**********************************************

Ginny Weasley stood, alternately bored with her job and furious with her charge. She was dressed in a long, full skirt, a tightly fitted vest-bodice, and a shirt with blousy, full sleeves. Although perfect for concealing her wand, the costume was hot and it was making Ginny remarkably cross. She glanced over at the man she was supposedly supervising. He made her cross as well, come to that. It took every ounce of self control she possessed not to roll her eyes. He was definitely not taking his position here seriously.

He leaned against the fence at the entrance to the Medieval Renaissance Faire outside of Hogsmeade, his blond hair hanging in his eyes and his face arranged in a carefully petulant expression. He had managed to dress the part, although the Ministry had provided the costume for him. She wouldn’t have put it past him to ignore the guidelines for his probation, and to wear whatever the hell he liked. His probation, in her estimated opinion, was ridiculously light. For all his part in the plot against Dumbledore and the crap that went on his seventh year, he’d only served two months in Azkaban, plus community service. His time in Azkaban up, he’d started on his community service. Having been one of the newest Auror recruits, Ginny had been saddled with the job no one else wanted. Supervising Draco Malfoy.

He was supposed to be playing a part in the Renaissance Faire by welcoming Muggles to the festival. She had to admit that he looked appropriate in his period clothes, fitted pants, shirt and jerkin, but the tone of voice in which he delivered his lines was anything but welcoming.

She watched him as another group entered the gates. He stayed silent until she cleared her throat and glared at him menacingly.

He sighed heavily. “Fare thee well and welcome to Ye Olde Renaissance Faire,” he began in the most bored tone she’d ever heard. “Prithee partake in our delicious fare or goodly events, and please return anon.” A dispirited swipe of his hand toward the gate finished his pathetic rendition of a Renaissance reception.

The group walking past them looked at him sceptically and continued on. Once they were past, Ginny approached him.

“I think you can do a bit better than that, Malfoy.”

He looked sideways at her. “I’m doing the prescribed community service for my crimes. I am wearing this ridiculous costume, and I’m saying the words they gave me to say. What specifically, Weasley, could I do better?”

Ginny frowned at him. “Your tone of voice. Your facial expressions. These people are coming here to have fun! You could act like you’re happy.”

“But I’m not happy.”

“That’s why I said to act happy. And you aren’t supposed to be happy! That’s why they call it a punishment. Talking to Muggles is about the worst the Ministry could come up with for you, apparently. They didn’t ask me, though. If they had, I could have come up with something far worse than this. I’m pretty sure they have a rack and thumbscrews somewhere in all this medieval mess. Then we could really give the Muggles a show,” she ended with a relish.

Draco raised an eyebrow and favoured Ginny with a rare grin. “Why Weasley, I didn’t realize you were into domination. At least I know what to get you for Christmas. I’ll have a whip monogrammed specially for you.”

She gasped and sputtered. “You know that is not what I meant.”

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Of course. But I happen to know my arse looks spectacular in these breeches. Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking.”

Her mouth fell open in shock and indignation. “I most certainly have not--”

Another group approached and Draco interrupted with a boisterous, “Good my honourable Lords and Ladies! Welcome to Ye Olde Renaissance Faire, where the wenches are bawdy and the cheeses are beauteous.” The group passed and one lady giggled a bit, fluttering her lashes at Draco.

Ginny exhaled loudly. “Don’t add to the script, Malfoy. Just read what is written.”

“You just told me to act. I was trying to play a part,” he explained beatifically.

“Oh, you are so full of shite. You were trying to mock the Ministry.”

He leaned casually against the wooden fence once more. “The Ministry cries out to be mocked, Weasley. You can’t blame me for that.”

“The rules of the renaissance festival clearly state that you have to stay in character, Malfoy. You have to,” she said. After a thought she continued, “Or I’ll hex you.”

He didn’t like the unnatural gleam in her eye, and he pushed himself off the fence and moved closer to her. “Statute of Secrecy be damned then? Excellent.”

Just as Ginny was about to draw her wand and show Malfoy the finer points of her vast array of hexes, a young muggle girl tugged on Ginny’s sleeve. “Miss? Could you tell me where the loo is?”

Ginny looked at Malfoy who returned her stare her evenly. She studied the Muggle girl for a moment, glanced at Draco, who was studying his fingernails, and replied, “Verily… erm… it’s over there by Ye Olde Funnel Cake stand.”

The girl chirped her thanks and flitted off in that direction.

Malfoy had the audacity to laugh at her mediocre medieval mutterings. “You’re rubbish at this, Weasley.”

She looked affronted. “I am not! I went to the orientation, same as you! I had to, didn’t I? And it’s your punishment; I don’t have to be good. I’m just here to watch,” she finished emphatically, with her nose raised self-righteously in the air for good measure.

A slight leer spread itself slowly across Malfoy’s lips. “So you like to watch, too. Interesting.”

She felt herself flush even as she rolled her eyes. “Oh, do shut up, Malfoy.”

“I can’t. I’m playing a part.” He greeted the next group entering the faire, with the correct language and, for him, appropriate enthusiasm. He then turned to Ginny. “How was that, then?”

Ginny tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “Passable.”

“My, you’re a tough one to please, Weasley.”

She decided to ignore him.

They spent the next hour in the baking sun, sweating in their heavy costumes, and Ginny was getting more cross by the minute. Stupid Ministry rules. No magic in front of Muggles, indeed. A cooling charm and some Disillusionment wouldn’t go amiss, as far as she was concerned. She didn’t like to sweat, and she didn’t like Muggles asking her where the toilets were, and she didn’t like Draco Malfoy. No matter how smashing his arse looks in those pants, she thought. She blinked and shook her head. The sun must be making me barmy.

“How much longer do I have to do this, Weasley?”

“You were sentenced to two-and-a-half months of this. That’s how long the faire lasts.”

He scowled at her. “No, I meant today.”

She gave him a vindictively triumphant smile. “As long as I say so, Malfoy.”

“You’re a pain in the arse, Weasley, you know that?”

“Yeah? Well you’re a--” She stopped short, noticing a group had gathered and was watching them intently. “You’re an artless, base court applejohn!”

He looked at her, startled and amused. “What did you say?”

She jerked her head toward their audience of Muggles, who apparently had taken their little spat as part of the Faire. “I said, you… boil-brained coxcomb… that you’re nothing more than a crook-pated, distempered… foot licker!”

He blinked several times, and his posture flowed smoothly from bored and indifferent to attentive and poised. “Verily?”

“Oh, aye, verily, you… slack-jawed boar pig.”

There was a smattering of applause through the crowd, and someone whistled, while others made appreciative ‘oooh’ sounds.

“Fie, then, my good lady,” he said contemptuously, and then you, in return, are a dizzy-eyed, churlish flax-wench.”

“That’s rich, coming from a beetle-headed, cockered, flap dragon,” she countered.

He smiled at her. “By my troth, you remind me somewhat of a clay-brained, droning, hedge pig harpy!”

She flushed scarlet. “You dismal-dreaming, craven, distempered, bum bailey!”

“You’re a common-kissing, clapper-clawed, clankish clot pole!” he retorted raucously.

This last insult elicited cheers and whistling from the Muggles. The two magical people advanced on one another, blind to the crowd that had gathered before them.

“Bug Bear!” she growled.

“Varlot!”

“Maggot-pie!”

“Gull-catcher!” he crowed.

The crowd around them watched, holding its collective breath

She advanced on him. “Malignancy!”

“Mold-warp!” He moved closer.

“Rabbit sucker!”

“Strumpet!”

“Coxcomb!” She lowered her voice so that the Muggles wouldn’t hear, and said, “I hate you. You disgust me.”

Draco was just centimetres from her face and whispered huskily, “Are you as turned on as I am right now?”

“More,” she whispered harshly.

His mouth crashed down on to hers in a rough, bruising kiss, but despite the turbulence of it all, Ginny had never felt more excited to be kissing someone. Her body was melded to his, her skin tingled everywhere that he touched, and there was a buzzing sound in her ears. Their lips joined again and again, and the longer she kissed him, the more she thought it sounded like people were applauding.

Oh great Morgana in the Morning. People are clapping, she thought.

She broke free of Draco and, not quite able to meet his eyes, turned to the crowd and curtsied before moving over to the other side of the entrance. Ginny was blushing, her heart was pounding, and she was shaking ever so slightly.

What was I thinking? she thought.

Draco’s voice broke through her scattered thoughts. “Grammarcy, goodly citizens, we thank you. Next show is in an hour.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide and she stared at him, his back bent low in a suitably dramatic bow to the Muggles entering the Faire. She studied him, his hair hanging down, his broad back and shoulders, and, though she’d never tell him, his arse did indeed look spectacular in those trousers. When he stood up and gazed at Ginny with a look that could only be described a smouldering, she decided that she might well be looking forward to the next show.

But an hour was going to be much too long to wait.