More Than Anyone

I’m gonna love you more than anyone…

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More Than Anyone

I’m gonna love you more than anyone…

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More Than Anyone

I’m Gonna Love You More Than Anyone…

Chapter 3-A Chance Again

"And I'm haunted

By the lives that I have loved

And actions I have hated.

And I, I'm haunted

By the promises I made

And others I have broken."

- Poe, "Haunted"

“Draco,” a female voice cooed seductively, thin arms encircling a certain light-haired man’s neck.

“What is it you want, Amanda?” Draco said, almost tiredly. He was looking over some papers on his desk and felt very exhausted. It was already around midnight and he had yet to finish reading the documents about a deal he needed to close.

“Nothing you can’t give, Draco,” the girl purred again in his ear, not achieving her desired effect. Draco tilted his head irritably as the girl breathed in his ear.

“Not right now, I’m not done yet,” he told her coldly. She didn’t seem to have gotten the message and just tightened her hold on his neck, but not to the point of strangling him. There was still much left to be done, re-checking the legal papers, checking if the contracts were still new so that if they were not, he could renew them, and he was not even half done with them.

Amanda grumbled dramatically, rolling her eyes as he worked. Draco didn’t particularly care if he upset her. She was only one of his flings, women he dated for public purposes only.

Four years after the war, he had become the big boss in his own corporation. Malfoy Inc. was an ancestral business started generations ago by Victorio Malfoy. It had got larger and larger, and now, they were incredibly filthy rich.

Of course, he had not been easily accepted by his employees, for he was too young to manage the business, but he quickly showed them that he was deserving of his job.

A part of his job was to act as if he were enjoying it. That he was in the top of his game and that he had everything anyone in his place would want – especially a beautiful girlfriend.

Amanda fit the bill quite completely. She was well-known with the upper crust society and the only smudge she had on her record was when she had disappeared for a year just two years ago. There were speculations and rumours as to what she had done with her long absence, and one of them was true. She had got pregnant and given birth.

Draco was a person who made sure that if he did something or committed himself to something, he was sure of what he was getting himself into. When he found this out from his private investigator, he convinced himself that the only way to persuade her completely to accept his terms was to use this advantage.

He had promised that as long as she was with him, he’d take care that the child was fed and taken care of. He had also sworn that no one would know of her secret from him and that she’d be happy if she were to be with him. She had complied, and had done what she had been told.

She was free to ask for money, but she never did. Instead, she asked for incredibly expensive jewellery. They were followed everywhere by reporters, trying to see what they had bought latest, making sure to report how generous Draco was to his girlfriend.

But Draco knew that she sold most of the jewellery he’d given her, for he never saw them again. It was all right with Draco how she used his gifts to sustain her lifestyle and her child. Just as long as it didn’t make both of them look bad. (And in this aspect, he found out that she was really good at what she did.)

Amanda was speaking again, but Draco turned a deaf ear to her. He was trying to concentrate on all of his paperwork. Just looking at it annoyed him. It was hard enough to go through all of this, much less listen to his ‘girlfriend’ blab on about something simultaneously.

He shouldn’t even be the one doing any of this. What he basically was supposed to do was to direct his assistants rather than get down and dirty with the paperwork. His job was getting one of his five assistants to tell him the summary of what the paper contained, and if the assistant gave even an ounce of doubt about what he/she had said, then he’d read some lines on his own and then sign it. But alas, he had gained a small amount of compassion for his workers—one thing he had long ago promised himself he was never going to gain—in the span of four years away from that asylum-like house Harry Potter now called ‘home’, and had let them go off to mind their affairs.

He still didn’t understand Harry Potter, with his jet-black hair always so messed up it made impeccable Draco cringe. Harry would suddenly Apparate into his office to chat or ask something he knew was of Draco’s expertise, and would be gone after a while. (He had never severed his bonds with Draco even when the saviour of the wizarding world had gone back to Hogwarts to finish his studies so that he could become an Auror.)

In fact, his debt of life as he knew it just got even bigger when they started their real life outside Grimmauld Place.

Harry had almost been beheaded by an extremely stinky troll and luckily for him, Draco had saved him. Draco didn’t even ask how it had happened, nor did he question his saving of the saviour’s life once again. He had just done it - just as Harry had saved the world like a global superman.

In return, Harry didn’t ask just why Draco had also been there to save him. Draco couldn’t quite summon the exuberance of telling Harry that the particular troll had once served the Malfoy Family (it was before Draco’s time, respectively) and Draco had just been there to give the troll a few Galleons the Malfoys had yet to pay him. By few he meant, of course, a few hundred Galleons. Telling Harry that troll was a servant of his family was just not done, even though it was not in any way Draco’s fault.

So Potter had repeated what he’d said, ‘Take another item of much importance to me or anything that would repay my large debt to you and it shall be given.’ Draco had yet to think of anything that would appease him, or truthfully, anything that he couldn’t get on his own, so he left the debt standing. In time, he thought to himself, unconsciously very conniving Malfoy-ish.

“You shouldn’t be the one doing that,” Amanda whined, voicing Draco’s reaction at seeing all the paperwork. “Tell one of your secretaries to do it for you.” She waved a hand dismissively, kissing Draco’s temple. Draco sighed, tired and exasperated.

“Yes, they should, but not today,” he told her shortly. Maxim’s wife had given birth just a week before and he hadn’t even asked for a day off, saying that it was convenient his child was born on a Saturday. But the man was desperate to help his wife in taking care of their child just for today for the nanny was late and would arrive the following day, and Draco had given in.

Becky’s mother’s death had affected her so; she looked so grieved and out of it that Draco had taken one look at her, cringed, and told her she could go home.

He had caught Samantha snogging with the fifth floor’s janitor on the rickety stairway practically no one used (though he did, since he thought he could get exercise from climbing it, but instead, got more of a disgusting eyeful of the janitor) and had quickly fired both.

So okay, he hadn’t gained much compassion. But he was sure that it wasn’t gained quickly. It took time, and someone like Draco who was considered bad to the bone (and even he had considered himself that when Pansy had said it seductively in his ear their fourth year inside the Hogwarts Express compartment—which did nothing but inflate Draco’s ego) would take even more time than most should have.

Still, he knew he was right. It was very disturbing and, and anyway, he still had all ninety janitors to clean his forty-floor building – and that particular rickety stairway spotlessly cleaned to be assured that all ‘marks’ of his former assistant and janitor were wiped clean.

The other two, he had told them to just go for the day since he was feeling quite generous. But not before telling them to get him a new assistant quickly, and in a matter of two hours, they had got a Hogwarts graduate student. Their job done, they had taken their leave.

In short, Draco really hadn’t known what he was in for when they had left even before lunch break. Work had piled up quicker than he thought it was possible and he had been stuck inside his office ever since, grumbling for tea and scones as he worked. Then Amanda had come just a few minutes earlier, which had done nothing to alleviate his annoyance. In fact, she even added to his growing irritation.

“So, Draco, you haven’t let me answer yet what I want you to give,” she reminded him as sweetly as a Veela could—if she were one.

“Answer, then,” he replied tersely.

“I want a certain piece of jewellery,” she said slowly, a Spanish tinge to her accent. This was Amanda Calisto’s forte. Asking for anything she wants and getting it quickly and never denied completely. Sure, sometimes she got negative answers, but she could swiftly turn the tide to her favour.

“What piece?”

“The one your mother was wearing around her neck to the opera…” she said delicately, thinking that getting cosier with Draco would make him say yes.

He instantly stiffened, but didn’t face her.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” The tone was cold, laced with menace but she was used to his coldness and wasn’t able to read the menace that was laced with it.

“It’s nice,” she said, looking at her long, crimson-coloured polished nails.

“If it’s my mother’s jewellery, it’s more than you could possibly pay even if you prostituted yourself for forty more years,” he said cuttingly.

Amanda quickly drew away, cut by his sharp words that rang true in her head. “W-what did you say?” she whispered shakily, unable to comprehend. Draco had an inkling that what she felt inside that room was what one would feel seeing the sky darken as grey clouds cover the sun’s light and bolts of lightning strike. She felt fear. She wanted to run, but stayed glued to her place, selfishness, greed and pride holding her feet captive to the ground.

He knew because he could see a part of him, of every single person who thrived in the upper crust, in her right now, when they are rattled and taken out of their territory.

“We both know what you are, whom you have sold yourself to. You can’t play pretend with me,” he said darkly, not bothering to stand up. If he stood up, he might strangle the girl to death, and he didn’t want his pictures plastered on the walls and called ‘mass-murdering Malfoy’. It wouldn’t go with the image that the public now viewed him.

Four months ago, his heroic deed of saving Harry Potter, who killed Voldemort, had been very much publicised with Harry Potter finally winning completely against the Dark Lord.

When there was a picture of Harry Potter anywhere, it was automatically pasted side by side with Draco’s. So on and so forth. The public ate up his good boy-bad boy portrait. He couldn’t understand it, since there was nothing he thought of boasting, but posed when cameras clicked nonetheless.

He was always on magazines, mostly on women-oriented ones. The women seemed to adore him, and well, he adored women in general. Because of his great influence, his private life was very much hands-off to everyone but to his closest friends.

Draco Malfoy liked his life now, so he wasn’t going to do anything to mess it up yet. But he never took anyone saying anything or doing anything rude towards his mother. Narcissa Malfoy was on Draco’s highest pedestal and could not be soiled by anyone. She was the perfect, most loving mother, he knew it, and would do anything to protect her.

Amanda looked as though she had just been slapped and pushed up a wall—and not the way she wanted. “How-dare-you!” she gritted out, hands balling and clenching into fists at her sides. She was within slapping distance of Draco as she talked. “You’ve no right to tell me that! And when have I ever asked for money? Some jewellery, fine! You have plenty of money for buying me trinkets to spare! And it’s not as if you haven’t used me too!” She glared at him challengingly. He peered at her apathetically. “Besides, I’m asking for it so that you won’t have to spend a Sickle,” she suddenly said, expression toning down, as if she was ready to forgive Draco if he just asked.

Draco’s eyes suddenly gleamed dangerously and she took a step back in trepidation. He stood up slowly, and started to walk. Every step he took forward, she took a step back until she found herself inches away from his door.

“I really don’t understand what the expression ‘how dare you’ means. Do you? I don’t even believe it’s grammatically correct, but it’s accepted because it’s been a long-time expression whenever people are riled up.” He was talking nonsense, he knew it. It helped take out some of the anger that he felt, or else he might melt the Spanish woman in front of him only with his mind.

He was, of course, undoubtedly a wizard. Magic was in his blood, and if Harry Potter could make his aunt bloat, then he could melt his girlfriend. “But now, I’m too angry to think straight, Amanda. And I suggest you leave. Don’t even try any of your tricks on me; we know what’ll happen if anything bad reaches the paper,” he said, turning away from the woman and sitting back on his chair. Amanda looked as though she was about to argue, but thought better of it and clamped her mouth shut and took her leave.

This discussion wasn’t worth the money loss and humiliation she would get if everyone knew of what Draco had found out about her. She was hurrying down the elevator and was too angry to even try and flirt with the beautiful black-haired man who was inside the elevator, who strode off towards Draco Malfoy’s office.

OxOxOxOxO

Someone knocked at Draco’s door, but he didn’t bother stand up. He was busy signing some business deals to look up. The door opened by itself, signalling that whoever had entered had let him- or herself in.

“I told you to take your leave,” Draco said curtly.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Draco,” a deep, masculine voice said, making Draco look up in recognition. He leaned his back onto the back of his big ‘throne’.

“Ah, Blaise, you saw her leave?” he asked and Blaise nodded in affirmation. “What brings you here at such a late hour?”

“A problem, of course,” the man said. Truly, Blaise was striking in the most elegant way. He was darkly handsome, with hair so dark and eyes Slytherin-green (unlike Harry’s) with a dark gold complexion only the rich could acquire and no amount of real self-sun-tanning could do. He was the dark to Draco’s light. They were both striking in their own ways, and people admired them for their beauty. Most had thought they were lovers, for what or who would be the woman who could match their beauty? They were refined and elegant, cunning and vigilant.

Maybe these were the reasons why they got along together. They were close friends and nothing could severe their bond - much like the bond of Draco and Harry.

“State the problem,” Draco ordered softly, closing his eyes and massaging his temples.

“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes just won’t merge with us,” Blaise said, straight-to-the-point.

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, which was owned by Fred and George Weasley, had slowly grown into a burgeoning chain of joke shops stretching from the Leaky Cauldron to Hogsmeade and to other wizarding cities as well. And investing in it, Draco thought, would be extremely wise.

“Why is that?” Draco frowned. He hadn’t expected much resistance from Fred and George. Then again, it wasn’t them Draco had saved. But as far as he knew, they were at peace with each other.

“Weasley doesn’t want to make abrupt decisions,” he explained, cold disdain heavily on his tone. “She didn’t want to make decisions she might regret.”

That caught his attention. What? “Well, you’re obviously not talking to the owners. Fred and George Weasley are he’s – or they seemed to be, as I remember, and they are the owners. Who were you talking to, anyway?”

“They’re in Romania,” Blaise drawled in reply, his tone and expression suggesting it would be a bore to try and get a hold on them in Romania. It would never cross his mind to write a note and send it via Owl Post. No one made deals like that. It was not unheard of, but it would be unsafe. “We had to talk to their representative.”

Draco’s patience was growing thin. First it was the fight with Amanda, and then this problem with the merging of enterprises. What was wrong with these people?

“Who is this bother?” he asked Blaise once again, the urge to just Avada Kedavra that person growing.

“Their sister - I think her name is Virginia Weasley.” Blaise shrugged carelessly.

“Ginevra Weasley,” Draco automatically corrected, and then realisation dawned on him.

OxOxOxOxO

“What? I can’t hear you properly.” Ginny ran her hand over her face, irritated. The twins were taking turns talking to her through the fireplace. Their heads were floating on the blue fire, distracting some of the WWW employees because of their loud voices.

“George said—” Fred started to say but George quickly cut in.

“No, that was you, Fred,” George cut in rather snappishly, correcting him.

“Oh, right. Ginny.” Fred looked at her seriously. It made her uneasy to see such a serious expression on this particular brother of hers. Even George was inclined to more straight faces than Fred was. “There will be mergers trying to bug you while we’re here with Charlie. What we’re trying to say is—”

“Whatever you do, don’t merge with them yet,” George finished for him, pushing his twin out of the way so that he was staring deep into bright brown eyes. Ginny had always envied her twin brothers’ eyes because she loved the colour.

“Wait for us to return,” Fred piped up, barely visible from George’s back.

“Which will be?” Ginny inquired, her arms crossed.

“Three weeks, the latest,” they chorused. Fred was now the twin visible while George could be heard cursing at the noise of a dragon.

“Remember that, Ginny. We don’t want to be hasty in making decisions,” Fred warned her. She nodded in agreement.

“I wouldn’t want to make a decision for both of you either. I might make one which is unfavourable to you both,” she answered. Fred looked incredulous and shook his head, waving his hand dismissively.

“Nah, we trust you, Gin. If you’re to make a decision, it would be a sensible one,” Fred said, flashing his winning smile that usually made Angelina roll her eyes at her fiancé but blush all the same when he used it on her.

“Still,” she said stubbornly, looking a bit distracted because of the shouts of one of their employees: ‘We’re out of bugger-flavoured cereals!!’

Fred looked towards his back; inquiring something to George she wasn’t able to catch. “Now? Aw, bugger,” he said, turning to face Ginny again. “Listen, Ginny, not that we don’t trust you or anything, but be careful with our shops. WWW is our baby,” he said, almost looking pained at being torn away from his company.

That made her laugh. “Yes, yes. I’ll be sure to take good care of it,” she promised. “No, hurry off and enjoy your vacation,” she said, grinning. Fred saluted and George waved. They both disappeared and the fire turned back to its normal shade.

The knocks after their meeting were numerous. There would be problems on some short-handed stocks and she’d help locate some more. They were earning far better than what they’d anticipated and it made Ginny grin in glee. That meant more pay. At least if the twins weren’t thinking of another thing to invent when they got here and needing their hard-earned money to fund a new project.

Now they were dubbed The Twins. And pranksters (kids everywhere, mostly) said their names as if they were saints to be worshipped. They never ceased to amaze her with their endless creativity. Ideas just kept on flowing and flowing and money kept on flying and flying in. George and Fred were overwhelmed with the money and the first thing they had done with their first big pay was repair The Burrow. Molly Weasley had cried in happiness, Arthur had looked closed to tears, so proud that the twins had finally done something responsible and heart-warming.

Working for the twins had been a surprisingly sensible choice for Ginny. She had yet to be at ease anywhere else. She had tried several shops. She had even applied for Madam Malkin’s, but she had found that it didn’t suit her at all. All the silky clothes and the pins that hurt when you were pierced did not appeal to her in any way.

It had never been her dream to be an Auror, and Harry had been very much disappointed when she had declined his suggestion. But her explanation that she didn’t want to chase nor have anything to do with criminals or evil people anymore had softened him quickly and everything had been all right again.

There were other opportunities that had come, but her heart seemed to push away anything else that came her way.

She was reminded of what she had done in the war, how she served for the cause. How she had helped those who were injured and put shelter over their heads. She was good with people, and she had thought it might become a good job if she wanted to be a Healer. Sure, she had applied as a Healer, but deep within her heart, she didn’t feel it was right for her. It was too… compassionate for a job. The emotions the job would bring would not be good for her. It would bring too many emotions to surface. She hadn’t enjoyed seeing such gruesome wounds on those she had healed in the past. And she had told herself before it was a one-time thing, nothing she would make a career of.

“Is this your dream job Weasley, to become a Mediwitch? I can’t imagine why one would want to be a Mediwitch.” What a person had said before to her suddenly rang in her ears as she pondered it. The words were frank, not much thought of to be perfectly honest, and it spoke of being sheltered. Whoever had spoken these words had never experienced being in an ordinary household, where there were no house-elves to serve you and you knew you’d have to fend for yourself when the time came for you to leave school.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Draco,” she said to herself in a soft voice, sarcastic in tone. “In fact, I don’t think you’d care at all.”

But still, Ginny couldn’t understand why it mattered to her slightly that he thought it was a condescending job… maybe that was one of the reasons she didn’t want to make a career out of it.

OxOxOxOxO

Blaise raised a trimmed eyebrow at Draco questioningly, but no other expressions graced his face. “You know her?” he asked him.

Draco flicked his wrist, which he was using to rest his head on, in a careless manner. “A mere acquaintance,” he said monotonously. There was no emotion in his face, so Blaise’s scrutinising look was useless.

Blaise’s family had thought best not to intervene with the war. They were neutral, despite their Slytherin roots. He didn’t judge Draco for picking the good side. He would’ve done the same thing, if he had been forced to make a choice. It was the winning choice, for more people had chosen to fight for the Order after all. Only a person who had bid too much and risked not just their lives but the lives of their family for their personal gain would choose the dark side. And they had not triumphed at all.

He inquired no longer and Draco was relieved, though he didn’t show it. “What do you suggest we do?” he asked Blaise.

Blaise tapped his forehead with his index finger lightly, as if retrieving a memory or thinking of a way. Draco never failed to be amused by his friend’s weird gesture. It was the only thing he did which was strange. The man was so formal even when relaxed. He was somewhat of an introvert, even in their years of schooling in Hogwarts. He would rather be submerged in books than planning petty ways to annoy Harry Potter. But he had basked in the triumph when they humiliated The Boy Who Lived.

“I suggest that we try again, of course. If she is an acquaintance -” he nodded his head towards the silver-blond-haired boy as he circled the room like a panther waiting and ready to pounce, his steps slow but calculated. It made no sound on Draco’s wooden flooring. He favoured wood over a carpet for he wanted to hear whenever someone was approaching but it proved useless when it was Zabini doing the pacing. “- then she’d be easier to persuade if you do it yourself.”

Draco’s eyebrows raised a notch and if he had been leaning his elbow on the edge of the table, he would’ve fallen in surprise. “What?” he asked Blaise blankly, startled.

“You should come with me when we try again,” Blaise said, his tone of voice suggesting that the immediate course of action was appropriate for deals like this. It went hand-in-hand with the expression ‘cut to the chase’.

Draco shook his head disapprovingly. “I doubt that would do any good, Blaise. When Gin-nevra makes her mind, it is hard to make her change it.” He almost said her nickname but he easily corrected himself. He felt it was better to keep what had transpired in Grimmauld Place four years ago a secret from Blaise, but wasn’t certain where that came from, since he was so used to carelessly telling the man everything. They were like best friends, if such a relationship existed in their society.

“Work your charms on her then,” Blaise shrugged. Draco suddenly remembered that once before, Blaise had considered Ginny worth looking at: he had even told pug-faced Pansy, but was too proud a Slytherin to ever approach Ginny. That was before; Draco didn’t know if it was still true now.

“Charms? I doubt that will work much on a person involved, or rather, in love with Harry Potter.” They both made a sound akin to snorting in unison, looking disdainfully away. “Your charms didn’t work?” Draco inquired.

“I haven’t faced her yet.”

“You led me to believe you have,” Draco pointed out, somewhat irritated. He didn’t know it, but somewhere in his brain—and in his heart—a part of him asked what if Blaise still thought Ginny was worth looking at? Surely the man would use his own charms to snatch her—if she was snatch-able, what with her situation of being in love with Harry Potter and all.

“I have spoken to her, yes. But not face to face: I used the fireplace.” Blaise’s green eyes darted about the room as he thought, his hands stuffed inside his pockets. Draco lay back against the back of his chair and briefly closed his eyes. He didn’t want to do this work anymore. Tomorrow was another day. He’d let his assistants take care of this.

“Then see if you can persuade her on your own first. If you can’t then I shall try.” He fiddled with his collar, pretending that it was constricting his Adam’s apple.

Blaise nodded, Draco’s fiddling not lost on him. “Very well then, I shall try. But I make no promises that I shall succeed. But I do give my word that I shall do my best,” he said and departed, walking out of Draco’s office without even saying goodbye. They were always that way. There was no need for good byes.

Draco shook his head, emitting a cricking sound from his neck. He stretched, suddenly feeling very tired. He looked up at the ceiling he had enchanted to depict the universe outside. He saw a multitude of stars and the crescent shape of the moon, glowing so brightly it hurt to look at it for a long period with his tired eyes.

Ginny Weasley. He really had not thought of seeing her for a long time. Sure, she dwelled in his mind day after day, but he did not hope to stay true to their words that they would see each other again. They were grown ups now, and they were no doubt both committed to their work. What had happened at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place had been a pleasant mistake. But as pleasant as it had been, he didn’t want to be the one to break the much gossiped-about relationship of the famous Harry Potter and the kind-hearted Mediwitch from the war, Ginny Weasley.

He wasn’t devious towards people he now considered to some extent his friends. He did not want to destroy the peace they now experienced. What had happened was best left as it was. A memory one might remember when one had the time to. Not when one was busy running an ancestral business. Or a joke shop, in her case.

He slammed his palm flat on his table, sending some papers tumbling. He didn’t pay it much heed. His assistants would fix that. He didn’t care if they were pissed. They had got their free day off after all. Sure, he had learned a bit of compassion, but he wasn’t a bloody saint.

For a long time, he sat there, giving the impression that he was thinking hard, when his mind was very much blank. He tried to think. He didn’t like it when he wasn’t thinking. It made him uncomfortable.

He heard a tapping sound come from his large glass window that oversaw the whole of the wizarding city Melania. Melania was near Knockturn Alley and quite far from Hogsmeade. Most businesses were there. It was the business wizarding capital of England and famous brand companies and magazine publications like Witch Weekly had their buildings there. When he was younger, he thought Diagon Alley was the centre of everything, but compared to Melania, it was just… well, an alley.

The sky was a deep dark shade of blue, reminding him of a painting he had once admired when he was young. It portrayed stars and the moon, and swirling designs of light in the sky and wispy clouds in the night. There was a very big, dark building that loomed intimidatingly taller than any other buildings in the vicinity of the city. It reminded him of Malfoy Inc. He had asked his mother once if she could buy it for him but she had laughed at his childishness, amused. His father had sniffed disdainfully, telling him it was a Muggle painting, and had not moved. He had said he’d rather not taint the Malfoy Manor walls with such trash.

Although Draco had quite disagreed, he had played along, thinking that perhaps his father was right. Whatever he had wanted, it had quickly been given to him, no questions asked. That was how his parents had showed their love and affection for their child, apart from teaching him how to ride a horse and bringing him to wizarding plays. He was still fond of the painting; he had tried to reciprocate it but to no avail. His mother said it was lovely, but he thought otherwise. Nonetheless, he didn’t bother thinking about the painting much anymore as time went on. He wouldn’t have it anyway, so why bother?

But now that he remembered the painting, he wanted it again. He didn’t know in which museum it could be located, or even if it still existed. He had seen it in one of his family visits to France, where his mother had spent her life before marrying.

He walked toward the glass window and slid it open, letting a falcon inside. It was his mother’s falcon, Visus with his beautiful elegant feathers and proud, sharp head. Visus meant ‘seeing’ in Latin and his mother had thought it appropriate for the falcon with its observant eyes. It held its left claw up, where a letter was tied, evidently for Draco. He fed Visus a crumb.

He opened the small scroll and read its contents. It only comprised of two words, commanding in nature.

Come home.

That was it. Come home. Perhaps his mother felt unrest that her son was not yet home. He scratched a light eyebrow guiltily, starting to fix some of his things he was to bring home. He sighed, snapping his fingers, a command to Visus, and the falcon perched itself on his right shoulder.

“Let’s go home, Visus,” he said tiredly to the falcon.

He locked the door of his office with eight different magical words. Not that it was needed. There were human and troll guards patrolling the whole building. Still, you couldn’t be too careful.

OxOxOxOxO

Ginny yawned as she checked the list of ‘toys’ they sold at the Melania City branch of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. People were already waiting impatiently outside for the store to open. It was close to nine o’clock in the morning and she was still very sleepy. She had stayed up late watching a movie with Harry while cuddling on the couch. They hadn’t done anything much, just really cuddled, which was a bit disappointing. Sure, Harry respected her and all, wanting to wait until she was ready. But when would that be?

And besides that fact, she rarely got to see Harry these past few months. He was so busy solving some mafia business that the last time they had seen each other before last night was, well… a very long time ago.

There were boxes and boxes of trinkets piled until the highest shelves. The increase of buyers had forced them to open more and bigger shops and to employ more employees to help with the work.

“Miss Weasley, where do you want this Exploding Slime?” An employee with brown hair tied up high in pigtails asked her, carrying a big box of plastic containers which contained varying colours of slime that stuck to anything and exploded quickly afterwards. There was still an empty shelf at the far corner of the shelf close to the doors of the shop. She pointed there and the employee quickly scurried off.

At least her brothers knew how to employ good help. They wanted those who were hard-working, worth their pay, and who had a passion for pranks. And the employees in the Melania branch were certainly that. She had never seen a chipper bunch that loved their job more in her life.

There really wasn’t anything to complain about in the job since the twins were firm but nice bosses. They were fair with the fee and fair with the employee’s wages. The employees loved them and their patrons loved them even more. She didn’t know how they did it, but what a business they had! She also loved working here, seeing the mischievous looks children (the majority of their buyers) flashed when they saw a particular trinket that caught their naughty attention. It reminded her of all of her siblings in their turns. Even Percy had that look and all seven of them looked identical when they did that mischievous grin that promised one hell of a time for them and bystanders.

She checked her watch. The arrow was millimetres to ‘opening time’ at the left side of her blue watch.

“Okay, people,” she called out, clapping her hands, her list tucked under her arm. “Seconds before opening time; get to your posts!” The three cash registrars and the five other employees all assembled at their places, thumbs up to show they were ready. The people outside who looked at them through the glass doors readied themselves anticipatively.

“In five, four, three, two -” She raised her wand, pointing to the lock and shouted, “ONE!” Everything happened so fast. The doors quickly bolted open and the shop was quickly filled with several noises. The cash registers were clicking noisily as money was deposited inside. There were choruses of ‘have a nice day’ and ‘welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ and several others that Ginny heard. She smiled and made her way to her office. She would wait for calls and reports from there.

The day progressed as it usually did until her secretary knocked on her door and told her that there was a ‘Mr. Blaise Zabini’ who would like to talk to her. She frowned. She had spoken to Zabini before but not personally. She had refused the offer, saying that it wasn’t her place to make decisions.

“Can’t you tell him to come again?” she pleaded, but her secretary, who was blushing furiously because of the close proximity she had with the dark-haired man, shook her head.

“He’s very adamant, Miss Weasley. He says he won’t go until he has a word with you,” she said, still red in the face.

Ginny sighed. Best get this over with. “Very well, send him in here.”

Her secretary nodded promptly and disappeared. There was another knock on the door and a tall, good-looking man appeared, looking around her small office observantly. It made Ginny uncomfortable.

It would be an outright lie to say he was not beautiful. The man was gorgeous! In black robes that fit his tall, broad shape and jet-black hair tousled perfectly fashionable. He looked like a model from one of the novels Hermione has been reading secretly from their fifth year until present. His green eyes were very different from Harry’s, for his were darker and mysterious. There was an air of dignity and enigma in his step that she couldn’t ignore. He was the type school girls worshipped, that made grown women flock to him and love him so adoringly that they were on the verge of being addicted—if they were not already.

His eyes stopped travelling and looked at her sitting form, nodding in acknowledgement. “Good morning, Miss Weasley,” he greeted her.

“Good morning, Mr. Zabini, please take a seat.” He looked at the stuffed couch and seated himself, his back ramrod straight, legs crossed in a casual manner, his green eyes trained on her. “What would you wish to discuss?”

What she liked about Blaise Zabini (judging from the first time they had talked and presently) was that he cut to the chase. He didn’t prolong what was inevitable unless it was to be used in his own gain. “Miss Weasley, as you know, our company would like to merge with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. We feel that it would be a good opportunity for both parties if we invested in you and you would let us merge with you.”

She frowned. She really didn’t understand much about business. Sure, she could organise and order around the staff and check out their other branches, but aside from that, she really didn’t do much. “I’m really not in a position to decide, Mr. Zabini. The decision rests with my brothers. I’m not really sure what merging would do.”

“It would be helpful to both our business,” was his only reply.

“Yes, that much is obvious,” she said, a bit annoyed, but looking up at him, the annoyance melted away. It was hard to be angry for a long period with such a good-looking bloke. “But the agreements, and everything else in between, I’ve no idea about it. I’d rather my brothers handle this, Mr. Zabini. They have informed me just yesterday that they are about to come home.” She smiled slightly, hoping this would ease Zabini a bit. There was no expression on his handsome face. “So I hope you’ll be able to wait til then.”

He seemed to ponder this, and uncrossed his legs. “I shall ask my associate what his opinion is on this matter. Apart from that, I thank you for your time, Ms. Weasley.” He had the courtesy to smile, and she blushed when he did. He had a little resemblance to her Harry, but had the mystery card playing for him. It was hard to admit but he was ten times more handsome than her Harry was.

“And I thank you for yours.” She smiled kindly and he nodded, standing up and shaking her hand firmly. His hands were exceptionally soft, reminding Ginny of a person whom she had months ago shaken hands with, that had similar hands.

Blaise Zabini left just as Ginny’s secretary opened the door, and her secretary looked wistfully at Zabini’s retreating back. “There goes my prince charming,” her secretary sighed wistfully, making Ginny grin. Oh, how love-struck she looked. It was just an example of how Blaise Zabini could charm any girl without even trying. Ginny was lucky he really hadn’t tried anything with her. She didn’t know how she would have handled it.

OxOxOxOxO

Draco had decided to give himself a holiday and sent forth a letter to tell his assistants and the vice-president of Malfoy Inc. to take care of the office while he was gone for the day.

He was still sleeping when he heard a sound at the back of his head and light struck his closed eyes, making him groan in annoyance, sit up and cringe. He had his grey eyes narrowed, seeing his heavy curtains pulled to the sides and the ominous shape of Blaise Zabini stood, leaning on his window, looking down at him from his spot.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, Blaise?” he mumbled, sitting up ad resting his head against the headboard of his large bed.

Blaise’s arms were crossed and he turned his head to look at the garden view of Draco’s window. “She didn’t agree,” he said coolly.

“Who? Some girl you asked to sleep with you?” he asked tiredly, uninterested in whatever Blaise had to say. He lay down again and pulled up his dark emerald- green comforter to his shoulders. “Better luck next time then, mate.”

“I didn’t mean that. And no one ever says no to me,” Blaise informed him darkly. “I meant Ginevra Weasley, your friend,” he said coldly, annoyed at Draco’s teasing.

“Acquaintance,” Draco corrected him sleepily, covering his mouth as he yawned.

“Whatever you wish to call her,” Blaise said dispassionately. “She did not agree. She suggested we wait for the twins to come back before we ask to merge again. We can’t wait that long, but it is useless to talk to the woman.”

“Did you use your charms on her?” Draco said, finally looking awake and sat up to listen seriously.

Blaise shook his head and walked to a wooden chair with a green-cushioned body. “She’s with Harry Potter. Bloody good that would bring. She doesn’t know anything about business; it’s obvious in the way she works and how she answered me. She even confessed it to me.”

“Okay then, we wait,” Draco said, calling for a house-elf to bring him and Blaise tall glasses of water.

Blaise huffed. “A waste of time. How do we know how soon they’ll be coming back? What if it takes them a month? We’ll be left hanging and that isn’t good. We should do this quickly. We have never let merging go this slowly. This is the first time that we’ve had to wait for so long. We must execute it quickly.” He turned to Draco, his eyes sharp. “It’s your end of the deal,” he said quietly. “You said that if it didn’t work when I took my turn, you’ll be the one doing the persuading.”

Draco mentally grimaced, wishing for a Time-Turner just then so that he could stop himself from having said such a stupid thing. He didn’t want to be in the presence of Ginevra Weasley. There had been a reason they had yet to cross paths since the last time they had met, and he was set not to budge. “You said she wouldn’t budge. What gives you the idea that the power is with her? What if she really is in no position to sign? Then our contracts would be void nonetheless.”

Blaise stood still for a long while then he shook his head. “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Her last name says it all. She has power. They wouldn’t let her manage the business while they are gone if she didn’t have an ounce of say in anything. I’m quite sure that once she signs, they’d go along.”

Draco thought for a long moment before he considered anything. There had been several cases before where the owners themselves had been swayed by loved ones and most especially blood relatives. He knew and slightly envied the tight bond of the Weasley family. He could bet that whatever decision Ginny made, they’d support her, even if she were out of the line, if only to make her learn a moral lesson.

Blaise knew that Draco was befuddled; whenever he didn’t know what to do, he would look away, a crinkle appearing near the lower part of his right eye. “It is entirely your choice if you would like to discontinue this pursuit.”

Draco didn’t want to consider that yet. This was big bucks, as unexpected as it might sound. It would make him richer, and the better his and Narcissa’s life was, the better. He didn’t want the ancestral business to go down the drain just because he had made a lapse in judgement. “I did say that I would try,” Draco said, more to himself than to the man who had situated himself back on the wooden chair, his ankle resting on his leg’s other knee. “Draco Malfoy doesn’t turn back on his word.”

“Unless it would be beneficial or used to manipulate,” Blaise drawled out lazily, earning a glare from Draco which he paid no heed to. Draco’s intense glares that were known to make most grown men almost wet their pants did nothing to him. He was somehow immune to it. Most of the time.

“Very well, I’ll talk to her. But if this doesn’t work, I refuse to make a fool out of ourselves any longer and just wait,” Draco announced firmly. Blaise nodded, accepting his decision. How could he not? Draco owned most of the company stock anyway.

“I’ll hold you to your word, Malfoy,” Blaise said, resorting to his family name as they both did when they were serious or in jest or when they just plain felt like it. “For now, I think I shall check on Zabini Enterprises.”

Blaise acted as the owner of a company that had merged with Malfoy Inc. years before. It was dully named as Zabini Enterprises. Zabini had little to do with anything, although he owned the company. He let the vice-president and his mother rule it. His mother wouldn’t let any of her husbands touch it; except, of course, the first one, who was Blaise’s father. They were still friends although they barely talked about anything unrelated to business. Blaise had no love lost for his father. He felt dispassionately for both his parents, which might perhaps have been the cause for his quiet personality. He’d rather work for Malfoy, acting as the manager of companies for Malfoy Inc. than play CEO to Zabini Enterprises any day.

“Very well then, off you go, Zabini and let me sleep. Draw down the curtains, if you please,” Draco said, covering himself and quickly falling asleep once again.

Blaise took his leave and disappeared for a few days. Draco wasn’t worried. The bloke was probably having a fun time with another fling here and there somewhere. He’d rather not know anyway. Last time he had asked, he had been given the disgusting information that he had been dating former pug-faced Pansy Parkinson, who went under the wand just months before Blaise and her dated. Going under the wand was equal to plastic surgery in the wizarding world. Of course, ‘mum’s the word’ did not exactly exist in the upper crust society. Almost everyone knew what everyone was mostly up to. They just preferred to ignore much of it.

OxOxOxOxO

It was already Friday, one of the busiest—if it is not the most—days of the week. Draco found himself standing side by side with Blaise Zabini that Friday morning outside a big shop of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, just as he had promised. He looked outwardly bored, as if this was such a waste of time, when inwardly, he was thinking of a way to get out of this as soon as possible. He didn’t want to be standing here, about to do something he might regret or that would make him look stupid, and most of all, he didn’t want to see Ginny.

No, he didn’t loathe her; quite the opposite, really. The way he was attracted to her just four years ago scared him. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, for he was too proud, of course, but he knew that if he were to be in close proximity with the fiery redhead, then he might not be able to control his actions. Blaise looked at him from the corner of his eyes and a smirk formed on his thin, smooth lips, obviously enjoying his friend’s discomfort. Although Draco showed none of his unease, Blaise could read it off him. His feet were far apart, as if he were ready to pounce, to bolt or to run. His back was stiff, chin held high, while his grey eyes were narrowed into slits as he looked at the door. It was a blatant confirmation of his unease for someone who knew him so well.

“Turning your back on me now, Malfoy?” He teased him in an arrogant tone which the elite like him used unconsciously.

“I’m standing here, am I not?” he snapped at the Blaise, whose smirk widened in turn. His silver-blonde hair was not gelled as it had been before in his youth. It was fashionably styled so that his hair line was on the side and he had bangs on the sides of his temples. It made him look more mature and more handsome. He was dressed impeccably in green robes of the finest material money could buy. It had cost a lot of money, but to him, it was barely a smudge in his funds.

“Do you need me to hold your hand?” Blaise asked him mockingly, earning a sharp glare from Draco, which shut him up effectively.

“I need not any hand to hold. This is just a deal. I’ll probably just need to lean back on a stupid wall while you do the bloody talking,” Draco replied, huffing.

Blaise looked at him boredly. “That’s all you seem to do anyway,” he drawled, not once having seen Draco really work except for that time he had been informed by Narcissa Malfoy that Draco had yet to come home, so he had to rush to the office in the middle of the night to tell the Malfoy heir that the Weasleys had refused to merge yet with Malfoy Inc.

“Hardly,” Draco said, huffing as he did so. It was now or never. He started walking towards the two glass doors, and with a snap of his fingers, the doors bolted open, letting the Melania streets hear the commotion inside the shop that was sealed by a very advanced Silencing Charm designed only to break when the door was opened. For a moment, everyone turned to look at them. The little boys looked at their passive faces and went back to what they were doing. Some made faces which Draco and Blaise probably ignored if they ever saw at all. Young mothers seemed to have their whole attention on the two for ten seconds before they were easily distracted by their children. The staff briefly shrugged their shoulders, whispered and got back to work. It would not do well to gawk at two men inside their shop anyway.

“Penny, the box of shrieking light bulbs have arrived!” a voice said, drawing Draco and Blaise’s attention, and they both saw Ginny emerging from a door in a corner where Draco could see a small office space from the open door.

Whoever she was calling to did not reply; so Ginny walked completely out of the office, frowning, and into the shop.

A frowning Ginny was acknowledged by the two men and was taken-aback at who she saw. For standing just beside Blaise Zabini was Draco Malfoy.

OxOxOxOxO

“Miss Weasley.” Blaise was the first to break the trance, forcing Ginny to look at him, but not before darting an uncertain glance towards Draco. He offered his hand and Ginny faintly took it, concentrating hard on him.

“Mister Zabini,” she frowned. “I thought we agreed that you would wait.”

“I made no such promises, Miss Weasley. I merely said that I would ask for the opinion of my associate.” He gestured to Draco Malfoy, who was staring coolly at the high shelves. He seemed to have grown taller for he was already 6’4”. She looked like a dwarf, being 5’5” to his staggering height. “And we have decided to seal the deal as quickly as we could.”

“A pleasure seeing you again, Miss Weasley,” Draco said smoothly, offering his hand.

Ginny took it, very surprised at seeing him again after four years. She was aware that she was staring, but it had been such a long time since they had last seen each other. And then, she was used to seeing his bare back with gashes and wounds on them because of the lashes he had got (which would never fade, so they could be considered as battle scars), with his hair not as tidy as it used to be. His hairstyle had changed and it was more favourable than his past one: it wasn’t still nor slimy-looking, which was a big improvement. He looked more assured of himself and had on expensive-looking clothes (not that he had ever worn anything less than exceptionally expensive clothes) which probably suited his standing.

“Miss Weasley, if you would kindly give my hand back to me,” he said, amused at how she was gaping up at him as if she had seen someone unbelievable. Although he quite enjoyed the attention, it also disoriented him. “Miss Weasley?” he asked again.

Pity that what would break this trance were words tumbling down her mouth, an unfitting response to his inquiry.

“I still have your black pants,” was what she blurted out.

Hearing this, Blaise raised a brow, an amusedly intrigued expression twinkling in his eyes. A smirk was forming in the side of his perfect mouth again. Draco seemed to pale, and nodded his head with as much dignity he could muster. ‘Keep it, it’s yours as a remembrance,’ almost tumbled out of his mouth, but fortunately, unlike Ginevra Weasley, he had more control on his tongue.

“I never noticed it was gone,” he decided to say, pulling his hand back and stuffing it inside his black suede pants.

Ginny was blushing so hard when realisation dawned upon her about what she had just said, and people who were mumbling to themselves as they looked for trinkets to purchase were looking at them peculiarly, and Ginny hoped fervently no one would tell any of the magazines or the Daily Prophet. “I’m so sorry… It was inappropriate—”

“No harm done, Miss Weasley,” Draco cut her off, not wanting to prolong it. He knew that she hadn’t meant to say it, since her face was competing with the colour of her hair.

“—that I would not even think of sending them back to you, but it totally slipped my mind and I just remembered it—” she kept on babbling, and slapped her hands onto her mouth when she noticed Blaise hiding his laughter with a cough and that Draco looked as if he was ready to Apparate away from her. “I’m so sorry,” she said as sincerely as she could.

“If we could just move on, Miss Weasley,” Draco said exasperatedly, looking around the store, glaring at those who dared look him in the eye.

“Right, uhm, this way please,” she mumbled, her head bowed low as she went inside her office. Her assistant who was holding the door for them looked at Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini as if she had just won the jackpot lottery. She continued to stare at them dreamily until Blaise, who had been silent through this whole ordeal, nodded his head at her as an indication that she might leave. She hurriedly went off her merry way and Ginny was quite depressed that she didn’t have anyone to be with her and keep her strong as she talked to these two men. Then again, her secretary wouldn’t be much help, judging at how she gawked at the two men, Blaise especially.

“So how can I help you?” she began, trying to make herself as comfortable as she could. There was no use crying over spilt potion, as the saying goes.

“I’m supposing you already know the answer to that, Miss Weasley,” Blaise Zabini said as courteously as he could. Ginny nodded unblushingly.

“I’m supposing you already know that answer to that too, Mister Zabini,” she retorted smoothly.

“The problem, Miss Weasley, is that we don’t know how soon your brothers are coming home. This offer cannot stand still for months to come. In fact, we make it a point to make deals as quickly as possible without being sloppy with our job. I hope you understand.”

“Mister Zabini, my brothers are coming home in three weeks, can’t you please wait?” Ginny didn’t really know how to act with people like these. She had never experienced doing business first-hand. When she first started, she would see Fred and George discussing properties and WWW matters with businesslike people and all that was appointed to her was the bringing in of the Butterbeer,

“We can’t, Miss Weasley. I have full confidence though, that you would know what would be best for your company.” The way he said it, it was evident that he meant their company. “Malfoy Inc. would personally see to it that everything goes smoothly. All you have to do is sign some contracts and we’ve merged.”

Malfoy Inc. It seemed that Ginny had stopped hearing whatever Blaise Zabini was saying and her mind had stopped at Malfoy Inc. It was a bad habit of hers to stop and take notice of something in particular that someone had said and just zone out—a bad habit Draco himself had once called her attention on.

She looked at the person who owned said corporation. Draco had a bored expression clearly written on his handsome face as he cradled his lower jaw with his palm, his long fingers curled so attractively that he looked like a wonderful anguished portrait. He looked like he was watching Muggle television, like the one Harry owned and had set up at his inherited house, Grimmauld Place. And from his expression, he might have been watching the National Geographic Channel featuring large African ants and how they were attacked by shielded caterpillars. How fascinating.

“Miss Weasley?” Even though someone had already called her attention, she still seemed drawn to look at Draco’s passive face. Only when he flicked his eyes to look at her did she turn away, successfully looking professional and not blushing at all. Thank you, Fred and George, for mentoring me, flashed into her head suddenly.

“I would not want to make decisions which are not mine to make, Mister Zabini. My brothers have entrusted me with the place, it wouldn’t be right to break my promise as their employee and sibling,” she said, thinking quickly of what she should say.

“And you’d make them proud. You’ll be helping them out with this deal,” Zabini said, his green eyes looking at her so intently that it was hard not to imagine it a dream that a boy so beautiful would be looking at her. His face was much improved since Hogwarts when it had been narrow.

Ginny bit her lip, her resolve slightly leaning to the side. If she turned them away, there was a possibility that she’d be making a big mistake. Malfoy Inc. was a successful business; it had been for hundreds of years. Why not put her trust in something stable? Merging would help pay some bills, right? Still, it wouldn’t be right to her brothers. She was sure that they’d understand if she had to turn this away… But then, she could always contact them via Floo or her head appearing in a Romanian fireplace.

So she had come to deciding, “I shall give you my answer, Misters Malfoy and Zabini, when I have talked to them. I’ll be in touch as quickly as I can possibly be.” There. That was safe. If her siblings approved, then she’d sign the papers temporarily until they got back from Romania. Although they deserved the rest, she couldn’t help wishing they’d just Apparate quickly back here.

Blaise nodded, accepting her answer. “Very well, Miss Weasley. Thank you for giving us your time.” He stood up abruptly and so did Draco, looking as though he wanted to yawn and stretch his arms.

Ginny heard Blaise Zabini open the door as she bent her head to arrange the papers on her desk. She could see a pair of legs not far away from her, but her hair obscured her view of the person’s face. But she was pretty sure it was Draco.

“You go on ahead, Blaise, it is time for lunch anyway,” he declared without a single glance at his watch. Blaise nodded his head and left, but not before raising a brow. He walked nearer to the Ginny who, fumbling with her watch, was also surprised that the meeting had just gone by just like that.

She looked up at Draco and smiled nervously. “Hi, Draco.”

OxOxOxOxO

“We meet again, Ginny,” he said, his lips turning up into a small smile. She looked even more beautiful now that she had matured into a real woman. There was something about her that would just make you look at her. He noticed she had fewer freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks now. Perhaps it is makeup, he thought reasonably, or a cream that actually works.

“I didn’t think it would take us four years to meet again,” she said, sounding to his ears as if she didn’t believe that four years had passed without them seeing each other even once.

“We were busy,” Draco explained for the both of them. There really was no excuse, maybe because it was better that way. The four years that had transpired had been times of great stress for Draco. He had become so busy starting from his first month of work and in a span of months after, he had been so caught up in work he had barely made an appearance anywhere. But after a year or so of getting used to it, he had made time for girlfriends and some parties he could never really stay away from.

She shrugged. “You’re right, I suppose. I can understand your part. Managing a big business is surely hard work,” she teased. “I’m glad, though, you haven’t severed your bonds with Harry.”

He shrugged his shoulders. He hadn’t seen the man for months now. “How is Potter these days? I haven’t seen even a trace of his shadow for months.”

A shadow seemed to loom in her eyes and she looked away towards a nonexistent place. “He’s fine,” she said vaguely and he didn’t press on. Perhaps he had been sent on one of his ridiculous missions again (saving creature-wizard bonds were a bore to him, it seemed and so was saving lives not connected to his own) that would take a lot of time to finish.

As they talked some more, she moved through the small space she called her office. She checked on long lists plastered on random places on the walls, pausing only to laugh at something Draco had said or add something of her own. It was when she had raised her hands to put up another one of said lists that Draco noticed that she wasn’t wearing a ring on either hand.

This meant she was neither engaged nor married. It surprised Draco, really. Harry could have got Ginny by now. They had been together for so long they probably ended each other’s sentences and those sort of cheesy things he’d heard real people in love do. Or probably it was just in the wizarding plays he still kept on watching with his bonding-time with his mum.

“So how come you’re not yet married to Potter?” he asked frankly, seeing nothing wrong with it. Ginny paused, taken-aback by his question and not really at all too sure how to react or to answer.

“Well, we’re not yet ready, I suppose,” she settled on replying, shrugging her shoulders as she did so. “His job demands a lot from him and there are times I don’t see him for months. There’s also WWW I have to take care of. And before you say it, I haven’t found my job calling yet so I’m having a real big trouble finding out what is right for me to do.” She offered him a smile, which he did not return, his eyes giving her a look prompting her to continue and she sighed. “I don’t want to get married without the security that I can contribute to the expenses.”

“You don’t have to contribute at all; it is Potter’s job to feed the family,” he said smoothly, flicking an imaginary fleck of dirt off his shoulder.

“How very sexist of you,” Ginny said wryly, continuing with her list. “I want to contribute something and I want a job that I can love with all my heart. Like Harry and Ron like being Aurors and Hermione loves being a doctor.”

“Wait, Granger’s a Healer?” Draco asked, an eyebrow arched in a questioning manner.

Ginny nodded, smiling. “You thought it would be me ending up as a Healer? Well, she became the Healer—she calls herself a doctor since she’s a Muggle-born—I’m sure you opened your mouth not to make a nasty comment but to ask me more.”

“And Weasley’s—the most stupid one of all, Ron—an Auror too?” Whatever he wanted to add that was meaner, but he kept it to himself as not to rile up Ginny more. He looked at his silver chain watch and was surprised to see it was almost 12:30. No worries. He could take lunches as long as he wanted. “Say, why don’t we eat somewhere? My treat.”

Ginny frowned, not really in his direction but in thought. “WWW is open even at lunch time and most staff have lunch breaks at separate times to accommodate the people buying their merchandise,” she informed him. He didn’t speak. She was still deliberating. “But then, I’m really hungry and knowing you, you’ll certainly pick a posh place with exceptionally great food. There would be no harm in taking a break, then!” She wasn’t giving a straight answer and it seemed to him that she was talking more to herself than to him, as if she was drifting into ‘Ginny-land’ once again like she used to before and he couldn’t quite get the hang of it – which irked him.

“Are you coming?” Draco prodded, suddenly uncomfortable at the thought that she would decline. She fiddled with her long hair, now almost reaching her hips, as she thought. He couldn’t take his eyes off her lips, which she continually worried by biting on repeatedly.

OxOxOxOxO

“All right then, Draco,” she said, her smile turning into a frown of concern as she looked at the cold faraway look Draco had, staring somewhere near her, making no eye contact at all. “Draco?”

He suddenly looked up at her as if nothing was the matter and nodded, opening the door for her and leading her out of the establishment. How odd, she thought. She knew that she had no right to judge him. After all, she barely knew him and the time they had spent apart brought her farther from him than before. How could she think it was odd of him to space off just like that?

But deep in her heart, she felt as though she knew him more than anybody could. And it worried and frightened her. What if she worried more for him? What if she really did get time to spend with him? What if they knew each other more than she and Harry knew each other?

Worst, what if she fell in love with him?

Notes:

*The Painting Draco was thinking of is Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry, Starry Night.

*Melania is the dubbed name of St. Augustine’s lover who his mother urged to leave him. He loved her so much and her him.

More Than Anyone

I’m gonna love you more than anyone…

Chapter 4 – What I Miss

“My feelings for you shame me into silence.

The trust of this and your name will never

be revealed. It is you who has made me

realize the failure of my life. The thought of you

fills me with longing and at the same time,

A burning humiliation that produces

scar tissue and dead brain cells.

Your existence mocks me and I am unable

so confront this.

None of this is your fault.

It is completely with me.

It is you who makes me see what I really am.

I am weak and out of touch with myself.”

-Henry Rollins

Draco decided that what he missed the most about his days in Grimmauld Place was staring at Ginny.

He confirmed it by doing nothing at all but look at her as she studied her surroundings, ignoring the tinkling laughter of well-dressed women on other tables and the distinct laughter of wealthy men. She did not look uncomfortable, despite the fact that if seated beside any of those women she’d look incredibly ridiculous in her working jeans and unadorned sweatshirt. In fact, she seemed rather amused by the scenario. He shouldn’t have expected her to be insecure. After all, he’d never seen her fazed in front of opulence, or be intimidated by anyone – much less Draco himself – even if a haughty person might remark that she looked as though she belonged to a factory.

“It’s only lunch time and women here are dressed like they’re going to a midnight ball,” she said softly so that only he could hear and smiled as she did so, her brown eyes twinkling with barely suppressed mirth.

The bistro was small but elegant-looking. It didn’t reek of wealth; it diffused the smell through the different fragrances of men and women. It was evident in the customers’ sophisticated gestures, the women’s coiffed hair and their jewellery. It was the type of place Draco and his friends frequented and the type that Ginny and her friends most probably snorted and rolled their eyes at.

As a diversion, he reached for a glass of water poured by a waiter while trying to regain his senses and quickly wracking his brain for anything intelligible to say. “Maybe they are,” he finally settled to say. It sounded like something he would normally say and he thought it worked well for Ginny grinned wider.

She flicked her red hair to the back of her right shoulder, exposing her white neck. Draco found himself taking another inaudible swallow, his unreadable eyes never wavering from the expanse of skin. There was a small wound near her chin that was near to closing and Draco couldn’t help but wonder how Ginny got it. She was saying something but he couldn’t quite catch it, so with great mental force, he focused his attention to whatever she was going on about.

“-because they could easily ruin the dress before midnight so it’s clear that they’re just over-dressing,” she finished, shrugging her shoulders.

She frowned and cocked her head to the side, looking at him quizzically. He cleared his throat, feeling uneasy under her scrutiny, and laid his glass back on the table. He then leaned back against his chair, pulling his leg to rest his calf on his other knee. He raised an eyebrow at her then imitated the tilting of her head. She rolled her eyes but nonetheless looked concerned… and slightly peeved.

“Were you listening to what I was saying?” she asked him, point-blank.

No, he wasn’t. But it would not bode well to admit his inattentiveness to Ginny. He tried to remember the parts that he did hear and concluded she was telling him that the women were just simply over-dressed.

“Of course,” he told her. He didn’t want to repeat anything she said for he might easily get caught. She narrowed her eyes and nodded her head, albeit suspiciously.

“Then what did I just say, Draco?” she smirked smugly and crossed her arms. Her expression obviously said ‘caught you.’

He smirked then but it slightly faltered when she blinked; looking suddenly lost and when she looked away her cheeks were glowing pink. He interpreted it as annoyance. He hadn’t said anything yet but he felt like he was already ruining it. He wanted to salvage it, feeling that if this was his only chance to win over any affection from Ginny, then he would damn take it.

“They’re not over-dressed, they’re just always dressed that way,” he said smoothly, pleased when she looked taken-aback, then embarrassed. She was clearly not expecting an answer.

He continued to look at her unabashedly, amused with her as her expression changed until it settled to a blank one. The waiter returned then and handed Draco and Ginny their menus. It was customary for the man to be the one to order and since Ginny looked lost with the French names of food, he took the liberty to order for the both of them, then left Ginny to order her beverage.

“Why do they need to?” she asked him curiously, chewing on her bottom lip as she narrowed her eyes while she read the names on the menu, sometimes murmuring them under her breath.

He shrugged, careful not to rumple his clothes. “It shows your status in life,” he explained in a tone that suggested naturalness.

Ginny rolled her eyes and snorted. Draco cleared his throat and was relieved to see that the tables were far away from each other and he had been right to choose a window-side table. Most of the crowd that ate there were in the middle of the restaurant, there was a very slim chance anyone would hear the undignified sound Ginny had just emitted. She busied herself for a while, fumbling with her napkin and settling it on her lap, smoothing out the creases.

“Why do they have to do that?” Ginny wanted to know and Draco found her brown eyes that were so innocently questioning endearing. “Why do you have to do that?”

He didn’t know how to answer her question correctly. There was no simple explanation as to why the rich acted the way they did. They understood it as culture and they took to heart every single rule of etiquette and followed them their whole lives. Proclaimed ‘bad boys’ of wealthy upbringing still knew how to hold a knife correctly and which spoon to use despite their ‘roughness.’ They would even hold a door open for a lady completely on impulse. It was just how they did things and Draco never understood why people thought too much about it. It wasn’t like the rich bothered to scrutinise the ways of the middle-class … which was why he found it so absurd whenever the media praised him for his great ‘spoon-handling’ – which he took as a compliment to his table manners.

How would he answer her? He could just shrug his shoulders and tell her not to bother him with stupid questions, but knew that the glass full of water in front of him might drench his expensive robes if he did and a huge scene was not what he wanted for lunch.

So he settled for a vague answer. An answer that would still be correct yet would muddle her mind. It wasn’t as if he wanted to delude her or make her think that all of the rich people were pompous.

He took his glass and gulped, noting that Ginny’s eyes were on him the entire time. It didn’t make him very uneasy as it had moments ago. In fact, he took a small pleasure knowing she was looking at him.

“So that they would remember their place,” he finally said. For a second, Ginny looked like she was about to tackle him to the ground and shriek, ‘that’s it?’ but then she rolled her eyes and held her head back and laughed, as if she knew and understood perfectly what he was talking about. Her laughter was wonderful to his ears, even though it was a bit loud and it didn’t tinkle - he liked it for the fact that she didn’t laugh because she wanted him to look (unlike the women he usually spent his extra time with) but because she was actually pleased.

And it ended up making him feel pleased too.

OxOxOxOxO

The loud angry sound of water pouring in quick, successive droplets that pelted every exposed surface in what felt like the whole of London pierced everyone’s ears. Draco had his gloved hands poised on either side of his waist as he glared at the dark angry sky.

Beside him Ginny was trying to stifle another snort.

Draco didn’t bother turning is head. He gave her a sideways glance with the eyebrow she could see arched high. Ginny grinned widely.

“You look like you’re ready to chastise the sky for raining,” she said, unable to stop sharing her thoughts with him. It was so easy to tell him without restraint anything that popped into her head. A small smirk was almost forming in his rosy lips that seemed to glow from his pale face, before he turned to face her and look down at her from his haughty, man-skyscraper height. It must be nice for him to know that she looked up at him, despite having no other options; he probably took it as an odd show of respect. She stifled a giggle from the pun. Draco continued to emulate a look of intimidating masculinity. Perhaps there was something wrong with Ginny because it almost came across to her as adorable.

“Now admit to me, Ginny,” he suddenly proclaimed. There should have been a crackle of thunder from the sky for dramatic effect. His glowing skin should have been illuminated by the contrasting darkness after lightning and… Ginny couldn't concentrate. Not when her scalp felt cold and pinprick-y after inhaling his perfume that intermingled with the smell of rain quite wonderfully. She forced herself to exhale sharply to get it out of her system. To get him out of her system. Ginny’s eyebrows both raised in confusion as she tried to focus on what Draco was saying. “… that you have an unlucky birthmark on your bottom that has caused this unholy rain upon us.”

She was too baffled to speak. What could she possibly retort to such an accusation? “W-what? I don’t have a birthmark on my bottom!” she sputtered, cheeks aflame. He had already turned away from her, his countenance seeming more pleased than a while ago. She huffed in irritation. “Maybe you do!” she shot back.

“Well, I may have one, as you’ve suggested,” he agreed so pleasantly that it made her suspicious. He turned to level his gaze with hers, a sly glint in his eyes. “Would you like to check for me?” he asked innocently, his tone contrasting against his facial expression. His smirk was so wide and utterly pompous. Ginny wanted to pinch his cheek hard, just to see how he would react.

“No. I do not want nightmares, thank you,” she answered primly, looking away with a frown. Bollocks, she thought; her mouth was fighting the frown she had set upon it. Her lips were twitching up and she felt like laughing. Count on Draco to lighten up the atmosphere with his own brand of humour. Her face was burning up already, and she could imagine in her mind’s eye how red her face must be at the moment.

Worst, she kept on sneaking glances at his aforementioned bottom. His smirk said all too well that he knew the direction of her gaze. She glared at him and muttered “asshole” under her breath - which he unfortunately overheard.

“Your mind never strays too far away from my arse, now does it, Ginny? It’s not too late, you know. The offer is still available… just that –” he blinked and the smirk faded. He didn’t continue.

What? “Well, just that what?” she demanded, annoyed that he had left the statement hanging. It suddenly dawned upon her that it would have been connected to Harry. Right. She had a boyfriend. Ginny suddenly felt the urged to smack herself.

She peeked at Draco warily. He was staring determinedly at a point in front of him, grey eyes tinged a bit with blue. His platinum blond hair, his chiselled features, and his white skin that practically glowed… everything about him was different from Harry. It alarmed her how much she could get herself so immersed in him that she would forget all notion of the man that she – she blinked. She couldn’t even muster the thought of loving Harry in Draco’s presence. It was as if her legitimate romantic relationship with Harry Potter was illicit compared to the unlabeled thing that she has with Draco.

Her heart started to beat rapidly and she struggled to breathe. She stole a quick glance at him again. Ginny shook her head then ran a hand through her untangled red hair. What she felt for him at this moment and the absence of that feeling for Harry troubled her. She honestly couldn’t understand why it was so easy to be comfortable with Draco even after four years of not hearing from him at all, when there would be awkward moments that passed with Harry when they reunited after only a few weeks of absence.

She shook her head, willing the straying thoughts to vanish from her confounded mind. There were few sounds that weren’t swallowed by the loud noise of rain. She couldn’t catch the words a valet was sharing with a waiter behind her. But she could hear Draco’s sigh of exasperation directed at the weather when it wasn’t as loud. She was so aware of him that it unsettled her. Her lips buzzed with the memory of his lips brushing with her. Four years ago. And she still couldn’t forget it.

A straight black blur dashed past her, millimetres away from her nose, eliciting a small squeal from her. Beside her, Draco caught it by the handle and presented it in front of her with a triumphant smirk. An umbrella, her mind screamed at her. She let out a nervous giggle, wide eyes regarding the long black umbrella suspiciously.

“Umbrella,” she said, pointing a finger at it.

“Wonderful deduction, Ginny. Your keen observations must have helped win you the Snitch during your fifth year,” Draco said in jovial sarcasm. He took hold of her by the elbow, and then hooked her arm in his. “And now, we are going to trudge in the rain towards your brothers’ shop.” Ginny glared at him and fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him childishly.

Their umbrella was at once pelted by miniscule droplets of the sky’s tears when they stepped out of the charming bistro. Ginny nearly tripped because of the slippery floor, thankfully biting her tongue before she let out a flurry of colourful profanities. Fortunately, Draco was steady enough to balance both of them and gentlemanly enough not to mention her slip of poise.

“I could have just Apparated back to WWW and you could have done the same to your office,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks heat up despite the chill the rain brought with it.

“True, should I leave you in the middle of the street and take the umbrella with me?” he offered. She felt like stepping on his toe, if not to hurt him then only mar his shiny leather shoes that must have been charmed to withstand weather mishaps.

“If it pleasures you to get a visit from a certain Harry Potter who freely wields his wand – as an Auror,” she quickly added the last part, seeing Draco’s mouth contort into another smirk, his sharp mind swiftly thinking of other interpretations of her statement. “And inconsequently my boyfriend, who will not be so displeased to find a reason to dispose of you.”

“Sadly for you, Potter has affection for me,” he quipped.

“Then there’s my brother,” she said sweetly.

“Which one?” He scoffed at the ambiguity despite knowing well who she meant exactly.

“Pick one, there’s six of them who would readily do you damage,” she continued in her sickly sweet tone.

“I shall have to tell them then about your unnerving fascination with my bottom,” he shot back easily, sizing her up with his eyes alone. “I’m sure Ron would love to hear about it.”

She grinned with clenched teeth and ‘accidentally’ stepped on his toe. Draco automatically hissed swear words. “Oops,” Ginny said, batting her eyelashes innocently.

OxOxOxOxO

“I am glad that’s over,” Harry Potter murmured to himself, stretching his arms high over his head as he sat on his desk chair. Ron was shaking off his extra adrenaline by doing short hops on his side of the office.

His mind was already working his schedules inside his head, hoping to see Ginny by tomorrow. She would be ecstatic and most certainly relieved that she’d be seeing him more often after this. Well at least until he and Ron got their next assignment.

“Damn right, that what’s-his-face Dela Cruz was a bloody idiot – the stick’s so far up his ass! Remember when the Aurors dragged him towards the prison bus? He had his chin held high and he was shaking his moustache!” Ron’s facial expression and tone was in between irritation and amusement. He hopped more quickly and exuberantly as he rattled on about the man they caught. Harry just smiled in agreement, content that it was done.

Don Dela Cruz was a part of the Spanish mafia that had got caught somehow with a British illegal drug transaction. Harry was glad that the case was over for it had been a while since he could last breathe easily. He and Ron had been so stressed by the case they were working on for three months!

And what a three-month case it was. It was hard enough to extract information from the British who were involved, much more from the Spaniards who pretended they didn’t understand English and were quick to draw out their wands for a fight. The translators they had on the job were shaken by the experience.

It had certainly taken up Ron’s and his patience. It had tried Hermione and Ginny’s patience too. Ron and Hermione had been together for two years now and so far things had been going well, except when both were exceptionally busy. Both understood, of course, what their jobs required of them, but that didn’t shake off the uneasiness and frustration of not being able to really be together most of the time.

But of course, their marriage was just starting and with Hermione a month pregnant, it was putting Ron in a crisis. He wasn’t sure if he should go on dangerous missions and leave Hermione at home to care of their ‘egg’, as Ron usually called it (to Hermione’s annoyance). Harry grinned, remembering how shrill Hermione’s voice was while she was a mere millimetre away from whacking her husband’s head.

Ron stopped hopping and sat down at his chair for a long while, looking deep so deep in thought that Harry was surprised when he suddenly opened his mouth.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go out in the field with you anymore, mate,” Ron said in a pained voice, as if he were being forced by an unseen person to spit it out.

Harry blinked, stunned. Sure, he knew that Ron was worried about what would happen to his child and to Hermione. He was pretty certain Hermione was egging him to just stay but Harry didn’t expect that.

“What?” he blurted out, for lack of better things to say.

Ron suddenly looked away, picking up the stuffed-toy Hermione had put on his table. She had put it there so that when Ron wanted to release his stress, he could throw the thing around and it’d bounce back to him. But he didn’t set it bouncing on the walls of the office this time; he passed it from one hand to the other.

“Our job takes a lot of sacrifice, Harry. I don’t want to risk not being there at the most important moments with my family,” he explained. He had his head lowered a bit and his long hair shielded his eyes.

Harry didn’t speak – he couldn’t – he just looked at the ground, at a loss. What would he do without Ron? If Ron left, then everything he had worked hard for would be wasted. Ron would never get that promotion he wanted to the First Rank if he didn’t go out on the field.

Another reason – although it might seem selfish of Harry – was that he’d be left alone.

Sure, he’d get a new partner, but it wouldn’t be the same. Ron had had his back from day one, right back in his first year in Hogwarts. Not to be able to look at his side and see him there would – dare he admit? – hurt too much.

“Do you remember Neville?” Ron asked him. Harry didn’t reply and Ron didn’t wait for him to, he just continued. “His parents are gone now. All his life, he really wasn’t able to spend it with them. At a young age, he was forced to face the fact that they would never be able to say ‘I love you’ to him and mean it. His mother was never able to bake him a cake – except of course, for his first birthday, and we wouldn’t really know because we never bothered to ask,” Ron trailed off, looking distraught as he tried to find more words and it appeared to Harry that Ron was trying much more to convince himself rather than him. “Stuff like that, Harry,” he finished pathetically, his hand finally pausing as he squeezed the ball in it.

Harry raised his eyes to look up at him, seeing a blurry image as his glasses were nearly falling off his nose and his head was still slightly lowered. Ron must’ve felt his scrutiny for he put it upon himself to explain further.

“I don’t want that to happen to me. But what I’m really considering is that I don’t want that to happen to my child and if I’m exceptionally lucky, my future children.” His voice was soft - agonizingly so. He had his head up again and he kept on massaging the ball in his hand, as if he were thinking … but Harry wished he wouldn’t because he didn’t think he could hear any more.

Harry knew he should say something; he knew he should say that it was all right, that he understood. But for the life of him, he knew it wasn’t bloody all right! He felt like his past and present and his future were crumbling into dust. He understood everything, but that didn’t mean that with only understanding he could change it nor did it mean he could accept it – which was really what Ron was asking from him.

Harry had the habit of running his hand through his messy hair when he was annoyed or angry or frustrated. He did it now as he thought. Ron kept quiet.

It all boiled down to one thing. Harry was going to be left alone – again.

But his thoughts connected with his memories of their Hogwarts days. He would do anything – anything in the world to bring back the people he loved and lost because of the war. Sirius, Cedric… if they hadn’t been involved with him, they would probably be alive and happy. But they had been. Harry couldn’t take the past back and change it. Especially with all the Time-turners destroyed. What he could do was make up for it now in the present.

Who he was, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy-Who-Lived, would always bring attention to himself and to those who were close to him. Harry looked thoughtfully at the guilty-stricken Ron; his friend was making a sacrifice and a good decision. If Ron won’t be a part of everything I do, he thought, he won’t be in trouble.

It took a lot from Harry to nod in acquiescence of the decision, to support his friend. Managing a smile, he clapped his best mate’s back and there was instant relief in Ron’s face.

“You’ll be a good father, Ron. In fact, you may become the best. But then again I’ll be a strong contender one day.” He tried for a lame joke and similarly, Ron tried for a lame chuckle.

“Thanks, mate. I have to go and meet Hermione. She’s going to want to hear this part as well,” Ron said with a small smile, still looking quite uncertain. He stood up and walked away with one backward glance. Then the door closed.

OxOxOxOxO

Draco and Ginny never really reached their respective job locations for the reason that women around them started to whisper and point fingers. The women, Ginny observed in dismay, glared straight at her. She peered up at Draco, who radiated annoyance albeit keeping a stoic expression on his face.

“How come you didn’t become a Quidditch player?” he asked out of the blue. Ginny blinked, taken aback by his sudden start of conversation. She couldn’t yet get a hang of Draco’s random conversation-openers.

“I guess it’s because – let’s not talk about it,” she sighed, slightly miffed that he had brought up a sensitive topic.

“Didn’t you always want to be a Quidditch player?” he prodded, ignoring her request.

“We don’t always become what we want to be. And maybe I didn’t want to be a Quidditch player at all. Maybe I just enjoyed the game. Maybe… well there’s hundreds of thousands of maybes!” she snapped. It didn’t register in her mind that he might just be distracting her from the paranoia about their onlookers. He had hit a vulnerable spot and Ginny’s defences shot up.

“You’re right,” he placated coolly. “We don’t always become what we want to be.”

She kept her silence stubbornly for a while before mentally admitting her childishness; she sighed and asked softly, “What did you want to be, Draco?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. When he spoke, there was a scathing bitterness that echoed in his tone. “Contrary to popular belief, there isn’t much place for ‘wants’ in Malfoy heirs. You’re thrust the responsibility of continuing an wealthy ancestral empire once you pop out of your mother’s womb and the medi-wizard cries out that you’re a boy. It’s not that we actually want what we’re given or what we have to take. It’s like’s we’re born with an innate ability to rule the conglomerate world.”

Ginny briefly wondered, as she hid her face behind her red tresses, if the reason Draco said he got what he wanted was because he barely wanted anything. She deduced that he probably didn’t consider not being given what he’d asked for as not getting what he wanted due to the probability that he may not have wanted it at all.

“But if you could want to be someone or something,” Ginny pressed gently. She lifted her face to look him in the eye. Draco refused to meet her gaze. He settled his darkening grey eyes elsewhere as if he knew what she was going to ask and he didn’t want to answer. “What would you want to be?”

His answer startled her. “I wanted to be a Healer,” he confessed. He chuckled without humour and when it died, it left a smirk in his face. That smirked conveyed the irony that Draco surely felt. He continued when he saw her questioning eyes. “I guess gits like me fancy saving people’s lives as well.”

It felt wrong to have peered inside Draco Malfoy’s heart – Ginny’s own heart constricted with guilt at having brought it up, though she was pleased that he had answered truthfully. The way he expressed himself, it pretty much seemed as if he’d been keeping this secret ‘want’ for a very long time. But Ginny didn’t apologize. She believed making him open up was good for him. So in return, she confided in him the secret she had been denying for many years:

“I don’t know what I want to be,” she admitted. It was such a pitifully simple thing to say, yet it yanked so many emotions from her.

The rain suddenly stopped pouring. Ginny kept her head bowed low even as she heard the umbrella click close. Draco sighed beside her.

“I supposed you’re waiting for me to speak words of comfort or something dynamically inspiring,” he told her, wringing the wet umbrella disdainfully. “But I’m not the sappy type, Ginny, if you haven’t guessed yet. If you want, though, we can go to a nearby pub and drown these filthy miseries with strong alcoholic beverages.” She felt his eyes on her and sure enough, he was gazing at her with narrowed eyes. “But considering your height and features, they may only want to offer you Butterbeer.”

She kicked his shin. Draco bent sharply by the knees. “I guess I’ll just have to lead the way.”

It was already around three o’clock when they finally parted. Stepping outside, the sun was so high up and the wind blew so wonderfully that no one would have guessed it was raining so heavily just two hours ago.

Ginny giggled and bumped into a sturdy Draco, who didn’t even sway a bit. “Bloody hell, you have a penchant for violence!” he cried, surveying his robe.

“You weren’t even hurt, Draco,” she retorted, sticking out her tongue.

“Never mind getting hurt! I have to go back to the office in pristine conditions,” he informed her snottily. He glared at her, and Ginny wondered if the hot pinpricks she felt were from her freckles, ready to burst because of Draco’s heated glare.

But she snorted and rolled her eyes. “After all these years, you’re still more concerned about your garments than getting hurt. I’ll be going now.” She started to walk, turning her head back in uncertainly, as if meeting up with Draco again shook her out of a zone of safety. She raised her hand to wave at him behind her, but he held her wrist instead and started walking with her.

Ginny was startled and she frowned. “What are you doing?” He was now pulling her as he walked, making her look like a child who was being dragged behind the parent.

“I am escorting you back to your office, if it weren’t already obvious.” His sarcasm made her snort. “Will you please stop snorting? It’s unladylike,” he told her with disdain. She snorted again just to spite him and pulled at her hand.

“Let go, Draco. I can walk on my own.” She pulled again. He merely rubbed the inside of her wrist, which sent a pleasant jolt throughout her body.

“The hell you can. If you get mugged in the streets, I will have to listen to Potter rattle his arse away,” he called over her shoulder.

“The sun’s still high up in the sky. Harry himself doesn’t escort me back to the shop.” Despite their argument, Ginny was letting him pull her across the street without much of a fight. She rather liked Draco’s large warm hand over her wrist.

“That is what separates well-bred, successful men like me who evidently take regular baths from men like your Potter,” he answered her gleefully. “And I’m enjoying dragging a Weasley around.”

“Have you forgotten about the six elder brothers I have?” she reminded him, gritting her teeth. The wind blew at her flushed cheeks, cooling them. People were starting to look – especially women who arched their eyebrows high up their foreheads. If Draco waved at them, displaying his trademark smirk, Ginny highly doubted they would notice what he was doing to a hapless lady.

Not that she was hapless. And then he just called her unladylike. She smacked his hand but his grip was strong. “I am not unladylike.” He made a sound akin to a chuckle.

“Your quick reactions, Ginny, are certainly charming.” She felt like kicking him but his long strides separated them enough that she wouldn’t be able to even so much as brush her foot on one of his long legs. He pulled her so that she was behind his right side. “But if you were a lady, you’d be appreciative of my gentlemanly actions.”

“I’d be a half-wit to thank someone who’s dragging me, clearly amused,” she replied wryly. She could feel him smirking without seeing his face.

“I seldom get entertained,” Draco drawled. Once they reached Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the sounds of children trying to get in and out of the store filled the air. Draco finally let go of her wrist and she held it gingerly, blowing at the heated junction where her forearm connected with her hand. She glared at him and he regarded her with a smirk.

“Miss Weasley,” he said formally. “I hope that our conversation helps you reach a decision about which path to take for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.” He extended his hand for a shake and she smiled taking it.

“I usually don’t like listening to prats like you, Mr. Malfoy, but I’ll tell Fred and George. I think they’ll consider it.” The shift to businesslike tones made Ginny want to laugh. She had never seen Draco do a business deal but from the way he was acting, she had an inkling of how successful their rates must be.

The tint of light amusement in Draco’s eyes suddenly disappeared and so did his smirk. Ginny blinked, noting how serious he suddenly appeared. “Don’t I get a prize for chivalrously escorting you back here?”

A prize. Ginny’s whole face seemed to freeze and burn at the same time. The last time he asked for a prize, Ginny recalled, her heart racing faster than it ever had. The last time he asked for a prize, he almost took with it my heart. It had been four years since the last time he asked for a prize from her and she could still remember it well. Would she be damned for giving him a prize once more? Would it be imprinted on her mind forever?

“What prize do you want?” she managed to voice out despite her tightening larynx. She tried not to meet his eyes, afraid to see the telltale signs that he was thinking along the same lines as she was. He stepped closer and Ginny had to fight the urge not to step back, to face him.

“Let’s have lunch again next time,” Draco whispered, his tone of voice belying he had meant to say something more, something else; just that he had settled for that alone. Ginny forced herself to nod and to look up.

Draco’s eyes were intensely grey with bolts of blue. He looked at her in a way that she hadn’t been looked upon in so long a time; she was convinced she had already forgotten the emotions that came with it. But she hadn’t. And so she forced herself to flash him a smile which he didn’t return. He simply raised his eyebrows in subtle acknowledgement and took her hand. She noticed belatedly that he had handed her the umbrella. She frowned in confusion.

“I’ll have to take it from you the next time we meet.” His tone was back to its lazy drawl. His eyes were now lidded with what she fervently hoped was only boredom. He started to walk away and with a pop, he vanished.

This time there were no feelings of dismay for Ginny. She gripped at the handle of the umbrella tightly. Ginny knew what it meant. He wanted a reason to come back to her. It made her sigh as she trudged back to work.

She slumped in her chair; her secretary greeted her and inquired about the umbrella. “No, just let it – don’t touch it,” she muttered, looking at it placed on top of her table.

Knowing Draco, he’ll come back for it. Just as an excuse, of course. It confused her. What to feel…or if she should feel anything at all. It didn’t seem right at all and her mind flashed an image of Harry. The image of Harry made her smile.

“I love Harry,” she said aloud. And an employee who had opened the door to take supplies smiled in her direction, probably regarding her random confession as romantic rather than what it was: a mark of conflicting emotions inside her heart.

OxOxOxOxO

Ginny woke up smiling. It was rare that she did but whenever she did, she felt great. She stretched her arms high over her head and looked at the light through her right hand – the light peeking from her fingers.

Yesterday had been a great day - she hadn’t seen Draco in such a long time that she felt all giddy when she did. She couldn’t really understand it.

Sure, he had been very handsome when she last saw him, in a boyish sort of way. But after four years, his face had matured and he looked manlier. So he was now very, very handsome in a manly sort of way. She giggled. It sounded downright silly, and then she snorted when she remembered the many times her mother had read aloud articles about him in the Witch Weekly, seeming very astonished but pleased by the idea of him turning his life around and becoming such a great individual. She rolled her eyes.

Reflecting on their unscheduled meeting, Ginny remembered their trudge towards the pub. Draco had limped, mostly cursing and calling her all sorts of names which Ginny chose to ignore by humming to herself. Draco had asked about Ginny’s work and her life. Work has always been a touchy subject for Ginny but Draco didn’t seem to think her unaccomplished at all to still be working at a shop outlet of her brothers’.

As they trudged towards the pub (Draco limped, mostly cursing and calling her all sorts of names which Ginny chose to ignore by humming to herself), Draco asked about Ginny’s work and her life. Work has always been a touchy subject for Ginny but Draco didn’t seem to think her unaccomplished at all to still be working at a shop outlet of her brothers.

“You’ll find what you want. Or you’ll discover it,” he assured her, and then sipped at his Firewhisky. Draco, she discovered, did not take swigs from bottles of anything. He sipped. ‘Like a dainty little girl’, she had wanted to add, but knew it was untrue. He sipped in a dignified, snotty sort of way whilst miraculously retaining masculinity. She didn’t know how he did it. Ginny decided she was only giving him credit because they were friends.

“I hope I find it or discover it soon, because everyone’s been pressuring me to get a real job,” she mumbled moodily. He didn’t tease her, which was what she was dreading and she was grateful that he didn’t.

In fact, she was surprised when he encouraged her in his own way. “Use your work right now as job experience so you’ll know how to handle a hectic work schedule. When you find what you want, you won’t be pushed into a world more fast-paced than what you’re used to. It’s also a plus that you can use your money right now for funds so that you’ll have capital when you’ve decided what you want to be,” he advised.

Ginny looked at him in awe. It seemed like he was the first person to understand what she felt. He said exactly what she’d wanted to hear for so long from anyone she cared for. Or from anyone at all, really. She even felt a little disappointed that the encouragement hadn’t come from Harry. He was in fact uncomfortable when Ginny brought up the subject in frustration.

“You know, when you speak like that, it’s hard to think you were such a meanie when we were younger,” she told him cheekily. He raised an eyebrow.

“I have never been a meanie. What an appalling word! I remember being drop-dead gorgeous and smart and incredibly witty but never that word.”

“It’s all coming back to me now,” she teased. He just smirked lazily in return.

After that, Ginny had let Draco talk about his work. Draco had been intent upon making her understand what it was about that he barely touched his Firewhisky again and neither did she. It was a job forced onto him, the position being passed down by his late father. But he seemed to enjoy it nevertheless. Ginny realized that Draco was fond of his job and thought that maybe if Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes did merge with Malfoy Inc., it would only prove to be successful. Malfoy Inc., as Ginny understood, was a very successful merger company that covered everything from clothing lines that ranged from athletic wear to casual, to food and anything else. Draco had explained that he had high hopes for his family’s company, hoping that it would serve everyone. He’d said that in years to come, it might not matter much if one was Muggle-born or not since pure-bloods were getting rare.

It awed her that he had such a broad perspective. He had been such a racist in Hogwarts that it surprised her that he would talk that way. Then again, it was a business and he was a CEO looking out for his company. He might not be so fond of Muggle-born witches and wizards, but he wouldn’t mind earning from them. But it wasn’t just earning that seemed to interest Draco Malfoy. It was also giving back. Malfoy Inc. had set up a fund for medical breakthroughs, using the money to get access to difficult to find ingredients that were being experimented upon by St. Mungo’s, in hopes to find several different cures. He also had housing programs for those devastated by Lord Voldemort’s attacks several years ago. It impressed Ginny to hear that he was involving himself as actively as he could.

They never mentioned anything about his true aspiration to be a Medi-Wizard. From what he’d said, it seemed he was pretty content with the help Malfoy Inc. provided for those who needed it. He derived satisfaction from being able to step up to the responsibilities thrust upon him. Ginny was sure it did wonders for Draco’s ego as well.

Someone knocked at her door and she gave permission for the person to come in. She’d been expecting it to be either her parents or one of her siblings so she was surprised to see Harry looking at her lying on her bed, blushing. She sat up quickly and gathered her blanket, pulling it to her chest.

“Harry!” she squeaked. Harry looked away, turning his face towards the door.

“I’m sorry!” he apologized, bringing up a hand to scratch his head. “I – you said I could come in.”

Ginny blushed. She wasn’t exactly naked, but she was wearing a short nightdress that had ridden up to her stomach - though she wasn’t exactly exposed per se because her blanket hid her knickers.

“Uhm it’s alright… you can turn around,” she told him. She supposed it wouldn’t matter if he saw her naked. In fact, it might maybe give him a push to well… you know.

Harry turned around and looked at her. Well, he looked in her direction but did not make eye contact. She smiled at him so that if he were ever to look he’d see she wasn’t cross with him for catching her in her sleepwear. Ginny felt a tinge of disappointment that he didn’t seem to be interested when seeing her in barely anything.

“Hey Harry, is there something you need?” she asked him, not knowing what else to say.

“Uhm, I was hoping we would… er… you know, go out on a date?” he asked shyly, his green eyes darting towards her hopefully. She felt a bit giddy that he would be so adorable in his way of asking her out. With Harry, it felt like she was in Hogwarts again and a boy was asking her for the first time.

It was adorable in some aspects, Ginny corrected herself. It didn’t feel all that good knowing that they were out of Hogwarts and he should be more forward in asking her. But she told herself it was probably because he was still shocked by seeing her dressed as she was.

“Sure!” she chirped. “Just give me a second to get ready.” Harry grinned at her and told her he’d wait downstairs. She showered quickly and picked what she thought were the right clothes for her date with Harry.

When she was done, she quickly went downstairs and found Harry sitting on a chair in the Weasley kitchen, talking to her mum. He was holding on to a teacup and he gulped from it as he chatted with her mum. Ginny was too far to hear their conversation but she contented herself with looking at both of them. She tried to picture him a few years from now, when he finally got the courage to ask her hand in marriage, sitting there talking with her mum.

She tried, she really tried hard. But she found that she couldn’t.

She frowned, but thought it better not to think much of it. Anyway, it wasn’t such a big deal for they weren’t in any rush to be married, so it would be very understandable if the future was blurry or could not be seen yet. She decided it was time for her to interrupt their tête-à-tête, and walked over.

She put her hands on his shoulders and he tensed suddenly and clutched tightly at his teacup. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him instinctively grip his wand. She let go of her hold on him, taken aback by his defensiveness. He turned around, his gaze sharp, but it softened with relief when he found out it was her. She smiled at him.

“Surprised?” she asked him, slightly stunned and hurt at the same time. He smiled apologetically.

“Sorry about that, it’s only that-” he tried to explain but Ginny didn’t want to hear any of it any more. She understood.

“It’s all right, I understand,” she told him. She meant it, and she had used an honest tone but he frowned at the word. She was going to ask where Harry planned to take her but was interrupted by her mum.

“Ginny dear, Harry has just been telling me about how they had finally solved their case!” her mother proclaimed proudly and Ginny grinned, looking at Harry. Harry smiled up at her, shrugging modestly. The case had been plaguing him for months and finally, he had solved it. Maybe that was why they were going on a date right now, to celebrate.

“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!” she said to him.

“Thanks, Gin,” Harry said. “I wanted to take you out, since I know I haven’t been very attentive lately.” She quickly warmed up to him with his sweet words. It was true that he hadn’t been very attentive to her these past few months. Even when they were with each other, he had seemed a bit distracted. How he attached himself personally to the cases he took worried her. Right now, he didn’t seem as glad as he was before whenever he solved a case. It was like the enthusiasm had faded a bit from him and Ginny wondered why.

Something is bothering him, she thought, looking at him as he traced the rim of his teacup with his thumb. I have to find out what. She put a hand on his shoulder again and this time, he didn’t tense up or flinch away. He simply raised his head to look up at her with his green eyes. She smiled at him coaxingly.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked him softly. He raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking that?” he asked her, his green eyes bright under the tangled mess of jet-black hair.

She laughed. “Well, you’re the one sitting there!”

He got up and they said their goodbyes to her mum and they walked off. They reached the middle of the lot before they turned to each other. “Where are we going?” she asked him. He shrugged.

“Anywhere you want to,” he told her simply. Ginny rolled her eyes and smacked his arm none too gently. Harry groaned and rubbed the spot without irritation. He was used to her… brutality toward her brothers and himself. He rarely complained, as if the violent gesture oddly endeared Ginny more to him. Ginny found it quite odd and she knew Draco would too, remembering his colourful vulgarities. Then she remembered she shouldn’t be thinking of it at all.

“You ask me out on a date and you didn’t have a place in plan?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. He grinned sheepishly and scratched his head. Her attention quickly shifted to the mess on top of his hair he unworthily called ‘hair’. “It needs cutting,” she said, unable to bring herself to call it hair.

“Yeah, I do…” he answered distractedly before continuing in a hopeful tone, “Well, there’s this place I was sort of interested to eat in.” Ginny linked her arm with his, leaning her head on his shoulder, pleased that Harry was the one insisting to go out in a new place for the first time.

“Lead the way or rather, Apparate us there.”

He nodded with a smile and raised his wand as Ginny blinked. When she opened her eyes, she was in a whirl of colours and a few seconds later, they were in front of a small restaurant in Diagon Alley. She hadn’t been in Diagon Alley for weeks and it amazed her how much she missed it all of a sudden. Maybe because she had barely felt the weeks pass by because of the fast pace she had to work with in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She eagerly followed Harry inside and let him do the talking.

A few people stopped to look at both of them, particularly at Harry. Some people still got star-struck whenever they saw him but Harry usually just continued with his business. They sat furthest from the crowd as possible, to be undisturbed. Ginny was all right with it because she wanted Harry all to herself; and because they were usually disturbed by people wanting to talk to him or get a picture with him. She was mostly shoved to the side and they both felt very uncomfortable with that – with Ginny more irritated than he was.

A waitress gave them their menus and they conversed as their tried to pick the meals they wanted. Occasionally, they read aloud interesting names of food and told each other about experiences connected directly or loosely to it. They would laugh at the anecdotes. Ginny was especially pleased to see Harry laugh.

It was when desserts came that Ginny had the opportunity to ask him what was troubling him.

“Harry, are you all right?” she asked him. He shifted, pulling at his ear as he did so – an action he made whenever he wasn’t exactly telling the truth – before nodding his head. He shovelled food in his mouth, as if it could save him the trouble of speaking if he did. “Really?” she asked again sceptically. He nodded his head vigorously, pulling at his ear again. “You don’t seem all right to me,” she said softly.

His eyes were gentle as he looked up at her guiltily. So something was troubling him. Perhaps it was connected to the case? Maybe there was a catch that came when he and Ron solved it. Now Ginny was really worried. Normally he would tell her about how a case had gone, right or wrong, even his opinions about the matter. She would listen to him and would sometimes voice her comments.

“Is this about the case?” she asked. He shook his head. She cocked her head to the side, confused. What could be bothering him? “Is this about Ron?” she guessed. He grew uncomfortable and she knew she had guessed correctly.

“We had a discussion,” he told her carefully, as if he wasn’t sure what exactly to call whatever Ron and he had gone through. She asked him what it was about. He shook his head. “I can’t tell you, Gin. I’m sorry, but it should come from him.” At his words Ginny grew uncomfortable, slightly hurt. Didn’t he trust her enough to tell her? Maybe he saw the expression on her face, for he quickly tried to amend what he said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that it’s not my place to do so. I wish I could, but after he tells you,” he sighed, “I will.” He looked her in the eye, his green eyes so full of hope that she’d understand that Ginny’s mind briefly drifted to the past. They had never completely lost their innocence, the childlike wish for acceptance that Harry had always felt he was deprived of.

She wanted to know more, but knew that if it was anything big, then she would eventually find out. What troubled her was how this would eat away at Harry … and when would she find out? Then she remembered something. “It’s family day tomorrow and mum’s told everyone to go to The Burrow. You can talk to Ron there,” she informed him brightly. He seemed to brighten up at the thought, but he still looked a little nervous.

“Whatever it is,” Ginny began resolutely, “Ron loves you and it won’t put a strain in your friendship.” He nodded slowly, which might have been a gesture of letting her words sink into him but which she couldn’t help but interpret as scepticism towards her words. He might believe it, but only because of his faith in his friend, rather than for the reason that it was reassurance from the person he supposedly cherished.

She nodded her head decidedly, despite her thoughts. “I hope it’s not going to be very bad news. With Hermione being pregnant, more stress isn’t what they should be facing right now.”

“It’s good news,” Harry muttered, biting at his dessert. Ginny looked at him, startled.

“That’s good then! So Harry,” she started gingerly. “Why do you seem upset?”

Harry didn’t speak. He instead reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, as if gathering strength merely from her touch. Ginny wondered why he didn’t want to relate it to her, considering she was his girlfriend. She sighed, not wanting to have an argument about it at all and ruin their lunch. She decided not to force him, feeling wearied by the whole ordeal of trying to get information from Harry.

The feelings she had of being left out during their youth always came back to her during these times. She should be assured that she meant something to him. Or else he would not be wasting his time treating her to lunch and neither would he be holding on to her hand. He didn’t let go even as he ate.

She couldn’t resist reminding him, to remind herself as well. “I’m here for you, Harry. Please don’t forget,” she pleaded with him. At that, he looked up at her intensely for a second then looked away, pained. He pushed his food towards him on his plate with his fork.

“I won’t,” he replied quietly. Ginny smiled wanly, feeling not at all better despite reassuring him. She didn’t understand why he had to be so difficult with her. She sighed again and looked out of a window, contenting herself with staring at passers-by and vendors littering the streets.

A couple caught her attention. They were holding hands and the girl was saying something to her boyfriend and her boyfriend was looking at her with such affection, as if she was the only one he could see. He seemed to be hanging on to her every word and when she wrinkled her nose at what he said, he laughed, looking completely delighted by her. He kissed her nose and looked at her tenderly. The girl smiled coyly before lifting her lips to his.

For a moment, Ginny was envious. The forming tears made her eyes shine and the sob that wanted to escape from her throat constricted her trachea. She pulled the hand Harry clutched in his back and wiped her eyes discreetly. Harry hadn’t even seemed to notice, even after holding it as if he needed it a while ago. He didn’t look up as he ate. Ginny tried to send him mental messages to look up, to look at her and smile – just the like the boyfriend had done to his girlfriend outside. Now, how come she hadn’t seen Harry look at her with so much affection in a while?