriorate further unless I took decisive action.

Before the war, shopping was one of my favorite pastimes. I admit to a mild obsession with robes, shoes, and jewelry. And I never tired of the way the salespeople fawned over me because of my wealth and power. But everything has changed now.

I still keep up with the latest trends, but I rarely buy anything now. After all, where would I wear new robes if I did? Long gone are the days when I could make or break a hostess’s reputation by accepting or declining her invitation. Now, the excursions to Diagon Alley are the few occasions when I can escape the Manor. Even then, I have become accustomed to disgraceful treatment from others, though it was never anything I could not bear. My trip last week, however, was the proverbial feather that broke the Hippogriff’s back.

First, Adele Avery passed me without a glance. Her husband had narrowly managed to avoid suspicion after the war, and any association with me might be cause enough for the Ministry to investigate. But we had been best friends since we were in nappies, so her desertion stung.

After that, I went to Gladrags to order new work robes for Draco. I waited an inordinate time to speak to a saleswitch, but then Molly Weasley was served before me, even though she had come into the store after I did. When I was finally allowed to place my order, I was told that it would take three weeks for it to be filled, rather than two days, as I had been accustomed to in the past.

But one particular event convinced me that something had to change. As I have little to do at the Manor, I enjoy visiting Fourish and Blotts to choose new reading material to occupy my time. I was browsing in the gardening section when I heard two girls giggling in the next aisle. I stopped, my hand on a book about Ever-Blooming Roses; one can sometimes glean the most useful information by eavesdropping.

“So, tell me about last night,” one of them said teasingly.

The other one giggled, “It was amazing! Better than I expected.”

“How so?”

“He was so intense. And the Dark Mark was there, plain as… well, night, I guess.”

I froze. As far as I know, Draco is the only wizard with the Dark Mark who was not sent to Azkaban.

“I thought he was innocent. Wasn’t he cleared of all charges?”

“He might have been cleared, but there is no way he is innocent! He almost devoured me last night… Not that I am complaining, of course!”

I crept to the front of the store, away from the gossiping girls. I was stunned. I had suspected before that Draco must seek out female companionship rather frequently. He is out much too late many nights, and I know that a man of his age has… needs. But he apparently had no idea of the damage he was doing to his reputation.

What men often fail to understand is that public opinion is not decided in the boardroom, or even in the Ministry. Instead, it is decided in drawing rooms, powder rooms, and yes, even the gardening section of Flourish and Blotts. If witches didn’t take Draco’s efforts to reform seriously, he had no chance with the wizards. And the witches would never take him seriously if he had a reputation as a playboy. As Draco had apparently inherited his father’s sex drive, there was only one solution: to find him a regular partner. And the only socially acceptable regular partner would be a wife.

But whom could Draco marry? The Slytherin girls he knew best were out of the question. They could only mar his reputation further. It had to be someone else, someone who was not associated with the Dark. But who would both help his reputation and agree to marry him? I looked down at a magazine I had idly picked up while thinking and the answer stared me in the face. It would be a shocking solution, but perhaps the only one that would come to anything.

I paid for the magazine, then Apparated home, wondering how to convince Draco to agree to my plan.

***

I hummed as I bustled about the kitchen preparing dinner. I chuckled at my plan to ensure Ginny and Harry would be left alone together. After the meal, I would pretend to have a headache and ask Ginny to wash up. Harry would of course offer to help her (such a well-mannered young man!) and would certainly jump at the chance to spend time with Ginny. I smiled. She surely couldn’t resist him, not after fancying him for so long. And then my little girl would finally be happy.

I had just put the roast in the oven when I heard a pop of Apparition behind me. I turned to see Ginny there, much earlier than I expected.

“Oh, hello, Ginny, dear!” I said enthusiastically, even though I knew that something must be wrong. Ginny never came home early from work unless there was an emergency. And something was queer about the way she was acting. She was never so calmly controlled as she seemed to be. Quiet and withdrawn, yes, at least recently. Flashing with anger, on occasion—she is a Weasley, after all. But she was looking at me with an intense stare that was entirely new to me.

I turned back to the oven, closing the door. “You’re early! You can help me peel these potatoes, then.” My voice sounded a bit thin to my ears, but I hoped Ginny wouldn’t notice.

“No, I don’t think so,” Ginny said coolly.

I tried not to let my worry show. “Well, if you don’t want to do that, you can shuck these peas instead. Oh, and by the way,” I added casually. “Ron Flooed earlier this afternoon. He and Hermione can’t make it tonight after all.”

When I turned to look at Ginny, her eyes were flashing, though she was otherwise calm. “I highly doubt that,” she said, “considering you never invited them in the first place.”

I opened my mouth, but didn’t know what to say. “I ran into Hermione at the Ministry today,” Ginny continued, her voice colder than I had ever heard it. “Imagine my surprise when she didn’t even know the first thing about your little dinner party tonight. But I suppose you did invite Harry.”

It had never occurred to me that Ginny would catch me in my little white lie, or that she would be so… angry with me for it. No, she was beyond angry. If she were merely angry, she would throw a tantrum, yell, and slam doors. I was beginning to believe her brothers’ stories about her ferocity in battle. I had never quite believed what they had said about her until that very moment. She was usually so sweet. But now…

“I… I j-just th-thought…” I managed to stutter.

“You just thought you could set us up,” Ginny said in that same cold voice.

“Well, yes, I want you to be happy. And he does fancy you, you know…”

“Of course he does!” My jaw dropped at Ginny’s outburst. She knew? But then why didn’t she…?

“I’m not blind, Mother!” I felt a pang. Ginny has always called me “Mum”. “Any fool could see that he fancies me. Did it never occur to you that I might not fancy him?”

“But I thought… You always did.”

“That was years ago. Harry long since gave up any chance he ever had with me. And I don’t appreciate you encouraging him to think otherwise.”

“Oh.” I was deflated. Had I really misjudged Ginny so badly? Maybe Harry had hurt her worse than I thought. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy—just that I’d have to rethink my plan a bit. “Well, it doesn’t have to be Harry,” I suggested hopefully. “You could find some other nice wizard to marry…”

Ginny’s fists clenched. “And to you, of course, happiness is the same as marriage. It would be impossible for you to imagine one without the other.”

I realized that she was right. There is nothing that makes me so happy as the comfort of falling asleep in Arthur’s arms. I could never be truly happy without him, or without my children. Why wouldn’t the same be true for Ginny?

“That’s what I thought,” Ginny said, then swept up the stairs. I stood, gaping, until my wand vibrated, reminding me to turn the roast.

After five minutes or so, Ginny came back down the stairs. She brushed past me, ignoring my attempts at apology, and quickly tied a letter to Pigwidgeon’s leg. As she sent him careening out the window, she turned to me, her eyes flashing, some parchment in her hand.

“If you want so badly for me to get married,” Ginny said, her voice hard, “then I will. But if it doesn’t turn out according to your silly fairytale plans, just remember that it was your idea.” She threw the parchment down on the table, then Disapparated with a pop.

I approached the table nervously. The parchment seemed to be torn from the back of Wizard’s Quarterly. Ginny had circled one advertisement in red ink.

“Hitch-A-Witch Matchmaking Service,” it read. “Introducing the finest brides to discriminating wizards by owl since 1969.”

I collapsed into my chair as the advertisement’s meaning sank in. Oh, dear Merlin!

***

Convincing Draco that it was in his best interest to be married, and that a mail-order bride was the best solution, was much easier than I had expected. In good Slytherin tradition, his face lacked any expression at all as I made my case. I held my breath as he thought for a few moments after I finished speaking. I was sure my argument was convincing, but the latest generation of Slytherins seems to have an unexpected romantic streak. Pansy Parkinson refused the marriage her father had arranged with the Crabbe boy, which was admittedly not entirely unexpected, considering how flighty her mother can be. But Mireille Zabini is one of the most practical people I know, and that didn’t stop her son from running off with a Hufflepuff Mudblood.

Draco nodded and I breathed a sigh of relief. “If you think it will help, I’ll agree. But I would like to meet the woman you choose first, before it is official.”

“Of course,” I said. I had been concerned that Draco might insist on choosing a bride for himself; I was relieved that he understood that I would know better which woman could help him the most. I stood to leave the room, but Draco stopped me.

“And, Mother…” he began hesitantly. I looked at him curiously—Draco was rarely hesitant about anything. “You will try to choose someone… attractive, won’t you?”

I smiled reassuringly. “Of course, dear. A plain bride would only hurt your image. And just because this marriage will be a business proposition does not mean you cannot enjoy it.”

I wrote to Hitch-A-Witch despite their name. How do they expect to attract the business of “distinguished wizards” with a distasteful name like that? But according to my enquiries, it was by far the best service of its kind in the wizarding world. I specified that I was only interested in Caucasian witches with pure blood; the mother of the Malfoy heir could be no less. The next day, a catalogue arrived by owl post.

The first woman listed was extremely beautiful. She was Russian, with blonde hair and blue eyes; she would certainly help maintain the Malfoy looks. I marked her page so I could find her very promising profile later. The second woman was… nearly identical to the first. As was the third, the fourth, the fifth. Apparently Russian witches are particularly interested in marrying British wizards. I kept flipping through the catalogue. How would I ever choose?

My attention was caught by a witch shockingly different from those that came before. She wasn’t as objectively beautiful as the Russian witches, but she had striking red hair and sparkling brown eyes, and she was British. Then I saw her name. Ginevra Weasley. She would never do—her family is full of blood traitors.

I turned the page, only to find yet another blonde Russian beauty. And so it continued.

Over several days, I would look through the catalogue whenever I had a spare moment, trying to find some way to choose among the Russians. But my eyes were always drawn back to Ginevra Weasley. I couldn’t understand why. With her family, she was out of the question.

But the more I thought, the less certain I became. The Weasleys are more important in wizarding society now than they ever have been before. They took a clear stance against the Dark Lord in the war. Arthur had been promoted to Deputy Minister because of it. They were not nearly as poor as they used to be; their children all had successful careers. And they had close ties to Harry Potter. Indeed, their reputation was spotless—if only the same could be said for their complexions.

Maybe the Weasley girl was the solution after all. If she married Draco, society would see the marriage as an endorsement of our family by hers. I smirked as I closed the catalogue. She would do quite nicely. Now I just had to convince her.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Unexpected Consequences

Part II: February

I fretted constantly for weeks after Ginny confronted me about my plans for her and Harry. I hid the Hitch-A-Witch advertisement in the drawer with the dish towels. I pulled it out and looked at it whenever I had a spare minute and I was sure I was alone. It wouldn’t do for Arthur to see it.

What had Ginny done? Had she really signed up for the service? Or was she just trying to scare me? Either way, I had hurt her badly by pressuring her into something she didn’t want. I regreted that more than anything else I had ever done. As I stared at the dog-eared bit of parchment for what must be the hundredth time, I came to a conclusion—I needed to apologize to Ginny.

Easier said than done. Ginny was working much longer hours than usual, claiming that the Hippogriffs were in heat. But I’m sure the Hippogriffs were in heat at this time last year as well, and she didn’t work such long hours then. When she did return to the Burrow, Ginny would hardly look at me or say much more than “pass the salt.” When I tried to approach her, she would make an excuse and disappear.

Ginny has always had a temper, but it tends to flare wildly and then burn itself out relatively quickly. Unlike her father, she usually doesn’t hold grudges. But I forget that Ginny hasn’t been herself lately. Or maybe she changed and I never noticed. I guess me not noticing is what caused all the trouble to begin with.

After three weeks of Ginny avoiding me, she came home one Sunday just before dinner. She sat at the table with Arthur and me, and looked me in the eye. My stomach dropped. I knew that look. It was the same look she used to wear when refusing to eat her vegetables, or when insisting that we leave a candle lit to ward off the Flobberworms under her bed. She was fiercely determined about something. I held my breath, fearing the worst.

“Mum, Dad,” she said firmly and evenly. “I’m going to be married next week.”

***

I anonymously arranged a meeting with Ginevra Weasley at the Hitch-A-Witch offices. Fortunately, I saw her before she saw me, giving me a chance to size her up. She was much prettier in person than in her photograph; her freckles were less apparent and her robes flattered her figure.

I knew the first test would be whether or not Ginevra would leave immediately once she recognized me. Indeed, her eyes widened and she gasped slightly, but she quickly covered her surprise.

“Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy,” she greeted me politely. We eyed each other as we exchanged pleasantries and engaged in the necessary small talk. I was pleased that Ginevra seemed to understand the intricacies of polite conversation, and that she maintained a pleasant demeanor despite her understandable wariness. I had worried that with her less than genteel background, she might embarrass Draco in a social setting, but she put most of my fears to rest.

After a slight pause in the conversation, I got down to business. “Now, Miss Weasley,” I said, “the reason I asked you to come here today is to discuss the possibility of a marriage between you and my son Draco.” She nodded. “But before we continue, I have a rather important question. Why did you choose to submit a profile to Hitch-A-Witch?” I was quite curious about this; I would have thought that she would insist on marrying for love, as her parents did.

“My mother wishes me to marry,” Ginevra said simply.

“And she suggested the service?” I asked, surprised.

“Oh, no,” she said with a smile. “She’s all for me falling madly in love with Harry Potter, or failing him, some other nice wizard she approves of.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“No,” she said with a wry little smile. “I… haven’t had the best experiences with love.”

“I see,” I said. And I did see. I had my share of tragic romances when I was at Hogwarts. Looking back, they weren’t nearly as monumental as I had thought at the time. But they certainly contributed to my acquiescence when Lucius asked my father for my hand.

“Very well,” I continued. “If you agree to the marriage, you and your family will be well provided for financially. One hundred thousand Galleons will be deposited into your Gringotts account upon your marriage, and an additional five hundred thousand upon the birth of an heir.” Ginevra blushed. I was unsure whether it was caused by the mention of money, or the thought of what would she would need to do in order to produce an heir with Draco.

But to my delight, Ginevra quickly pulled herself together. “Before I agree to anything,” she began, looking me boldly in the eye, “I have a few questions myself.”

“Of course. Please ask anything you like.” I was pleased that Ginevra had questions for me; it was promising that she did not dismiss the idea out of hand.

“First, why do you want Draco to marry me? Our families have never gotten along. You must have some other reason.”

“You’re right,” I answered. Before the meeting, I had decided that I would need to be candid about my motives, or at least most of them. Ginevra was a Gryffindor and would naturally distrust a Slytherin, especially if she suspected I was hiding something from her. I explained how the association with her family would help restore the Malfoy reputation. I did not mention Draco’s reputation for sleeping around.

“I think I understand,” Ginevra said slowly when I had finished speaking. “Has Draco agreed?”

I smiled. “Not yet, but he will once I talk to him. Perhaps you should come to the Manor for tea tomorrow so he can meet you.”

“That would be lovely.” Ginevra paused, then continued hesitantly. “There is one more question I need to ask before I agree to this arrangement.” She took a deep breath, then looked at me with determination. “During the war, Draco was a Death Eater.”

I nodded. There was no use denying it.

“How can I trust him?”

I collected my thoughts before answering. This was the question that would make or break the whole deal. “Draco was just a boy when he took the Mark. He did not truly understand what it meant until he was assigned to kill Professor Dumbledore. He was told that if he failed, he, his father, and I would all be killed. He tried to do it to save our lives, but in the end, he could not complete the task. He is not a murderer.”

Ginevra was watching me very carefully.

“Dumbledore knew it, too. He offered Draco sanctuary,” I continued. “But then events spiraled out of control. When it was over, Severus Snape helped Draco and I hide to avoid the Dark Lord’s wrath. Lucius was still in Azkaban and was not so lucky. But Draco and I survived, and his soul remains intact.”

I paused. Ginevra’s face was inscrutable.

“Believe me, Miss Weasley, every crime that Draco committed during the war was committed to save his family. If you marry him, you will be part of that family. He would not harm you.”

Ginevra was quiet for several minutes. I broke the silence, asking, “Will you agree?”

“I’d like to talk to Draco tomorrow first, before I decide. Will that suffice?”

I nodded my agreement. We quickly made our goodbyes and parted for the evening.

While it made me nervous, Ginevra’s caution also convinced me that I had made a wise choice. She would represent the Malfoy family well. Convincing Draco was another matter entirely.

Over dinner that night, I told Draco of my plans. Despite my carefully laid arguments as to the advantages of the union, he refused outright to marry Ginevra. He said that she was a Muggle lover. I pointed out that she was pureblooded nevertheless. He countered that she was a blood traitor. I argued that perhaps some of her family might be, but by marrying him, she would not be one herself. He complained that her family was poor. And yet, I noted, they have more influence now than we do. And finally, though he would never say so, Draco mentioned what was really bothering him.

“And she’s in love with Potter anyway.” This explained Draco’s unusual antipathy towards Ginevra. He had been jealous of the Potter boy, I think, even before they met. Luckily, I could use that jealousy to my advantage in this case.

“Perhaps she was once,” I said with deliberate casualness. “But from what she said today, her mother would like nothing more than to see a match between them, and yet Ginevra refused.”

Draco, who had been scowling at the window, turned his head quickly in my direction.

“Well, then,” he said with just a hint of the Malfoy smirk, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to meet her.”

Tea the next day was a success. I left the two of them alone together for twenty minutes. Draco left the room rubbing his cheek. I do not know whether Ginevra kissed him or slapped him, but whatever she did must have been effective.

***

I love all of my sons dearly, but I never have had as much input as I would like in planning their weddings. Hermione has tried to include me in her plans, but she and Ron will have a Muggle ceremony and it isn’t quite the same. We can’t have decorative fairies on the cake, for instance. But I’ve been picturing Ginny’s wedding in my mind since the day she was born.

We would plan it together over the course of several months, if not a year. We would hold it in the garden here at the Burrow when it was in full bloom. The whole family would be there. She would wear elaborate robes that I had sewn myself. I would cry when I saw the love in her eyes as she looked at the groom, my new son. Later, after all the eating and drinking and dancing, I would cheer as the newlyweds left for their honeymoon.

But Ginny’s actual wedding was nothing like I had planned.

Ginny told us less than a week before the ceremony that she would marry Draco Malfoy of all people. I don’t know why she did it. She could have chosen another wizard—any other wizard! But… Draco Malfoy? He was a Death Eater! And his father… Not only did Lucius Malfoy torment Arthur and me in school, but he was the cause of all Ginny’s troubles in her first year. I can only think that Ginny must have chosen him deliberately, knowing how much more it would hurt me. But she told Arthur and me in no uncertain terms, and with a steely, determined voice, that if we did anything at all to oppose her on this, she would never speak to us again.

So what could we do? It would hurt even worse to lose a child, our only daughter. But keeping my mouth shut was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

The wedding was held in one of the smaller parlors in Malfoy Manor. Only Narcissa Malfoy, Arthur, and I were invited. Ginny had insisted on this and had sworn us all to secrecy until after the marriage was official. I suppose she was worried about what her brothers and Harry would do if they found out about it. As much as it pains me to say it, she was probably right. Imagine Ron’s reaction!

I had half expected Narcissa Malfoy to sneer at Arthur and me through the whole wedding, but she was as polite as could be. I might have even felt comfortable as her guest if her blandness didn’t make me wonder if it was all an act.

Just before the ceremony began, I pulled Ginny aside, my hand resting on the sleeve of the plain white robes she had bought off the rack at Madame Malkin’s. “Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Yes, Mum,” she answered with a hint of exasperation. My face fell. Part of me had assumed that Ginny had been planning to call the wedding off at the last minute, that she had gone through with the plans up until that point just to get back at me.

Ginny must have seen my expression. She hugged me for the first time in ages, and whispered, “It will be all right, Mum. He can’t truly hurt me. And that will make me happy—to not hurt anymore.”

I hugged her again, more tightly this time. It saddened me to think of the pain that led Ginny to choose an empty marriage, and that I had never seen the extent of that pain before. I thought of the Malfoys’ expressionless faces. What kind of life would Ginny lead in this overly large house, with such emotionless people? But maybe that is what she wanted—that lack of emotion. I decided that if this was what would make Ginny happy, then I would respect her decision—and I would make sure the rest of the family respected it as well.

Minutes later, as the Ministry official recited the ancient words that would bind Ginny to Draco Malfoy, a tear slipped down my cheek. But it wasn’t the tear of joy I had always expected to shed at Ginny’s wedding.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Here is the last chapter. Enjoy!

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Unexpected Consequences

Part III: June

For a few months, my plan worked splendidly.

I was rather annoyed at first when Ginevra insisted that only her parents and I attend the wedding. I had envisioned a major society event similar to my own wedding, if perhaps a bit less elegant, complete with full press coverage. But the more I thought about it, the more I appreciated her choice. What if we had thrown a gala and nobody had come? Besides, the discreet notice in the Daily Prophet generated enough publicity and speculation on its own—perhaps even more than a gala would have done. Even the most seasoned Slytherin battleaxes, the old ladies who could sniff out a plot a mile away, were uncertain what to think of it. Surely if Draco had married Ginevra to bolster his reputation, he would have drawn more attention to the occasion. Perhaps the couple was in love after all.

When Draco and Ginevra returned from two weeks on the Amalfi Coast, they appeared quite comfortable with each other. Apparently they had made good use of the time they had there to get to know one another. And I was not the only one to notice their newfound rapport. The way they danced together during their first public outing raised more than a few eyebrows… including all three of Hilda Goyle’s.

I began to receive the occasional invitation for tea. Draco spent shorter hours at the office. Ginevra now worked in the state-of-the-art breeding facilities that I had built in the Manor’s old stables. It would be unseemly for a Malfoy wife to work in rented stables, as she had before, but I thought it wiser not to tell Ginevra so.

Meanwhile, Draco and Ginevra grew even closer. They would occasionally walk together in the gardens if it was warm enough, or sit together in their private drawing room. Draco even allowed himself to get dirty once, helping Ginevra deliver a litter of Crups. They tended to reach for the butter at the same time, or stand just a little closer than necessary. I would smile at these small excuses they found to touch one another; producing an heir would be no great burden for either of them.

But then one day I returned home from tea at Adele Avery’s only to find the house-elves in an uproar, Draco barricaded in his study, and Ginevra—along with all of her personal belongings—gone.

***

It took some of my worst glares and threats, but the whole family eventually grudgingly agreed to support Ginny’s decision to marry Draco Malfoy, or at least to keep quiet about it. Ron and Harry took it the hardest, which isn’t surprising. They never did get along with Draco, and Harry was still carrying a torch for Ginny. The poor boy moped for weeks after I broke the news.

But as time passed, Ginny seemed happier than she had been in years. This was enough to make me accept the situation, even if I wasn’t thrilled with it. Ron grumbled that she was only happy because her new facility at the Manor allowed her to breed species she hadn’t had room for before. But I was sure that Ron must be mistaken because Ginny seemed to smile more often when Draco was nearby.

So I was all the more surprised one afternoon when Ginny came tumbling out of the kitchen fireplace, followed by her trunk. She collapsed into a chair and burst into tears.

I rushed to embrace her. She cried on my shoulder as she hadn’t done since before she left for Hogwarts all those years ago. Just like I did when she skinned her knee as a child, I smoothed her hair back soothingly and let her cry herself out. When her sobs had stopped and her breathing evened out, I asked softly, “What happened?”

“He… He called me a whore,” she said, trying to hold back more tears. “He said he should have known better than to marry me because I am a worthless whore and always have been.”

“Draco said that?” I asked, incensed. Ginny sat up and nodded as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “How dare he? How could he say such a thing?”

Ginny stared at her hands, twisted in her lap. “Well…,” she said hesitantly. “I got a pair of Occamies a couple of weeks ago. I’ve never had them before and I was having some trouble getting them settled. They just didn’t trust me. So I asked Harry to come talk to them in Parseltongue. He’s been coming every day—he seems to have made friends with them. And they have been much more docile. But today Draco came home and found Harry in the stables with me. He didn’t even wait to hear the explanation. He just said…” At this Ginny burst into tears yet again. I handed her a handkerchief and rubbed her back.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said after a while.

“Of course not!” I said indignantly. “No man should say such things about his wife!”

“That’s not what I meant, Mum,” Ginny said quietly. “I meant… He wasn’t supposed to be able to hurt me. I didn’t even like him. How could he hurt me? But then I stupidly…” She stopped abruptly, realizing what she was about to confess. She paused for a moment, not looking me in the eye.

“Can I stay here for a while? I can’t go back there now. I just can’t.”

“You’re always welcome here, Ginny, you know that. Why don’t you go take a nice bath before dinner. That will make you feel better.”

Ginny nodded and made her way up the stairs. She had just left the room when Narcissa Malfoy’s head appeared in the fire.

***

This was a disaster. If Ginevra left Draco permanently, we would be worse off than if he hadn’t married her in the first place. I needed to remedy the situation, but before I could do that, I needed to know exactly what the situation was. But despite my most persuasive cajoling, my threats to Transfigure all of his clothing to pink, and finally, my angriest scolding, Draco steadfastly refused to come out of his study or to give me even the slightest hint at what had driven Ginevra away. I gritted my teeth and Flooed the Burrow.

Molly Weasley was irate. “You! How dare you show your face here after what your son has done? Did you never teach him proper respect? None of my boys would ever say such a thing to their wives!” She was whispering furiously. Clearly Ginevra was nearby and Molly did not want her to hear.

I was confused. Ever since they returned from their honeymoon, I had never seen Draco treat Ginevra with anything less than the utmost respect. “What did he say?” I asked.

“He called her a whore!” Molly spat out.

“He would never say such a thing!” I was indignant. I certainly had raised Draco better than that. Molly must be mistaken.

“Well, he did,” she said angrily. “And just because Harry was helping her with her Occamies!”

“Harry? Occamies? Oh!” I said, sighing with relief. “That explains it then.” Molly looked even angrier, and I hastened to explain. “Draco has always been prone to jumping to conclusions when it comes to Harry Potter. I am sure that I can smooth things over if I explain the situation to Ginevra.”

“I’m not sure I want things smoothed over if that son of yours says such things to her!”

I sighed. “Draco will apologize and he will promise not to say such things again,” I said in my most soothing voice. “Once he has done so, do you think Ginevra would return to the Manor?”

Molly considered this, apparently a bit calmer. “I should think not. She is stubborn and he hurt her pretty badly. I haven’t seen her cry so much for years.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “But…”

“But what?” I asked hopefully.

Just then there was a noise from behind Molly. Startled, she looked over her shoulder, then turned back to me.

“You need to go now—Ginny is coming,” she whispered frantically. I quickly ducked back out of the fireplace. It would certainly be best if Ginevra did not see me just now.

I sat in front of the fire, contemplating what to do next. The first step towards fixing the fiasco was clearly to convince Draco to apologize to Ginevra. Unfortunately, he is stubborn and unaccustomed to admitting when he is in the wrong. And he clearly felt threatened by the Potter boy’s presence at the Manor. He would need some sort of assurance that Ginevra was not having an affair.

Ginevra, on the other hand, would not make the first overture towards Draco. Apparently she had been extremely upset, and rightfully so if what Molly told me was true. And she could be just as stubborn as Draco. Just leaving the two of them in the same room at the same time would not be enough—it would only result in an uncomfortable silence and likely even more resentment. It would take something else, some sort of catalyst to get them talking. I needed to find something—or someone—to help things along.

I smiled as a daring idea began to form in my mind. It would be a gamble, but no riskier than the gamble I took in arranging Draco and Ginevra’s marriage in the first place. But I would need Molly Weasley’s help.

***

I want my children to be happy, but… conspiring with Narcissa Malfoy of all people? After what her son did to my daughter? But Ginny was moping about the house all day, clearly miserable, so I eventually gave in. I had gotten used to seeing Ginny happy. And if Draco Malfoy was the cause of that happiness, who was I to stand in the way?

Narcissa invited me for tea in the Malfoy Manor rose garden so we could discuss her idea. Once she had explained, I asked, “Doesn’t it leave just a little too much to chance?”

“Perhaps,” she answered. “But I am afraid that pushing them too hard might backfire.”

I shuddered, thinking of what happened when I pushed Ginny too hard towards Harry. “All right, then,” I agreed. “I’ll help.”

Once we had ironed out the details, Narcissa asked, “Would you like a second piece of cake?”

“That would be lovely,” I answered, cutting myself a large slice. It was nearly as good as my own chocolate cake. “Though I probably won’t be able to fit into my robes in the morning.”

“Speaking of robes,” Narcissa asked, eyebrows raised, “have you seen what Madame Malkin has on display?”

“Those horribly short ones? They’re hardly more than bathing costumes!”

“I agree that they are scandalous. But I am told that they are all the rage among the girls at Hogwarts.”

“Minerva allows that?”

I was glad that I had prepared dinner ahead of time, as the pleasant afternoon passed more quickly than I had expected. But it wouldn’t do to make Ginny suspicious, so when the sky started to turn pink, I set out for home.

I found Ginny where I had left her, sitting and staring glumly out her bedroom window. “How are you doing, dear?” I asked with concern. She just shrugged.

“It would do you good to get out of the house for a bit, don’t you think? I ran into Mabel Diggory last week and she told me that a lovely new robes shop just opened in Salisbury. Maybe we should go see it for ourselves tomorrow, have lunch there, and make a bit of a day of it. It’s awfully close to Wimbourne too. Maybe Ron could come over and join us for lunch. How does that sound?”

“Sure, Mum,” Ginny said, making a sorry attempt at a smile. “That sounds nice.”

“Wonderful!” I said enthusiastically. “We’ll have a lovely time!” My first task had gone according to plan. Now I had to send an owl to Ron and trust that he would be concerned enough to come see Ginny. Surely Harry had told him about what had happened.

The next morning, Ginny and I Flooed to Salisbury’s tiny wizarding district. Rhoda’s Robes was just as nice as Mabel had said. Ginny, however, just ran her hand listlessly over the beautiful robes and refused to try any of them on. I kept up a cheerful stream of conversation, but she didn’t seem to pay any attention to what I said. I was exhausted by lunchtime, but I was excited too. Now I would see if Narcissa had done her part.

Shortly after one o’clock, we arrived at the Fuzzy Kneazle. As Narcissa had said, the pub was the perfect setting. It was dark and the booths had high backs, so someone sitting in one couldn’t see who was seated at the next table. According to Narcissa, unless Draco was entertaining a client, he ate lunch here every workday, arriving at five minutes past one and sitting in the very last booth. I steered Ginny towards the second booth from the back. While she sat down, I excused myself. I was relieved to catch a glimpse of white blond hair as I passed the back table. Draco was there.

I slipped behind the curtain that led to the corridor containing the loo, and found Narcissa waiting anxiously for me. “I am glad you made it,” she whispered, pulling me further behind the curtain. “I had to cast three Repelling Spells to keep other people away from that table.”

“Now we just have to hope Ron comes,” I said, peeking out from behind the curtain. I had a good view of both Draco and Ginny, who were unknowingly sitting back to back.

After a moment, Ron burst into the pub in a flourish of yellow and black robes. “Ginny!” he said, spotting her. I saw Draco stiffen.

“How are you?” Ron asked, hugging Ginny and sitting down opposite her. “I heard what happened with Malfoy, the sod.” Now it was Ginny’s turn to freeze. Ron didn’t seem to notice and continued speaking. “Does this mean you’re going to come back home? You can divorce Malfoy and marry Harry instead!”

“I have no interest in marrying Harry,” Ginny said firmly.

“What?” Ron asked, his jaw dropping. “But I thought…”

“Actually, Ron,” Ginny continued, “it has been years since I had any interest in marrying Harry. I thought you would have figured that out when I married Draco instead!”

Unbeknownst to Ginny and Ron, Draco, Narcissa, and I were all listening avidly to their conversation. Draco seemed to sit up a little straighter after Ginny’s last comment.

“Speaking of that,” Ron asked, “why did you marry the bastard?”

Ginny looked down at the table, and quietly said, “He’s not so bad.”

“What was that?” Ron asked, aghast. “Did you say he’s not so bad? Ginny, he was a Death Eater. He’s evil!”

“Draco may be a bit of a prat sometimes, but he’s not evil,” Ginny said, looking Ron in the eye.

“Are you really defending him? After what he said to you? There’s no excuse for that!”

Ginny turned red and averted her eyes from Ron. Once, many years ago, she had borrowed Ron’s Chudley Cannons action figure without his permission. Now, the two of them were acting exactly the same way they did when Ron found his toy with a broken broom. I was so caught up in watching my children that I didn’t notice Draco stand up and approach them until he spoke. “He’s right, you know. There is no excuse for what I said.”

Ginny’s head snapped up so quickly that my own neck twinged in sympathy. “Draco?” she asked uncertainly.

Draco looked at her and then away. “My mother told me why Potter was there. I should never have said what I did, and I… I’m sorry.” I could barely hear his last word, but Ginny surely did; she looked as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Draco shot a look at Ron, who was watching the couple in shock, then turned back to Ginny. “Will you come back home?”

“No!” Ron said, coming to his senses. “You think you can accuse her of… of being a… a painted lady, and she’ll come running back to you just because you apologize?” Ginny looked at Ron, then back at Draco.

“Why did you say it?” Ginny asked quietly. I could see that she was still worried, afraid that he would hurt her again.

Draco looked down at his shoes then up at Ginny. “Because… Because I was…”

“Because you were a right prat?” Ron supplied.

“Let him finish, Ron,” Ginny snapped, “or I’ll tell Hermione not to make any ginger biscuits for a month!” I had to clasp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud, but Ginny’s threat was certainly effective in shutting Ron up. Ginny turned back to Draco. “Because you were…?” she prompted.

Draco crouched down so he was looking Ginny in the eye. “I said it because I was jealous. I thought I was going to lose you.” He took her hand in his. “I don’t think I could bear it if I did.”

“What are you saying?” Ginny asked cautiously, but I could see that her eyes were wide. Ron had turned an unpleasant shade of red. I grasped Narcissa’s arm in anticipation. I could hardly breathe as I waited to hear what Draco would say.

“I guess… Well… Well, I never meant to do it—our marriage was supposed to be just another business contract—but sometime during the past few months, I… I think I fell in love with you.”

Narcissa gasped slightly as Ginny threw herself into Draco’s arms. I thought I heard Ginny say, “I love you too,” but her voice was muffled by his chest.

“Shall we go home?” Draco asked, smiling. Ginny looked up at him and nodded.

“Bugger!” Ron said, just as Draco and Ginny Apparated away. He sat for a few moments, glaring at the empty booth. Then he stalked out of the pub, muttering under his breath the whole way.

As Narcissa and I left our hiding place, I finally shed tears of joy for Ginny. I had been so worried about her for so long, but now everything was falling into place. And I had been right all along. Ginny just needed to marry a nice wizard and settle down.

***

I handed Molly a handkerchief. Once she had dried her tears, I said, “Well, that wasn’t quite what I expected, but it seems to have ended well.”

“Oh, yes!” she said, more tears welling up in her eyes. “But I never thought…”

Molly had undoubtedly been astonished that her daughter could fall in love with my son. But I was no less surprised that he could fall in love with her, or anyone for that matter. The possibility had never even crossed my mind. But I had never seen Draco smile as widely as he did just before he and Ginevra left the pub. This new development could only be good for all of us.

“Indeed,” I said. “Thank you for your help.”

“No, thank you for insisting that we needed to intervene. I was a little nervous considering that the last time I tried that, Ginny offered herself as a mail-order bride to spite me.” We smiled at each other.

“Would you like to come to back to the Manor for luncheon?” I asked.

“That would be lovely, Narcissa,” Molly said, using my given name for the first time. “Maybe you can help me figure out how to solve Harry’s problems next.”

“I’d be happy to, Molly,” I said. “Then perhaps we can decide which suite would be most appropriate as a nursery when the time comes. After all, it looks like we will be grandmothers sooner rather than later.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Molly said with a sigh.

As we Apparated back to the Manor, I realized that when Molly and I interfered in Draco and Ginevra’s lives, nothing went quite as either of us expected it to. But perhaps the most unpredictable consequence of all was that the two of us just might become friends. Lucius would undoubtedly frown on the association, but I believe the past few months have shown that his opinions on such matters have become quite out of date. After all, Ginevra has proved to be a worthy Malfoy bride. And the way Molly plotted with me was almost… Slytherin.