And so it came to pass that Draco Malfoy had fallen hopelessly and completely in love...with sweets. Not any type in particular, mind you, but pretty much anything that had a high sugar content, combined with plenty of carbohydrates and fats, would cause the man to plummet head over heels.

You see, Draco Malfoy, at the tender age of twenty three had become, how shall we say it? Well, Draco Malfoy had become fat.

He'd always had a bit of a sweet tooth. His days in school had been marked with frequent deliveries by owl which had included various candies and chocolates sent courtesy of his mother. In the end, he blamed her.

How and why it had taken him this long to notice that he had a bit of a problem was not entirely relevant to him. What mattered now was that he needed to do something about it.

He tapped his fingers against his desk as he pondered the problem and why it was vexing him, then stormed out of his office in a supreme tiff. It was unthinkable that Gwedolyn Turner, one of the most desirable witches ever to grace the cover of Witch Weekly, among other periodicals, had flatly refused to have dinner with him. HIM. Voted most-eligible bachelor in the Wizarding world only three years prior. Her polite refusal had practically been an insult as she'd casually scanned his physique, and subsequently looked down her nose at him.

It was a travesty.

Storming out of his office, he purposefully strode past his assistant's desk and grabbed a chocolate-covered pastry and bit into it with as much venom as he could muster, ignoring the crumbs that splattered on his tie.

X - X - X

Edwina Harris, the aforementioned assistant, calmly raised an eyebrow at her boss and readied herself for the tirade that was obviously forthcoming. From years of experience, she knew that her employers' temperamental moments were frequent, but typically short-lived. Long ago, she'd deduced that the young man simply needed to voice his frustrations before he could settle down to deal with them. Over the years, she'd seen just about everything from the young man.

“Can you believe the nerve of that woman!” he ranted in Edwina's general direction. Obviously, he was not expecting any kind of response for this particular complaint, so she remained calm and placid. She anticipated that, once he completed venting, he would either formulate a coherent question, or stalk back into his office to sulk. She merely needed to wait.

Edwina had seen just about everything from the young man in her twenty years of service at Malfoy, Inc. She'd held the position of lead secretary and personal assistant to the former president, Lucius Malfoy, for the majority of her tenure and she'd been privileged to have known Draco from the time he was quite young, when he'd accompanied his mother to the office on occasion. Over the years, she'd developed a fondness for the boy, and his longstanding familiarity with the secretary allowed him the leeway to behave in this unorthodox fashion in front of her.

The younger Malfoy had taken over his father's position on the day he turned eighteen, an impossibly young age to be thrust into such a visible and responsible role. But the Malfoy family had had little choice in the matter, largely because Lucius Malfoy had been forced by the Ministry to step down due to his suspect affiliations during the war.

The lad had stepped up as best he could, working himself nearly to exhaustion those first few years, earning Edwina's longstanding respect, and even a motherly sort of affection. However, it didn't take a genius to observe that, despite the young man's intelligence and work ethic, he had clearly lacked the experience to lead a company. In short, he was in well over his head.

Edwina had tried her best to guide the boy through some of the initial things, leading him through paperwork and contracts and unrealistic schedules, as much as her knowledge and experience would allow. But, as his assistant, she could only do so much. It was up to him, as the figurehead of the company, to personally handle meetings, negotiations, and the like.

While he'd managed, it hadn't been easy for any of them. Now, four years later, he had finally gained enough experience and confidence to attempt to regain a social life.

Apparently, if his current tantrum was any sort of indication, he had not been entirely successful.

She watched him finish his rant, grab a creme-filled pastry and march purposefully back into his office.

After several minutes, he came back out, walked straight up to her desk and asked her in his usual direct manner, “Would you say I'm overweight?”

Edwina immediately contemplated how she could say “yes” without being sacked on the spot.

Pudgy, she might say, or even just a tad out of shape. Many possible alternative ways of stating the fact flicked quickly through her mind. She glanced over at the half-filled pastry plate and then back at him.

“I am. You believe that I am,” he stated in a bit of disbelief.

It wasn't entirely his fault, she thought. He'd had a very difficult time filling his father's position and, in order to cope with the stress during that time, he'd picked up some rather unhealthy habits. But, it was worse than that. She'd also seen his confidence wane over the time as well. His social life was nearly non-existent, he tended to hunch over, looking rather vulnerable and insecure. She found the young man to be endearing, in his own way, but his growing insecurity in the social area was hardly an attractive trait to a successful young witch.

Edwina thought back to when he'd started working at the company, coming out of long meetings, looking tired and stressed. Hoping to help him feel more comfortable in the unfamiliar environment, she would present him with a treat of one sort or another. She recalled how, immediately upon seeing the item, his face would light with a smile. So, she continued to purchase the candies, the pastries, and the chocolates for the office because, well, it seemed to be the only thing that made the overworked young man happy.

Over time, he began to fill out, largely because he had been so consumed with his responsibilities that he no longer had time to go out with his friends, play Quidditch, or do much of anything other than work. And then, since he was fitted for and purchased an entirely new wardrobe every season, he likely didn't notice when the waistband of his trousers became a bit snug.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, knowing that she looked contrite, although he likely assumed that she was sorry she was confirming his statement, not that she was actually sorry for enabling him in attaining his condition.

He exhaled a deep sigh.

“It's all right, 'Dwina,” he said, sounding somewhat defeated. He began to turn back to his office, his shoulders slumped. The sight saddened Edwina. He had always been such a confident young man when he was young. Unfortunately, she'd also known him to be slightly insecure, never taking criticism well. The trait wasn't necessarily bad, because it drove him to work all the harder to succeed, but it did make the young man self-conscious.

The good news , Edwina thought to herself, was that the first step in reform is to acknowledge that there is a problem. She had little doubt that once he was willing to face his next challenge, he would succeed. All she could do at the moment was hope that she would be properly prepared to support him when he decided to take action.

X - X - X

The next day, Edwina chose to not order the usual plate of sweets from Draco's favorite bakery. When he arrived, he walked past her desk and stared at the table that typically held the treats with a look of dismay.

“Has something happened to the bakery?” he asked, his forlorn look almost too much for her.

“I apologize Mr. Malfoy. I didn't put in the order today.”

“Hmm...” he said, seeming to mull over the idea of foregoing his daily fix of sugar. “Best take care of that, then.”

She watched him retreat into his office. It wasn't going to be easy for him. With a weary sigh, she attached the daily order to an owl and watched it fly over to the bakery. Then, she became lost in thought for a few moments until her next idea came to mind.

She immediately lifted her wand to summon her rolodex along with the most current Diagon Alley directory from the shelf. She would need help and references, as only the best would do for the young Mr. Malfoy, but more than that, she decided that he would also need an appropriate shove in the proper direction.

Several hours later, after contacting many of her business associates and several close friends via Floo and owl, she'd devised an adequate plan. A short list of names and contact information now sat on a neat piece of parchment on her desk, and she'd also taken the liberty of contacting one of her boss' old school friends.

When he emerged from his office at lunchtime, stopping by the candy dish on his way, likely because it contained a different type of candy than the ever present bowl that he kept on his desk, she was ready for him.

“Any messages, 'Dwina?” he asked, his mood moderately more cheerful than it had been that morning. He was still obviously down about yesterday's events and she felt rather ashamed that she was plotting to drive the point home even further.

“Just an owl from a Mr. Gregory Goyle. He says that you are old school friends and wondered if you would like to meet for lunch sometime this week.”

Draco brightened visibly. He'd had little time over the last few years to spend time with his old mates. Now that things had settled, he'd been grumbling about how it would be good to reestablish old acquaintances. Edwina knew this and it had been easy enough to arrange the opportunity. The poor boy needed a social life, and even if the meeting with Goyle did not accomplish her desired goal, it might at least get him out and about again.

“I haven't seen Goyle in years. Do I have any lunch meetings tomorrow?”

“Not yet, Mr. Malfoy. Should I owl Mr. Goyle and put him in your schedule?”

Draco smiled. “Yes. That would be good.”

Edwina discreetly smiled as she filled in Mr. Goyle's name in her employer's appointment book.

X - X - X

He walked into the cafe, looking for the enormous figure of Gregory Goyle. Scanning the crowd, he failed to catch sight of his old friend and assumed that he'd arrived early. Turning back to look outside the door to await the other man's arrival, he heard his name called from behind him.

A tall, athletic looking man, who reminded him strongly of Goyle, was standing up from one of the tables, smiling and waving him over. Draco's first reaction was to ignore the stranger, but the smiling young man seemed rather insistent. He looked over his shoulder to see if the man was motioning to someone behind him.

“Oi, Malfoy! Is that you?”

Nope, the man was clearly speaking to him. He looked at him more closely, because the voice certainly sounded familiar.

“Goyle?”

The man grinned.

If it were at all possible, Draco likely would have left the establishment, if he could have done so without drawing undesirable attention to himself. He'd always been vain, with good reason, but lately, he knew that he no longer deserved to be so. Worse, the sight of Goyle looking so... fit made him wince as he thought of how he would look alongside.

Sucking his gut in as much as possible, he walked over to greet his former schoolmate.

He immediately began mentally comparing how they'd both changed in only a few short years. Greg Goyle had always been a lumbering brute of a boy, content with consuming large amounts of food to maintain his imposing size. He'd always been quiet, and more than a bit dim, in Draco's view. Yet, the man who now sat before him had grown in confidence over the years, his success showing in not only his speech, but in the way he carried himself. For the first time in his life, Draco found himself just the slightest bit envious of his old friend.

“So,” Draco began, after the obligatory handshaking and seating himself. Normally, he might have started the conversation with something like a 'good to see you', but he wasn't feeling generous at the moment. “Long time, no see, Goyle. What have you been up to?”

“Playing Beater for the Tornadoes,” the other said cheerily. “It's been a grand time.”

They chatted on for a while, Draco finding that his old friend had matured greatly once he entered the world on his own. Out from under Draco's shadow, and with the loss of Crabbe in the final battle, Gregory Goyle had reinvented himself. Ill-suited for intellectual work, Goyle explained that he had learned to focus on his strengths, eventually using his natural athleticism to his advantage. Playing professional Quidditch, he quickly outgrew his adolescent insecurities. Apparently, the rigorous training also forced him to trim down, making him almost unrecognizable from the overweight boy he'd been in school.

In fact, now that Draco thought about it, Goyle likely would never have finished school if he hadn't cheated off of Draco's work most of the time. He'd always been in Draco's shadow, and Draco had been comfortable in the role as the leader, being that he had always been the smartest, most confident, most handsome of the three. Somehow, Draco was now uncomfortably aware that the old roles no longer held true.

Draco found himself to be obscenely jealous.

Nevertheless, Goyle prattled on, seemingly oblivious to his friend's discomfort. That, at least, was the old Goyle, Draco thought, tuning out much of the detail that the other was providing.

“... and then Gwendolyn actually asked me out to dinner!”

The words pulled Draco out of his reverie. “What?”

“I couldn't believe it. One of the hottest witches in the world actually approached me after the game and asked me out to dinner. My teammates tell me that the look on my face was absolutely priceless!”

“Gwendolyn Turner?” he asked, disbelievingly.

“Yes! Can you believe it?”

If he hadn't been feeling deflated before, this particular little tidbit had completely sucked the wind out of him. He did his best to hide his reaction.

“Congratulations, Goyle. I'd say that's impressive,” he stated, trying to sound moderately sincere. Part of him really was happy for his rather dim friend, albeit, at the moment it was a very, very small part.

Talk turned to Draco's work after that, which was by far more comfortable a topic, although Draco had to simplify the description of his duties for Goyle to understand.

Finally, the lunch ended, and they parted ways, agreeing to keep in touch to do something in the future, although Draco had every intention of putting that off for as long as possible.

X - X - X

Returning from lunch, he marched straight toward Edwina's desk, just as she had expected he would, making sure to grab a custard-filled pastry along the way.

“I need to find someone to get me back into Quidditch form,” he stated, foregoing any sort of greeting whatsoever.

She looked up from the pile of paperwork on her desk and blinked twice at him.

“I'm going to play in the celebrity Quidditch tournament in June and I need to be adequately prepared. It is my understanding that there are people who can be hired to assist with that sort of thing,” he said, his expression quite serious.

Internally, Edwina smiled, knowing that her tactic had worked exactly as she'd planned, though, outwardly she gave no indication of her emotion. “But, Mr. Malfoy, that's only three months away. I thought that you weren't interested in the offer...”

He waved his hand, dismissing her remark casually. “I've changed my mind. I think I do need to make a bit more of an effort to create a positive image for the company.”

“For the company,” she repeated, raising one eyebrow at him.

He snatched the parchment at the top of the pile of paperwork gracing his assistant's desk, that being the invitation to the tournament that he'd so recently rejected.

“Yes, the company,” he repeated snappishly.

“Of course, Sir,” she replied, her face as calmly professional as always, but Draco knew the woman well enough to catch the glint of humor in her cool, blue eyes.

“Find me someone,” he stated, his tone commanding no further argument. “I want the best, and I expect that they will have me sufficiently fit in plenty of time for me to show up any of those fools.”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy,” she replied, her tone calm and business-like, as if the request wasn't the slightest bit unusual. She hadn't earned her position by questioning the demands of her boss, after all. Although, far be it from him to know that she'd planned for this exact scenario.

“I'll make some inquiries,” she finished, hiding her smile.

“Oh...” he continued, ignoring her amused expression. “Make sure to send an owl confirming my attendance at the event.”

“Yes, Sir.”

With that, he took his pastry, turned on his heel and marched smartly back to his office.

- - -

Edwina Harris was nothing if not thorough in her duties. Her executive position demanded nothing less. She knew that, at some point, young Mr. Malfoy would be pressed to change his ways. Waving her wand at her rolodex, she withdrew the names of the top candidates that she'd researched in recent days.

The names listed on the parchment had not been chosen lightly. Edwina had done her work thoroughly, and the candidates that she'd chosen had been referred to her by several of her most trusted associates. She'd verified their references carefully.

Unfortunately, a few hours later, after speaking with the first two candidates that she called in for a personal interview, she was left feeling that the task might be unattainable.

She called in the final candidate with a weary sigh.

As the young witch walked into the room, Edwina's interest was piqued. The girl, while small in stature, had a commanding presence and a bright smile that matched her mane of flaming red hair. Edwina looked down at the parchment that listed the girl's qualifications. Although young, the candidate had many high-profile clients, as well as an impressive certification in physical education and nutrition.

“Mrs. Harris,” the girl said formally as she held out her hand.

Edwina shook her hand. Of the three, this one had been the least promising upon her initial evaluation, seeing that she was rather young, but there was little doubt that the girl had charisma.

After they were seated, and the standard pleasantries exchanged, Edwina proceeded straight to the point.

“Your references appear solid. Nutrition, health, and a background in Quidditch...” she began, looking up and prompting the girl to confirm the statement.

“Yes. I took evening courses at St. Mungo's teaching annex while I was playing for the Harpies.”

“And you no longer are playing for that team...”

“No, Ma'am. I suffered an injury. I can still play, but not at the professional level.”

“Of course,” she said absently, scribbling the candidate's answer on her parchment. “You understand that this position will be full time, and will require the utmost confidentiality.”

“No... I wasn't aware,” the girl stated uncertainly. “I have no problem with confidentiality, but I do have other clients under contract right now. It would be highly unusual for me to dismiss them to take on a single client full time.”

“I see...” Edwina said, with little interest. “I assure you that we will provide more than adequate financial compensation for your efforts. My employer expects individual attention, of course,” Edwina responded, her tone almost bored as she mentally compared the girl against the other candidates, both of whom were more than eager to accept full pay for the task. The girl's response was irrelevant.

She listened half-heartedly as the girl continued to speak. “Typically, I consult as needed, provide meal plans, and then schedule an hour or two per day for physical activity. It's hardly necessary for me to be available full time.”

“Nevertheless, it is a requirement for this position,” Edwina responded, looking to end the interview. Apparently, the girl was not as interested as the other candidates, who had literally fawned at the idea of abandoning their other contracts to suit Mr. Malfoy's needs.

Edwina then heard the small witch clear her throat politely, causing her to look up from her notes. What she saw surprised her, because the little witch was staring down at her sternly, a difficult feat considering that the girl was shorter than she, and seated.

“I don't think you understand, Mrs. Harris,” she said firmly. “I have an obligation to my clients, many of whom have been with me since I began my own business, and I will not abandon them. I can assure you that, if I am hired for your employer, that he will get the same dedication and commitment as any of my other clients. Certainly, you wouldn't want me to abandon this contract should someone else simply come up and make a more lucrative offer. ”

Edwina blinked. She was unaccustomed to having anyone counter her statements, with the exception of her employer, and even then, he typically would acquiesce if she pushed the matter. Yet, this little wisp of a girl had put her on the back foot. The previous candidates had literally groveled when Edwina had mentioned the position would be full time. It told her two things: first that the girl was competent enough to command enough business without a lucrative account such as this one and, second, that she had enough backbone to possibly handle Mr. Malfoy at his most belligerent.

In other words, Edwina had made her decision on whom she would hire.

However, she'd just ruffled the witch, and Edwina Harris did not maintain her executive position without knowing how to handle people. She quickly realized that if she wanted to hire this young witch, she needed to add some persuasion to her tactic.

“I would think then, that you might find this client to be an interesting challenge for someone of your exceptional reputation.”

“Challenges, I enjoy. You've seen my list of clients, and any one will give you a solid reference, but as I said, I will not abandon them for a single account.”

“Of course,” Edwina said with a smile. “My question was merely a test of your integrity. While we will require a great deal of your time, I'm sure that my employer can allow some room for flexibility.”

The redhead inclined her head in agreement. “Does that mean that I'm hired?”

- - -

“You've found me a proper trainer, Dwina?” he demanded that same afternoon.

“There is one candidate that seems promising. I told her that you would interview her before making the final decision.”

“That Quidditch tournament is getting closer every day, hire him immediately. You can clear my schedule to get started this afternoon,” he babbled, as he scribbled his name on the contract lying on his desk.

“Her, Sir.”

“Hmm?” he said, pulling another paper from his inbox, scanning its contents without looking up.

“The candidate is a witch, Mr. Malfoy.”

He looked up, puzzled. “Really.”

“Yes, Sir. I expected that you might want to speak with her immediately. She's in the waiting area so that you might meet her before I add her to the payroll.”

He sat back in his chair, a frown on his face. He wasn't expecting the candidate to be a witch, it somehow seemed, well...wrong. Nevertheless, he trusted Edwina implicitly.

“Very well, send her in,” he grumbled, slumping in his chair.

She nodded politely and left the office. A few moments later, the door opened and a petite witch entered. He raised an eyebrow. At the very least, if his trainer was to be a witch, he'd expected her to be a bit larger.

“I'm told you can help me get fit for the St. Mungo's charity Quidditch tournament,” he said, not waiting for her to turn around after closing the door.

“What?” she said, turning around, her long hair, flying as she spun.

“I presume you are the candidate Mrs. Harris has decided to hire for me,” he continued, rather abruptly.

She stood, her jaw dropping in surprise at his rudeness, obviously ready to retort. He cut her off.

“I'm a busy man, Miss. Are you qualified to help me, or not?”

She gaped at him for a long moment. “Malfoy?”

“Yes, that's my name...”

At that moment, the door opened again, and Edwina entered, a professional smile affixed on her face.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Goyle has sent an owl, requesting your attendance this evening for a gathering at his home. He mentioned introducing you to his date, a Miss Turner...”

He felt the color leave his face. It had been difficult enough to simply have lunch with Goyle. Seeing his old friend with a witch that had turned him down was not on his priority list.

“Tell him I'm busy. I have plans with Miss...” he motioned toward the redhead now seated in the chair in front of his desk.

“Weasley,” the girl finished.

He didn't need to see the look of shock on his face. He knew it was there. Pulling himself together, he decided to focus on damage control.

The situation left him feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The small witch seated in front of his desk was rather high on the list of people he would have preferred to not see his shortcoming. He preferred to keep the fact that he was seeking assistance as quiet as possible, which was why he'd asked Edwina to conduct the interview process.

Mentally, he hexed himself for not specifying that Weasleys were not to be considered on the list of candidates, but then, how was he to know that a Weasley would happen to specialize in this particular type of work?

He waved a hand carelessly in the girl's direction, deciding that the best action was to get rid of her as quickly as possible. “Well, now that we have this established, I suppose you may go, Weasley. ”

He looked down, hoping that his dismissal of her was final, and reached for the top parchment in his stack of work. Hearing her rise from her chair, for which he assumed would be her departure, he decided to add a warning for good measure.

“Just remember that you've signed a confidentiality agreement so, as much as you'd like to have a good laugh at me with your oaf of a brother, I'm afraid you can't.”

He glanced up, but was surprised to she that she wasn't moving toward the door. In fact, to her credit, Weasley appeared far from upset by his abrupt dismissal of her. Instead, she was now standing before his desk, looking at him squarely in the eye.

“Malfoy, I would never laugh at you over hiring me.”

“Hmmph,” he said, slumping back in his chair. “Anyway, it's not my problem, Weasley.” He then attempted to ignore her by turning back to the paper on his desk.

However, the girl didn't leave. Instead, he became acutely aware that she had leaned toward him, her palms resting squarely on the polished mahogany of his desktop. He stared at her hands for a long moment, thinking it bold for a Weasley to attempt to intimidate him like that.

“Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy. I don't need this contract. In fact, I nearly walked out during the interview because it seemed that it this might conflict with my other obligations.”

He didn't look up, instead turning back to his parchment. “Well, then we seem to be in agreement. Goodbye, Weasley.”

“Not yet,” she said, forcefully enough to draw his attention away from the paperwork on his desk. “You want to show up the others, including Harry, in the Quidditch Tournament, and you know that I'm the best person to help you do that.”

The witch was nearly impossible to ignore, despite the fact that he was trying his utmost best to do so. Nevertheless, he made a valiant attempt to hide the fact that she'd attacked the one subject that was particularly close to his ego. “And why is that?” he asked, looking up at her with a pained expression, although he dearly hoped that she would interpret it as disdain.

“Because you're going to want to prove to me that you have the self control to get fit. You're going to need someone who's willing to push you and not be intimidated by your position.”

“There are plenty of others in your field, Weasley. I'm sure Mrs. Harris has found several other suitable candidates.”

Unfortunately, Mrs. Harris had not yet left the room, and was currently standing by the door, shaking her head at him in a negative manner. He silently damned the woman for being so much like his mother. He waved at her to leave, and she complied, but he didn't miss the small smile that graced her lips. Damn the woman. She found this amusing.

He placed his quill down and looked up at the Weasley.

“Explain.”

“When I walked in here, I hardly recognized you.”

He glared in response.

“Now, that's the Draco I remember!” she said, pointing at him, her expression brightening to an irritatingly cheerful level. “You were angry, pushy, an outright prat, and you were confident in yourself!”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” he grumbled. “I happen to be president of my own corporation, thankyouverymuch. I think I have enough confidence.”

She leaned in, her face uncomfortably close. “But, you cringed at the idea of a Weasley knowing that you let yourself get a bit out of shape. You're avoiding going out with your friend, Goyle. And,” she declared with a triumphant smirk, “you are practically hiding from me behind that big desk of yours.”

He merely stared at her in response, dumbfounded.

She took his stunned silence as an opportunity to continue. “You have a confidence problem, Malfoy, and, if you don't address it directly, it will rule you until the day you die. Best start by dealing with me, because, at the very least, I've signed the confidentiality agreement.”

He raised an eyebrow, afraid of letting the witch know that she was right. He'd been hiding for the past few years behind his desk, where he was quite safely hidden from the world, the bulk of his social interaction being primarily with underlings who feared for their jobs.

Feeling more than slightly cornered, since he really had had enough of hearing her itemize his shortcomings, he decided to make an attempt to turn the conversation back to her. “Fine. If you are so smart, what's your motivation to help me succeed?”

“As your assistant recognized quite accurately, I like a challenge.”

He looked at her sceptically. “I'd hardly be a challenge, Weasley.”

She narrowed her gaze, almost playfully. “Then, prove it to me.”

He considered saying that he really didn't need her help, but, the fact that his assistant had actually brought her in here for an interview left him without much of an argument.

“I could probably beat Potter right now in the Quidditch tournament, without any help whatsoever from you or anyone else. I'm simply looking to refine my skills.”

She looked at him in amusement, which annoyed him greatly. “Excellent. We'll get started on that tonight, then,” she said, with a cheerful smile.

“What?” he yelped, his voice accidentally rising to a rather undignified squeak.

“You did tell Mrs. Harris that you had plans with me tonight. So, let's go. I'm supposed to get you in top form for Quidditch, and there's no better time to start than now.”

“I did not say...”

She placed a hand directly on his, effectively distracting him from completing his last statement. He stared down at her fingers and found himself wondering how one so small could have so much of a commanding presence. He found that he was rather impressed, until he reminded himself that the witch touching him happened to be a Weasley.

He looked from her hand, then up into her cheerful hazel eyes and opened his mouth to complete his last sentence.

“You want to beat Harry, don't you?” she said, once again cutting off his statement before the words could leave his lips. This seemed to be happening quite frequently, and he had no clue how to stop it.

“Well, yes...” he said quickly, hoping to finish some form of sentence, but, alas, it was not meant to be.

“Then meet me at half six, at the Harpies' practice pitch.” She then looked at the dish of chocolates sitting on his desk, frowned, and lifted the bowl. His eyes widened in horror.

“And, after that, we'll discuss a proper nutrition plan for you, so that you'll be able to perform at a peak level.”

“But...” he said, reaching helplessly toward the tray of sweets, as he watched her carry them away with her as she moved toward the door.

“I have another appointment this afternoon, so I must be going. Looking forward to this evening, Malfoy,” she said, and with that, she, and his tray of sweets, was gone.

He sat back in his chair, wondering just what, exactly, had transpired.

“Hmmph...”

Not sure he wanted to delve further into the rather bizarre conversation that had just occurred, he chose to stare at the parchment on his desk. It was a proposal for development of a new form of Skele-gro potion that would be less painful that the current formula. Unfortunately, his mind found it difficult to focus on the dreary details of the research because parts of his recent conversation with Weasley continued to gnaw at his thoughts.

He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands and, absently, he reached for the comfort of his tray of chocolates. His stomach tightened in what only could be described as a pang of fear as he realized that it was no longer there.

Staring for a long moment at the spot, he confirmed that the tray was not about to reappear. He stood up, allowing himself to feel a good amount of righteous anger at the little witch who had absconded with his treats. Whatever had possessed him not to dismiss her outright was a mystery that he was in no mood to ponder at the moment.

He marched out of his office, straight to his assistant's desk.

“I've already cleared tomorrow morning for your next appointment with Miss Weasley. You'll be meeting for breakfast,” she said, not waiting for him to speak and without looking up from the complicated parchment that she was working on, which he could only assume was his schedule.

He stared down at the woman in amazement. “What?”

Edwina looked up, her usual calm, professional facade in place. “You did specify that you wanted to begin your regiment as soon as possible, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Weasley left preliminary instructions, and informed me that she'll be able to provide specifics tomorrow, after she discusses any special dietary requirements with you.”

He blinked at her, suddenly feeling like he had been hoodwinked, although, in all honesty, she did echo his orders rather precisely. He quickly tried to compare what he had specifically stated against what was actually happening, and, somehow, they didn't quite equate.

“I said...”

“Yes, Sir,” she confirmed, in her usual, no-nonsense manner. A cold fear settled in his stomach as he realized that he was likely in for a long three months.

Deciding he needed some immediate consolation, which he apparently was not going to receive from his formerly loyal assistant, he turned for the pastry tray.

It was gone.

“'Dwina...” he said, looking back at her, his finger pointing at the plant that now occupied the table where his comfort food once sat.

“I've already ordered a replacement, Sir. It should be here in a few minutes.”

“Good,” he said, once again feeling in control. He didn't want to ask about what had happened to the table's previous occupant.

He marched back into his office, hoping to finish his work for the day quickly, so that he could leave soon, show up the Weasley bint during a bit of Quidditch practice, fire her, and proceed to get his life back to normal as quickly as possible.

X - X - X

As his wall clock chimed that it was time for him to leave for his Quidditch practice, he gave a weary sigh, placed his quill aside and rubbed his tired eyes. He came to another unwelcome conclusion that staring at documents all day would leave him needing glasses if he wasn't careful.

He then decided that it might be a nice change to go out and play some Quidditch, even if it was with the little Weasley. It might do a world of good for his confidence, after all.

Leaving the office, he realized that he hadn't had a snack all afternoon. Turning to his favorite pastry tray he found... a bowl of fresh fruit.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself he looked around the reception area, to first verify that perhaps the pastry tray had simply been moved. Confirming his suspicion that it had not, he then looked back to the bowl which contained a variety of apples, oranges, grapes and banana. It was colorful, he had to admit, but what he had in mind was a cream filled puff pastry, preferably of the chocolate variety.

And how did it happen that Weasley was actually hired for the position that he wasn't sure he'd wanted filled to begin with? The idea was that he was just going to talk to a candidate or two, see what they had to offer. In fact, he'd discussed requirements so specific, that he was surprised that Edwina had found a suitable candidate at all.

He turned back to Edwina, who was now putting on her cloak.

“I'm just about to leave for the evening, Mr. Malfoy. Your breakfast appointment is at eight, at the Elfin Delight.”

“What is this supposed to be?” he said, pointing to the fruit and glaring at her, with the maximum amount of hostility that she would likely tolerate from him.

“Miss Weasley's instruction,” she said with authority. “You did specify that she have priority in all matters regarding your fitness and she was quite specific in this matter.”

“She was specific...”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, with her usual, professional smile, as she bid him goodbye and walked out the door.

He was left staring after her, then back to the innocent bowl of fruit with his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

- - -

Two apples and a banana later, he stomped onto the Quidditch pitch holding his state-of-the-art Nimbus 2500. While he had actually enjoyed the fruit as a change to his normal snack, he was loathe to admit it to anyone, especially the witch who, despite only having been in his life for a few short hours, had become the bane of his existence.

It was the principle of the matter, after all.

As she approached him, he gave her his most smug smile, lifting his broom confidently. She stepped up close, smiling in return, and swiftly snatched the broom from his grasp.

“Hey!” he yelped, reaching to grab it back, but she stepped back, looking at the thing sceptically.

“You can't use this,” she said.

“Of course I can use that. It's the lightest, fastest broom on the market.”

She looked at him as if he was somewhat confunded. “Which is exactly why you can't use it.”

“Hand me back my broom, Weasley.”

“No.”

He attempted to snatch it back, but she was faster. He felt sluggish trying to match her dance-like movements as she darted to and fro, keeping the item just out of his reach.

After a long minute of the childish game, he stopped, feeling more than slightly winded. Breathing heavily, he gave up the chase.

“What is your problem, Weasley?” he said, between heavy breaths, annoyed with the girl's apparently endless supply of energy. The thought brought him to vaguely realize that, at one time in his life, he could run all day without feeling tired either, but then, that was before spending four years behind a desk.

She only grinned back at him.

He released a long-suffering sigh. “Weasley, you invited me... no, you ordered me here to play. In order to do that, I need my broom. Now, kindly end the little game you are playing, and hand it over.”

“You'll be playing with the broom I give you, Malfoy.”

He stared at her incredulously.

She walked over to the side of the pitch, picking up two matching brooms. He looked at one with disdain after identifying it to be an old Cleansweep model.

“Those are antiques,” he stated, feeling just a tad petulant. “If you can't afford modern equipment...”

“I happen to own better brooms than yours,” she replied, motioning to the Nimbus. “As you recall, I played for the Harpies. I have prototype versions of next year's model, actually.”

“And your point?”

Her expression changed to one as if she were reprimanding a small child. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

He silently commended himself on not losing his temper, thinking that the years of dealing in business had truly helped him to perfect the skill. He decided to respond slowly and clearly, lest the little Weasley fail to understand plain English.

“I have been flying since I was four, for your information. I am quite confident that I can handle my own broom.”

She seemed to stifle a small smile. “I'm sure you can, Malfoy.”

He closed his eyes as he realized she was chuckling at the innuendo. He once again questioned why he was even bothering to discuss anything with her in the first place. Ah yes, he had a point to prove.

“You need to practice, Malfoy. I'm under the assumption that you haven't flown since you were in school. Am I correct?”

He raised one eyebrow in his best expression of superiority. “That doesn't mean I've forgotten how to fly.”

Sadly his carefully calculated expression had absolutely no effect on her, because she ignored it completely. “No, of course not. But you are obviously out of shape. We need to build up your strength, and using the slower heavier brooms will ultimately help you be more efficient on the faster ones.”

He glared at her rather spitefully and felt himself puff with indignation.

She lifted an eyebrow, almost daring him to challenge her assessment.

Unfortunately, she made sense, and he was bright enough to acknowledge that to himself, even though his pride left him with no intention of agreeing with her. Yet, it warranted some sort of response.

“I think you're just afraid I'll beat you, so your intention is to handicap me as much as possible.” It was only after the words left his lips that he realized how incredibly childish he sounded.

She had the supreme gall to smirk at him.

“Fine then, use your own broom and I'll use the Cleansweep, and the winner gets to determine what brooms we use for our next match,” she said.

Later, he would wonder why he agreed, since the usage of “next match” was part of her challenge to him. Yet, some stubborn part of him truly wanted to prove her wrong.

“You're on.”

X - X - X

She let the practice snitch loose and both took off into the cold spring sky, among the long shadows of the late afternoon. She flew the old broom efficiently, using her body to force the broom to change direction and speed at her bidding. At first, his lighter broom gave him the advantage as he pulled on the handle and kicked the tail around on their eager chase after the elusive snitch.

It was almost going to be too easy, he thought with a confident grin to himself.

Rocketing after the winged object, he passed her easily, but just as he reached his hand out to capture the prize, the snitch made a slight change in direction, slowing and dropping just out of range. He tried to force his broom to match the maneuver, but as he spun it around, it felt unstable, causing him to overturn, and sending him off in the wrong direction. He nearly lost his grip.

He expected his opponent, who was right on his tail, to immediately grab the object and end the game. Instead, she was next to him in an instant, her hand reaching toward him, but not touching him, until he'd steadied himself.

“What are you doing?” he shouted in no small amount of annoyance.

“I'm just making sure you don't fall. I don't want my client killed on the first day,” she said without any hint of malice. He narrowed his gaze at her, trying to figure out her motive, but then, the snitch reappeared just behind her, and he immediately turned to attempt another capture of the item.

Each turn seemed to take more strength than he was able to give, his arms began to feel heavy, and a cramp had started to pull at his abdomen. On the occasions when he was finally able to force the broom in the proper direction, he tended to shoot past his mark, unable to make fine adjustments in time to track the rapidly moving snitch. On at least three occasions, he nearly collided with various objects around the pitch. It felt like his broom had a mind of its own, fighting him at every movement.

All the while, Ginny Weasley hovered off his flank, seeming to be more interested in him than the elusive object of the game.

He was tiring quickly and sweating profusely, causing his grip on the broom to become slippery. He was also rapidly coming to the conclusion that his opponent was merely toying with him. He made one last grasp, once again missing the target, and when his broom neared the floor of the pitch, he decided he'd had enough. He slowed as best he could and dropped unceremoniously to the grass, breathing heavily.

He looked up to see Weasley hover over him for a long moment, before tearing off to her left. Less than a minute later, she reappeared with the snitch in hand.

Once he was able to catch is breath, he scowled at her, as she landed lightly next to him.

“You cheated.”

Her look was nothing short of condescending, as she stood over him while he remained sprawled on the ground, recovering. She, on the other hand, looked as if she'd exerted no effort at all.

“I did nothing of the sort. As I recall, you had the far superior broom.”

There was nothing more annoying than having his own advantage used against him. Internally, he allowed himself a moment to sulk, then, slowly, he hauled himself up to a sitting position and used whatever remaining energy he could muster to glare at her.

He had the distinct feeling that it had no effect on her at all. She simply gave him a rather fond smile, and he suddenly felt like he was a small child throwing a temper tantrum. It was horrifying.

She gave a deep sigh. “It's a simple matter of conditioning, Malfoy. You were out of shape, and, by now, you must realize that your broom is too much for you to handle.”

He commandingly brushed a stray lock of his ruffled hair out of his eyes. “I can handle it just fine. As you said, I've had four years without practice.” All right, now he sounded petulant, but this was important. And the tiny, little Weasley was intimidating him. It just wasn't right.

“And we need to work on building up your endurance. You barely lasted ten minutes on a light broom. How are you going to manage a two hour Quidditch match?”

He said nothing, but he did stick his lower lip out a bit in indignation.

“I'm here to help you, and believe it or not, I know what's best. You'll find out next time we practice,” she said with no small amount of conviction. “How's your schedule for Saturday morning? It should give you a day to recover from overdoing it tonight.”

His eyes widened in surprise. What? Saturday? He took a moment to attempt to comprehend the meaning of her words. He was supposed to be rid of her after this one practice, but then again, he was supposed to have beaten her, or, at the very least, put on a good show. The logic of the situation slowly caused him to come to the conclusion that he had not exactly succeeded.

“I never said there would be a next time, Weasley,” he replied, hoping that perhaps her facts differed in some way that would give him an opportunity to escape.

“Yes, you did. When we made the bet, remember? The winner gets to choose the brooms for next time.” She gave him an overly pleasant smile that made him feel an urge to vomit. He did agree to that, didn't he. But that was when he was still confident that he would win.

He settled for giving her a sour look.

“I'll just arrange it with your assistant, how's that?”

He continued to sulk, but pulled his bulky form upright, so that at least she was no longer staring down at him. “Fine,” he responded. At some point, he was going to show her who was the better player. Now that he'd recovered somewhat, he found that another chance might be in order.

“Good,” she said with a genuine smile, as she began to walk off the pitch with her elderly broom and more confidence than he could quite imagine.

At about that moment, he noticed that the outfit she wore was particularly well tailored, and that her arse looked rather nice in it. A small part of him hoped she would wear the same item again when they met on Saturday. He then considered chastising himself for that last thought, but decided against it. After all, he might as well gain some small amount of enjoyment from his time with the little witch.

She turned back to face him, and he was quite certain that he failed to hide the look of being caught thinking of something naughty. She smiled at him. “And I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow. We have a lot to talk about.”

And with that, she turned and marched off the pitch, the red gold light of the setting sun making her look like she was made of pure fire.

- - -

The next day, Draco was miserable. Completely and utterly mad with misery and loss of control and, well, hunger. All right, not exactly hunger, but certainly a craving for his favorite muffin.

It had all started with breakfast that morning. Such a simple event, he thought. He only went because Edwina had put it in his schedule, and he found it best to not give her cause to reschedule things as it made her rather irritable.

His original plan to prove himself to Weasley had failed spectacularly. He was loathe to admit that he possibly really did need someone to help him train if he intended to participate in the charity Quidditch tournament. He also fully considered avoiding the event entirely. Unfortunately, Edwina had already sent the owl to the event organizers stating that he would be happy to participate, so backing out would appear a bit embarrassing.

The question was: even if he really needed help, why did it have to be Weasley?

He gave a deep sigh and walked into the Elfin Delight, looking forward to forgetting last night's debaucle by sampling a few of the establishment's famous pancakes.

Finding Weasley easily enough, he sat down in the booth across from her, barely suppressing a deep groan of pain. It seemed that the exertion from the short flight the previous evening had caused every muscle in his body to ache with a fierce intensity. Even the potion he'd taken to dull the pain hadn't been able to relieve the stiffness in his arms. He also noted that lifting the cup of coffee that the waitress placed in front of him seemed to take a concerted effort.

"A bit sore this morning?" Weasley asked, lifting one eyebrow at him in a teasing manner.

"No need to gloat," he muttered, picking up the menu to peruse its contents.

"I'm not gloating. It's to be expected, since you've been away from training for so long. I just need to know how badly so I can work out a proper plan for you."

He looked at her sourly.

"Pretty much everything, then," she stated, taking out a small notebook and marking something down.

The waitress returned with two plates of food, setting them down in front of each of the table's occupants. Draco paused for a brief moment to confirm that, indeed, he had not yet put in his order, and, even if he had, it would likely not resemble what was on the plate currently in front of him.

He opened his mouth to tell the waitress exactly that, but before a sound left his lips, he heard Weasley interrupt. "I took the liberty of ordering for both of us."

He looked across the table and the Weasley was unfolding her napkin and smiling sweetly at him. By the time he looked back toward the waitress, she had already departed the area.

"This is not what I would have ordered," he stated flatly.

"No, but, it's what you should have ordered," she replied. "Remember, we talked about a proper diet to improve your performance."

Somehow, her remark sounded suspiciously like an innuendo. He looked rapidly about to see if anyone had overheard her.

"Do you mind keeping your voice down?"

She began carving into the grapefruit on her plate and gave the tiniest chuckle, having had the good grace to at least not look at him while laughing at him.

"Weasley..." he said, his voice taking on a decidedly ominous tone.

"Sorry."

Not that he minded the fruit so very much, except he would have liked it more if it had been served on top of a few pancakes, but the pink goo served on the side...that was something else entirely. It looked remarkably like a failed potions experiment. He prodded at it for some time before Weasley took note of his action.

"Why are you playing with your yogurt?"

"It has a name?"

She tilted her head and that mildly amused smile came to her features again. He put down is spoon, placed his elbow firmly on the table, resting his chin on the palm on his hand, while his other hand drummed his fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for her to explain. And, then, just for good measure, he raised an eyebrow at her.

She closed her eyes and visibly fought back a laugh before she spoke.

"You need dairy. It has calcium. It's... It's just good. Eat it."

"I'm not eating it, Weasley. It looks like it just crawled out of an old cauldron to die."

The amused expression left her face. "Just try it,” she said, somewhat firmly.
An overwhelming desire to be belligerent came over him as he watched her practically command him to eat something he didn't want to eat. He didn't care how persuasive her expression was, with her lips pursed and a stubborn gleam in her eye. He could be more stubborn than anyone, and he intended to prove it immediately.

"No," he replied, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his arms in front of him, feeling just a bit pleased with himself.

She gave a sigh, and shook her head with a bit of resignation. He felt like he's won a small battle, at least for the moment. Unfortunately, the moment was disappointingly brief.

"Well, I expected something like this. I'm disappointed in you," she said, leaning out of the booth and glancing about the restaurant, as if looking for someone. Seemingly having located that person, she looked back at him just a bit too confidently.
"I'm afraid I'll have to resort to plan B."

"Plan B?" he asked, feeling his triumph fizzle away in a rather painful manner. He looked in the direction she seemed to indicate and, there, seated just around the corner and out of his direct line of sight, was Harry Potter.

"Should I invite him over to talk about what fun the Quidditch match will be?" she asked, and he did not fail to notice the little gleam in her eye. Voldemort might have learned a thing or two from this one. The witch was truly evil.

He glared at her.

"Eat the yogurt, Malfoy."
And, with complete and utter defeat, he ate the yogurt. It actually tasted rather good, but, again, it was the principle of the matter. She made him do it, and there was something inherently wrong about that.
But, that was yesterday morning. Now, mid-afternoon of his second day of dieting, he sat at his desk, drumming his fingers as he attempted to devise a clever way of defeating the red-headed menace.

The Weasley had descended into nearly every aspect of his life. His lunch had been pre-ordered, with far too much salad for his liking, and when he'd gone home, he found that his house elves had been given strict instructions as well. And it included way too many green things. There was only so much fiber a man could be asked to ingest, after all.

He tried to complain to his mother, but, apparently, she agreed with the instructions and ordered him to eat his vegetables.

And, with that, he was convinced: It was an absolute conspiracy.

He spent most of Friday moping around the office, completely preoccupied with his next scheduled encounter with the Weasley witch. Coming to an abrupt decision to simply not allow the next meeting to be booked, he marched toward his assistant's desk.

“'Dwina,” he said, speaking quickly lest he lose his nerve. “I'll be busy all day tomorrow, please make sure not to schedule anything.”

There. A small feeling of victory knotted in his stomach.

“Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. I presume then that will be anytime after nine, as usual?”

“Of course,” he stated, firmly.

Edwina was well aware that because he no longer needed to work entire weekends, his appointments only fell after nine on Saturdays. Not that they'd ever discussed the fact that his preference was simply because he enjoyed a good lie-in. She just knew, and he liked that about her. He watched her efficiently take out her quill to adjust the parchment that contained his schedule.

“I'll inform Miss Weasley, then. She will be pleased, as she initially requested the earlier time.”

He raised an eyebrow in question.

“Your morning session with Miss Weasley will be at six. While you were in your morning meeting, she contacted me to schedule, as you requested, Sir.”

He felt his jaw drop open in shock. Six. In the morning. On a Saturday. He cursed under his breath. Not only had he failed to intervene, he'd just managed to commit himself to an ungodly early appointment.

He took a moment to review the facts, trying to determine how, exactly, he went wrong in his plan, and, worse, how it ended up creating an even less desirable outcome than before. Drawing a blank, he immediately tried to think of how he might be able to remedy this obvious tactical error without looking rather silly. Unfortunately, nothing was coming to mind. Looking skeptically at his assistant, he, once again, wondered if he actually ever had a choice in the matter. Edwina, meanwhile, had returned to her usual work, completely ignoring him.

The whole situation made him hungry. He turned and looked at the bowl of fruit, taunting him from the table in the corner.

He marched back to his office, dropping heavily into his chair and drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk.

There had to be a better way.

Suddenly, a brilliant thought popped into his head. So brilliant, in fact, that he spent several long moments congratulating himself, and even paused to mentally bid the bowl of fruit a not-so-fond good riddance.

He lifted his head up, a fire alight in his eyes.

“'Dwina...” he called, unable to contain the oily sound of Slytherin triumph in his voice.

She entered the room a moment later, parchment and quill in hand. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Don't we have a small division that researches and manufactures weight loss potions?” he asked, trying to keep the glee from his voice, unsuccessfully, but he was so happy that he didn't care.

What surprised him, however, was that Edwina's usual look of calm efficiency was replaced by an expression that almost resembled alarm. He had a fleeting thought that she recognized exactly what he was about to ask.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. We do, but...”

He interrupted her, despite the fact that she went so far as to widen her eyes in surprise at him – never a good sign. But he continued undaunted, because he was determined to win this battle. “Then why the hell am I even bothering to interrupt my life by bringing that insane witch into this?”

He knew he sounded excited, even eager, but he could hardly contain himself.

“But, Mr. Malfoy...”

He noticed that his assistant clearly seemed alarmed, and for the first time since he'd known the witch, he questioned her motives. It made him just the tiniest bit suspicious, and decided to put a quick end to whatever she was planning with the Weasley.

“No 'buts', 'Dwina. I want you to send an owl to that department immediately.”

“But they don't work, Mr. Malfoy,” she replied, a sincere look of dread now crossing her normally stoic features.

He looked confused and stared at her for a long moment as if she'd suddenly turned into a three headed troll. “What do you mean, 'they don't work',” he stated in annoyance. “I pay those idiots a good salary! They damn well better be in the office working!”

“No, sir,” she said, almost seeming afraid to clarify the bad news. “I mean the potions don't work. There's no easy solution to weight loss.”

His jaw dropped open slightly, and he found himself denying the truth in her voice. “I see the accounts, 'Dwina,” he responded, a hint of desperation in his argument. “That division earns this company tens of thousands of galleons every year. How could they not be effective?”

Edwina looked at him with obvious concern and immediately began to explain. “The potions usually contain a glamour charm to temporarily give the illusion of weight loss. Some contain some form of nutritional supplement, maybe even an appetite suppressant but, overall, they are completely ineffective. We make a significant profit in that market due to the fact that desperate people will pay for anything what appears to be an easy solution.”

He blinked twice in total disbelief. Worse, he was a bit devastated. Then, closing his mouth, he took a deep breath and stated flatly, “Remind me of this little fact when it comes time for me to sign the Christmas bonuses for that department.”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.”

He closed his fist and gave a short pound on the desk to vent his frustration. The force of the impact caused the picture of his mother to topple over. He righted the item, looking apologetic as the magical image in the frame scolded him soundly for his outburst.

He looked up desperately at Edwina. “You mean I really have to keep that bint? I really have to do everything she says?”

“If you want to get back into shape again, then yes, sir,” she said, as professionally as possible.

He nodded and turned back to his paperwork, as Edwina turned to leave the office, knowing that it was going to be a very long day.

- - -
One week later...
- - -

He opened one bleary eye as the alarm shouted at him, once again, that he was going to be late. He decided he was quite sick of being told what to do, so he grabbed his wand and hexed the thing into oblivion.

Finally at peace, he dropped the wand lazily on the floor and closed his eyes. Just this once, Weasley could do her morning workout alone. He ached all over from the regular Quidditch sessions over the past week and felt more than entitled to sleep in. He wasn't a morning person, after all.

Tucking his head under the pile of pillows, he blissfully drifted back into slumber.

About an hour later, his sleep was once again interrupted, albeit a bit more forcefully than by his alarm. Brightness temporarily blinded him as the curtains in his room were thrown wide open.

“Malfoy!”

He jumped up, eyes wide and awake, as he realized that the sound had come from an intruder in the sanctum of his room. Thrashing madly in search of his wand, he managed to only tangle his legs in the blankets. Unfortunately, his wand was out of reach, since he'd dropped it right after hexing his alarm. Looking madly about for a long few moments, he finally managed to focus his sleep addled vision on the intruder.

“What are you doing in my bedroom, Weasley?”

“You missed our morning appointment,” she said, looking rather stern, crossing her arms in front of herself, tapping one foot impatiently.

“So?”

“We discussed this and agreed that we'd meet in the mornings.”

Dropping back on the bed in an elaborately dramatic manner, he closed his eyes and groaned. “Actually, as I recall, you were the one doing all the discussing. I was only allowed to agree with you at the end.”

“You didn't mind meeting last Saturday at this time,” she said, her hands squarely on her hips.

“Well, that was last Saturday, Weasley,” he responded, still trying to hide his eyes from the blinding glare. He decided it was best to attempt to change the subject. “Who let you in here?”

“Your mother,” she answered simply, as if it was completely logical.

“My...” he had been hoping that she would say one of the house elves. Then, at least he could appropriately punish the offender, that is, if his mother didn't catch him. Hearing that his dear mother was the offending party left him in a bit of a quandry. He found himself momentarily toying with the idea of disowning her, despite the fact that she'd given birth to him. However, he quickly realized that it wasn't worth having her hex him. Damn.

He buried his head under the pillow.

The pillow was forcefully removed a moment later, and a rather irritated Ginevra Weasley was glaring down at him.

“Move it, Malfoy. We still have an hour to get something done before I have to go to my next appointment.”

Despite the fact that she was only about half his size, he found himself just the tiniest bit afraid. He seemed to recall she threw a nasty hex, but, right now, standing over him like she was, wearing her typical tight spandex suit, he was more concerned about her simply hauling him out of bed with physical force.

She clearly had control issues.

Fortunately, she seemed to calm down as soon as she noted the look of resignation on his face. Indicating to the witch that she leave, so he could get dressed, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his head in frustration.

It had been over a week. Ten days to be exact. Somehow, he'd been manipulated to joining Weasley every other morning for a quick workout before breakfast.

He wasn't quite sure how that happened, actually. He thought back to that first Saturday workout, just over a week ago. He'd shown up at six at the Quidditch pitch, despite his overwhelming desire to do otherwise. But he'd made a commitment, and if he didn't show, Edwina would likely do something terrible to his schedule for making her adjust it again.

And, no, he was not intimidated by his slender, middle-aged assistant. It was simply a matter of courtesy.

But, he'd shown up that first day, and Weasley was there, looking rather chipper and cheerful, almost as if she was happy to see him. Worse, she was nice. And he was, unfortunately, not quite awake enough to taunt her appropriately.

To worsen matters, she had been dressed in an outfit that fit her small form rather snugly. It was a recipe for disaster.

They went through a series of light stretches and drills, and he almost had...well...fun, and fun was something that had been sorely lacking during his last four years. Little did he realize at the time that she was only luring him into her trap. By the end of the session, he was willing to agree to just about anything. Unfortunately, that seemed to include early practice sessions at least four times per week.

So, when she smiled sweetly at him, he found himself lulled into some sort of terrible submission and he agreed to continue the morning workouts. Idiotic of him, really.

The fun typically ended as soon as the next workout began, with her usually demanding him to work harder, move faster, or do just one more pattern on the broom, despite the fact that his arms were literally limp with fatigue. All the while, she spurred him on, her red ponytail bouncing in the breeze, while he followed, chasing her on the broom. It was quite aggravating, actually. The only plus seemed to be that he typically had a wonderful view of her backside as he chased her about the pitch. It was clearly a lust/hate sort of thing.

Pulling on his socks, he thought for a long moment about this issue with the morning workouts. Something about the entire thing plagued him. First, Edwina seemed all too eager to pen it into his schedule, but there was more to it than that.

Now that he thought about it, he likely would have found some way to oversleep for the weekday workouts, if at all possible, except his mother had chosen to schedule some sort of remodeling in the house and corresponding noise inspired him to leave.

Thinking back on that, and the fact that his mother was responsible for Weasley tossing him out of bed this particular morning, convinced him that his mother was quite involved in the conspiracy against him.

He groaned in defeat.

X - X - X

“Your weight should be going down more...” she said, surprised.

He shifted nervously as she passed the wand over him again, scowling at the numbers that appeared over his head in response to the spell. She should be thrilled with him. After three weeks of misery, he'd managed to tighten his belt a notch, and he no longer ached after an hour of flying on the broom, although he continued to blame the old Cleansweep brooms for his lack of speed and agility, although there was no shortage of her yelling at him to move faster, make sharper turns, or do one more lap around the field.

He was doing everything she said, for the most part. Obviously, she wasn't as good at her job as she claimed to be.

“With the meal plan I have you on, I was expecting better results.”

“Well, perhaps your plan isn't so very perfect,” he responded, seeming just the slightest bit smug.

She narrowed her eyes, as if she knew something. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him as she stared at him almost accusingly. Fearing some sort of wrath from the little witch, he made sure to give her his most innocent expression, an expression, mind you, that almost never failed to work on his mother.

Weasley was apparently not so easily swayed.

“We'll discuss this at our next meeting. It might be time for us to adjust our exercise plan, anyway.”

Somehow, her words did not bode well, he thought, as he left the practice field to prepare for work for the day.

X – X – X

Opening the lower left drawer of his elaborate desk, he found what he'd been hoping for, and immediately decided that the cleaning witch would get a hefty bonus this quarter for her efforts.

Inside the drawer was a large cupcake covered with a thick coating of pink frosting, sitting innocently alongside a half dozen other pastries. Draco eyed the treat and licked his lips, thinking briefly that there was no accounting for the choice in frosting. Considering the circumstances, however, he decided that any color was perfectly acceptable, and besides, he had no intention of allowing anyone to catch him consuming the confection. After all, he'd had a good half hour workout that morning, and he deserved to reward himself.

Grinning with a small amount of devious glee, he hefted the item and examined it thoroughly, taking a finger full of the frosting and sampling it. Savoring the sugary pink sweetness, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment of victory over the Weasley bint. But there was little time to relish in his success. Glancing about the room, he verified that Mrs. Harris was still away from her desk, and therefore would be unable to catch him in his moment of indiscretion. He turned his chair away from the open doorway, quickly dismissing the idea of closing it, lest his action appear suspicious.

Looking out his window at the bright morning sunshine, he smiled and took a large bite of the cupcake, heedless of its pinkness, and enjoyed. It was going to be a good day after all.

He was just over half completed in his task of consuming the item, when he heard a sound, and froze.

“Malfoy?”

Damn. It was the devil Weasley herself. Damn, damn, damn. He felt his blood run cold as a moment of panic swept over him. Dropping the remains of the cupcake onto his lap, crumbs and all, he swallowed the bite he'd taken quickly, and reminded himself to do a quick Scourgify on his pants before leaving the office later.

“Yes, Weasley?”

“Enjoying the view?” she asked, looking far too pleasant. She was never this pleasant. Immediately, he started to calculate how she was planning to make his life even more miserable.

“I do occasionally.”

She frowned at him as if he'd disappointed her in some way. It made him feel decidedly guilty, although he had absolutely no reason to feel such an emotion.

“What?” he asked, as innocently as possible. Something about the way she was looking at him made him feel much too much like a small child caught doing something naughty.

She gave a resigned sigh and leaned forward, and he immediately pulled his chair closer to his desk to hide the remains of the cupcake now squashed on his pants. As she came closer to his face, he noticed that she was staring at his lips, and had a fleeting thought that she might try to kiss him, but instead, she simply reached forward and wiped her finger along the side of his mouth.

As she pulled back, he noticed the smudge of pink frosting now coating her finger. His eyes widened in fear.

“Really, Malfoy. Am I that bad that you felt you had to hide this from me?”

“Well...”

She pursed her lips and gave him a slightly sour look. “Where is it?”

He pulled his chair back, only to see the squashed remains of cake and pink frosting in his lap. “Uhhh...”

She leaned over his desk once again, and verified the mess. “Oh, Malfoy...” she said, her tone amused.

“It's my life, Weasley,” he said, casting a scourgify on his pants and attempting to look dignified. “If I want a bloody pastry, I'm entitled to one. I shouldn't be reduced to having to bribe people and hide it as if it was some sort of illicit drug.”

She gave him a smile, almost as if she was pleased with him. He was more than a bit surprised, having expected the horrid harpy to tear into him for his indiscretion.

“You're right, Draco,” she replied.

“Of course I'm right. Wait. I'm right? You're agreeing with me?”

“Yes, I'm agreeing with you,” she said almost as if she were a normal person, having a normal conversation. He looked at her with suspicion as she continued. “It was a bit aggressive of me to cut you off from all of your comfort foods, and you've been doing so well. Cravings for your favorite foods are normal, and to deny yourself from them for too long will only cause you to binge eventually.”

“Well, it's about time you recognized your error, Weasley.”

“Not an error, exactly. Just a small adjustment. I'm going to allot some sweets into your day, but only small amounts, so you can satisfy your cravings. For example, you don't need an entire pastry, when a few bites will do.”

He looked at her skeptically.

“It's a simple matter of balance,” she explained. “Calories in must be less than calories expended. You can have the treat, but we'll have to increase your activity. I think you are ready for that now, anyway.”

Suddenly, his triumph didn't seem quite as satisfying as it did a few moments ago.

“Don't pout, Draco. It's not that bad. We'll meet tomorrow morning. I think it's time for you to start jogging.”

And when did he give her permission to call him by his first name?

Another alarm clock had been destroyed at the end of his wand that morning. Its demise had been particularly clever and spectacular, if he did say so himself. As Draco pulled his aching body up for yet another sit-up, he replayed the happy thought, mostly because the somewhat violent memory seemed to make the pain lessen ever so slightly.

“Another ten sit-ups, Malfoy! Don't you dare stop now!” she barked cheerfully, sitting next to him and completing the same exercise with ease.

Draco groaned, glaring at her, and used his anger to ignore the burning pain in his midsection as he hauled his body upward. Usually, she would chatter on in a one-sided conversation about how strength in his abdomen improved his agility on the broom, but not today. Apparently, she felt she'd lectured him enough on the subject.

He wondered if his mother had already replaced his alarm clock that morning, as she'd done every other morning for the past four weeks since he started this “thing” with Weasley. He started to wonder if she merely ordered the clocks by the dozen, or if she bothered to buy a single one each time. He'd have to ask. He had been destroying the things rather regularly.

Now that he thought about it, he had to commend himself on his accuracy when it came to casting hexes immediately after being pulled out of a sound sleep. If there was a contest, he was certain he'd win. The hex he'd used to disintegrate the object in question had been particularly impressive this morning.

“Drop and give me ten push-ups,” Weasley ordered, pulling him from his happy thoughts.

He didn't question the order, just did it. Complaining did him no good. She didn't even have to yell at him. It was far worse. She had a way of looking at him with such disappointment if he didn't at least try that it made him feel like a naughty child. So, he kept moving, but that didn't stop him from muttering curses at her as he struggled along.

His thoughts then moved back to more practical matters. In fact, in the middle of his fifth push-up, it occurred to him, that a division of his company actually manufactured magical alarm clocks. Surely, they should be a bit more durable. He decided to send a memo to see if they might work on developing a better model. Perhaps he'd do that in a few weeks, after he was done with this training, of course.

“C'mon, Malfoy! You can do better than that!” she shouted encouragingly.

He hated her. Hated how she pushed him. He could be home in his nice, warm bed, but, no. He was here, for some godforsaken reason, doing every horrible thing she asked of him, because she willed him to do it. Yet, some part of him wanted to do it for her.

She finished her own set of ten, sat by his side, and said, almost conversationally. “I can't believe you let yourself go like this, Malfoy. When we were in school, I seem to recall you were rather fit. I can't believe you've gotten so lazy so quickly.”

He stopped, in the middle of his ninth push-up to glare at her. She'd gone far enough. He stood up. There was nothing accusing or taunting in her tone, but her words struck a powerful chord inside of him.

“You do not get to pick on me for that Weasley. You have no idea what you're talking about.”

He walked over to her, and looked down. He realized just how small she was, and was once again amazed at how intimidating she could be despite her tiny stature. That didn't stop him from being angry, however.

“You can call me anything you want, but I have to insist that you do not make implications that I'm lazy.”

She had the courtesy to at least look abashed. “I'm sorry,” she said, her eyes wide, all traces of her usual confidence gone. He almost felt bad. Almost.

He wanted, no, he needed her to understand, for some reason. Few, outside of Edwina and his mother, had any idea of the excessively long hours he'd worked over the past few years. He'd given up every spare moment of his life to succeed, and her insinuating that he had been lazy was simply unfair.

“I don't think you understand, Weasley. So, let me explain. I have been chained to my desk seven days a week for the better part of the last four years, trying to salvage an impossible situation. I know you think I'm lazy, but I dare you to have managed what I did with what was handed to me. So, you can yell at me all you like, but I'd prefer if you keep your opinions about why I ended up with this dilemma to yourself.”

For the first time since he'd hired her, she seemed dumbstruck. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and she immediately appeared contrite. “I'm sorry, Malfoy. I didn't know...”

“Forget it, Weasley,” he said, dropping back on the ground to complete his push-ups. “Just tell me what you want me to do next.”

He noticed, for the first time since he'd started, that she was completely at a loss for words. Then, as he worked to complete the push-ups, he was suddenly struck by her words and he smiled to himself. She said that she thought he'd been rather fit back in school.

She'd actually noticed.

He ducked his head, so she wouldn't catch him smiling. He'd prove to her that he could be that fit again. The challenge was on.

X - X - X

A week later, Draco found himself feeling almost chipper. He'd almost grown accustomed to his morning routine, and he'd been to the tailor's twice to readjust his rapidly loosening trousers. Unfortunately, his alarm clocks continued to have a notoriously short life span.

He was on his third lap around the Quidditch pitch, cursing Weasley with every heavy breath he exhaled.

They'd reached some sort of understanding, after he'd snapped at her. She continued to be just as hard on him as before, but, somewhere along the way, he'd also managed to earn her respect. It was a matter of principle. He knew that he had self-discipline, it was simply a matter of where he decided to focus his efforts, and right now, he was determined to prove that to her. He refused to allow her to think so little of him.

Everything she threw at him, he did willingly. In some cases, he'd even surpass her expectations, just to prove that he could. Like now. She'd only ordered him to run two laps around the pitch, yet he continued to do another.

Actually, it was purely selfish. He secretly loved seeing the shocked look on her face when he continued on for a third lap. Unfortunately, he was now regretting that decision, but he wasn't about to admit that to her.

He finished the lap, panting heavily. Six weeks. He had been doing this for six weeks. His clothing needed altering, and he felt better than he had in a year, but that wasn't why he did it.

He walked over to Weasley, who stood up to greet him, her grin brightening the overcast day.

“Great job, Draco. I knew you had one more lap in you.”

He did it for that. The genuine smile and compliment. He endured the physical pain because, in the end, she honestly seemed to care that he accomplished his task.

The next day, he wandered down Diagon Alley on his way to work, almost enjoying himself. Weasely had weighed him that morning and told him that he'd lost several more pounds. His vanity had returned as he got dressed that morning, and he'd even spent some time admiring how fit he looked in the mirror.

But more than that, for the first time, he'd actually beaten Weasley during their Quidditch practice that morning. He picked up his pace as he walked, smiling smugly again at the memory.

Granted, she'd been having an off day – something about a bachelorette party for her future sister-in-law, as he recalled her saying. But that didn't matter. He'd beaten the witch, and it felt remarkably good. So good, in fact, that he hardly minded his run after, even if Weasley did prattle on about her evening the entire time as she jogged by his side.

His walk took him past the Purple Raven Pub, which he recalled as the establishment where Weasley had mentioned spending her evening. It made him realize that he'd actually paid attention to her ramblings.

Actually, it was far worse. He'd come to realize that he listened to every sordid detail that Weasley told him. Including the description of the scandalous piece of lingerie she'd presented as a gift to the bride-to-be, although the thought of Granger wearing such a thing made him wince.

To distract himself from the unsavory thought, he pictured Weasley going to the shop to purchase such an item, and possibly her trying it on.

That had been the thought that had inspired him to run an extra lap around the pitch that morning.

With an almost morbid fascination, he was struck by the realization that he'd actually grown fond of the time he spent with the little Weasley. In a way, he was almost regretting when they would part company in a few weeks, after the tournament ended.

She was a colorful sort, if a bit obsessed with her own fitness level. He decided that, at some point, he would find out what was behind her motivation.

He caught himself humming as he stepped through the heavy glass doors of his second floor office. He reached for an apple from the table by the door, and turned to give Edwina a cheerful morning greeting.

That's when he noticed that something was different. Edwina didn't give her usual polite smile and nod back. In fact, she looked quite a bit more serious than was usual, even for her. After verifying the wary look in her eye as she acknowledged him, he turned to glance at the waiting area and saw a well-dressed man seated casually in one of the overstuffed chairs that decorated the area.

Draco attempted to remember his schedule for the morning. After careful recollection, he recalled that he had no meetings for at least another hour, which was partially why he had been in no hurry to enjoy his walk to the office. The fact that this man was in his office without a pre-scheduled appointment, and Edwina had not yet sent him away, indicated that the matter was likely serious and, more importantly, it ruined his good mood, which was not a good thing for the intruder.

The last of his good mood evaporated entirely as soon as the man rose from his chair, greeting him with an oily smile.

"Greetings, Mr. Malfoy, very nice to see you again," he stated, as Draco struggled to recall when and where he'd made the man's acquaintance. The face was familiar, but Draco only had a vague memory of him.

"Mr. Covingworth arrived a few minutes ago, Mr. Malfoy. He wanted to discuss his proposal to subcontract work in our Potions department," Edwina informed him smoothly.

He silently thanked his overwhelmingly professional assistant. Her smooth interruption saved him from showing that he'd forgotten meeting this person, which would have put him at a disadvantage. Her simple statement jogged his memory.

Synclair Covingworth's company manufactured cauldrons and tools for potions making. Typically not anything notable, except that he'd been introduced at the Ministry Christmas Ball last year. At the time, Draco had dismissed him, though had wondered how a low-end cauldron manufacturer had obtained the invitation to the gala. He'd tried to convince Draco to do business together at the time, but Draco had put him off, sensing something deeply disreputable.

Obviously, his impression had been correct. He'd obviously said something to alarm Edwina, which put Draco on his guard.

"Shall we talk privately?" Covingworth asked, nodding his head in the direction of Draco's private office.

Courtesy demanded that he meet with the man, but he didn't have to like it. Draco only nodded, walking into his office and taking his chair, not bothering to look behind him as Covingworth followed him in. He fully expected the meeting to be quick.

"No need to close the door," Draco said, stopping the unwelcome visitor as he reached for the door handle.

Covingworth narrowed his eyes, looking out to see Edwina seated at her desk, presumably out of earshot. "Of course," he said, taking a seat.

"What is it that you wanted to meet with me about?" Draco asked, getting straight to the point.

"That's what I like about you, Malfoy," he replied with a toothy grin. "Just like your father, where you get straight to business, no small talk."

"So, talk."

"I've heard on good authority that your contract with Barrows will be up for renewal in three months."

"It might. I don't directly track dates for all my manufacturers."

"I'd like you to renew with me."

Draco leaned back in his chair, feigning disinterest. He rested his elbows on the armrest and tented his fingers as he studied the man. Something about his request was unusual.

"You are welcome to submit a proposal for consideration, but, as I recall, your supplies were a bit substandard when we evaluated them last year."

Covingworth smiled, and Draco didn't like it one bit. "I don't think that will be a problem."

"If it's no problem, as I said, you'll be welcome to submit a bid and you'll receive fair consideration."

The man across the desk merely shook his head, giving another oily smile. "You will give me the contract, Malfoy, or you'll be under investigation by the Ministry for fraudulent practices in your Potions manufacturing. You'll be investigated for Dark Magic."

Draco scowled. Part of the reason for his father stepping down from his role in the company was to ensure that their image remained as clean as possible during the post-Voldemort era.

"There's nothing to find," Draco stated firmly. “I run a clean company.”

Covingworth leaned forward, resting his hand on Draco's desk. "It doesn't matter. I have ways of making it look bad enough that you'll lose your St. Mungo's contract and your International sales for the next year. Not to mention the bad publicity that will ruin sales in your other departments during the course of the investigation."

He then pulled a thick roll of parchment from his briefcase and placed it carelessly on Draco's desk. "Here's a copy of the contract."

Draco stared at the offensive parchment in disdain. "You expect me to sign that?"

"You will, or I'll send word to the Ministry."

"I'd like a few days to read it over."

"Of course," Covingworth stated, the oily smile returning to his sharp-featured face. "I'm open to some negotiation."

He rose from his chair, nodding a mockingly courteous goodbye as he turned to leave the office. Draco didn't bother to make any motion in acknowledgment, glaring angrily at the man as he walked out of the reception area.

Covingworth was blackmailing him, shamelessly. Draco had spent four long, hard years working to clear his father's company of any hint of wrongdoing. He'd made certain that every area operated above reproach. There was little doubt that the vermin that had just exited his office had a high-ranking official in his pocket, just waiting for the opportunity to sully the Malfoy name, and likely gain a profit from the outcome.

Unfortunately, he had few friends at the Ministry these days. It was up to him to find a way around this dilemma. Once again, he cursed his father for leaving him in an impossible situation.

Draco sat for several minutes thinking. Then, his fingers absently reached for the tray of chocolates that once sat on his desk. It was an automatic gesture, a habit he'd fallen into over the past four years. It helped him think.

But his thoughts were rudely interrupted when he realized that the dish was annoyingly absent. He looked at the empty spot and frowned.

He suddenly felt like his best friend had abandoned him.

A few minutes later, he marched out of his office with solid determination. “'Dwina!” he shouted.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, snapping to business-like attention, as he marched up to her desk. She immediately grabbed a quill and notepad, making herself ready to move into action, as needed.

“Call the bakery. I want a tray in sight of me within ten minutes,” he ordered and began storming back into his office, but then stopped and turned back to her, correcting his previous statement, “Make that five.”

“But Mr. Malfoy...” she stammered. “You said under no circumstances...”

“By all that's holy, 'Dwina,” he snarled, his expression furious. “If I don't get a chocolate covered eclair immediately, you'll not only be out on the street but I'll make certain that nobody in the Wizarding World will ever hire you again!”

He did apologize to her, but only after he'd gotten his tray and devoured half the pastries it contained.

X – X – X -



When Weasley stormed into his bedroom the next morning, presumably to wake him up, he had just exited the shower, hair still wet, and was about to drop his towel to put on his trousers for the day.

“Malf...” she stopped short, noticing that the bed was empty, and seeing him standing off to the side.

He jumped about a foot in the air at the sight of her, nearly dropping his towel in the process.

“Crap Weasley! Don't you knock?”

“I... I...”

He adjusted his towel a bit more securely around himself, staring at the girl currently standing in his bedroom. He was seriously going to have a talk with his mother about this.

Unfortunately, the last time he tried to complain about her allowing Weasley in, she merely smiled at him indulgently. He had gotten the distinct feeling that she found it funny. Just his luck that his mother was developing a sense of humor after all these years.

And the Weasley seemed to be too stunned to turn and leave.

For lack of anything else to say in the awkward situation, he stated the first thing that came to mind. “You know, Weasley, I think you like barging in here.”

Well, if that didn't make it more awkward, nothing could.

She continued to gape, and he suddenly realized that he didn't mind in the least. He truly did enjoy those rare moments when he was able to render her speechless. He might have to start keeping a journal, just so he could commemorate those rare occasions.

“I thought you'd overslept again,” she stammered.

He grabbed his underwear, turning away from her, but turning his head to keep an eye on the intruder as he tugged the garment on under the towel. Her stunned expression was positively priceless and he didn't want to miss a moment.

“We had an appointment this morning. Edwina said you'd canceled.”

He said nothing. It would be a long time before he had another opportunity to sleep in again. As it was, he'd been up most of the night, trying to find out more about Synclair Covingworth and who might be his contact within the Ministry. He had precious little time to find a weakness, or he'd be trapped into doing business with the man.

The dreary thought took most of the fun out of the moment as he tugged on his trousers and socks. He glanced up at her again and saw her blushing furiously, yet standing her ground. The sight did make him feel a bit better.

“I canceled all of them, Weasley. I won't be requiring your services anymore,” he said flatly, as he picked up his shirt, tugging it on. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and was grateful that he'd trimmed down a bit, although he did find himself pulling in his stomach just a bit for Weasley's benefit.

“But...”

He buttoned the shirt quickly, not really wanting to continue this conversation. She actually looked hurt.

“I'm sorry, Weasley. If it means anything, you'll be paid for the duration of the contract,” he said, stepping into his shoes and grabbing his tie. He waved his wand, causing it to tie perfectly.

“You're welcome to stay,” he said, motioning toward the room, but I need to be going. I've a busy day ahead of me.”

He grabbed his jacket and moved to step out, unwilling to look at the unhappy witch any longer. Unfortunately, she blocked him from leaving the room.

“But you can't just quit! We're more than half way there. You're doing so well.”

He turned to her. She was persistent, he had to give her that. “Doesn't matter, Weasley."

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter? Of course it matters! You've lost half the weight you wanted to lose. You're at a healthy fitness level, and you're Quidditch skills are improving brilliantly for the tournament. How does it not matter?"

He looked up, and she noticed, despite his neat attire that his hair uncharacteristically mussed, dark circles showing under his eyes. "Because, I have a big problem, Weasley. And, if I don't find a way around it, I will likely be asked to not attend this match, therefore me being fit enough to compete won't matter."

She stared at him in amazement.

"What happened?" she asked, dropping her grasp on his arm, her voice softening in concern.

"Nothing you can help with, unless you have some advice on how to get out of a disreputable contract, or maybe you can tell me who happens to be corrupt in the Department of Corporate Investigations."

Her jaw dropped.

"Someone is investigating you?"

"Not yet," he said tiredly. "But, unless I find out who Synclair Covingworth has in his pocket, I can be sure that it will happen in a few days. It might be a good time for you to place a wager, if you're into that sort of thing.”

The look of indignation on her face was almost as funny as her blush earlier, unfortunately, it was far from a laughing matter. “Why would he do that? I thought you were working to make sure your company was above anything disreputable?”

“It's still too soon after the war. He can ruin me by initiating a false investigation, unless I'm willing to subcontract his company for Potions supplies."

"But that's... that's..."

"Blackmail."

"They can't do that!"

He looked at her in defeat. "It's what happens when your name is tarnished, Weasley. He's got someone in that department in his pocket, and I'm an easy target. They won't find anything in the investigation, but the bad publicity will be more than enough to destroy my reputation."

He gave a bitter laugh. "For the past four years, I've spent every day trying to make sure that something like this didn't happen. Now I've got no choice but to sign this and slip right back into the same trap that my father fell into."

She looked at him in alarm. "No! You can't do that."

"You have another solution?"

She lifted her chin and gave him a bright smile. "Not about the contract, but I do happen to know a few people in the Auror Department who might be able to help."

Draco shifted in his chair uncomfortably, wondering for about the fifteenth time about why he'd allowed Weasley to drag him along with her to the Ministry. Yes, he'd counted.

However, the good news was that the mystery of his uncharacteristic cooperation gave him a reasonable mental puzzle to ponder while waiting for her.

He sat on one of the hard benches in the hallway, figeting like a small child. He was quite certain that, if his mother saw him at the moment, she'd scold him soundly, but he had a very valid reason. He well and truly did not want to be there. He never came to the Ministry unless absolutely necessary. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to have Edwina hire the best solicitors and marketing people for the ugly task of actually conducting business within the walls of the magical government building.

It hadn't always been that way, of course, but his family's recent history had changed many things, and the Ministry had become a place where he was both unwelcome and uncomfortable.

In short, Draco didn't like being there in the least.

To make matters worse, the little Weasley had parked him right outside Harry Potter's office, or rather, the office that was shared by Potter and little Weasley's brother, Ron, the git.

Irritated by the entire situation, Draco drummed his fingers on the arm of the bench that he was seated on, shifted in his seat and sulked while impatiently waiting for the outcome of the conversation.

The seat was vastly uncomfortable, and Draco pondered the thought that it seemed to be a requirement that all government furnishings be both impractical as well as ugly. He made a note to write a letter of complaint, as soon as he determined who should receive it.

Drumming his fingers again, he realized that he was overwhelmingly bored. He turned an ear toward the conversation inside the office, and determined that, in fact, they'd finally gotten through the usual saluatory conversation, including basic greetings, weather, and health questions.

In fact, the conversation had started to become quite interesting, if the few words he overheard were correct.

Curiosity eventually got the better of him, since the topic had turned toward his own situation, and he soon found himself sliding to the side of the bench nearest the doorway. Using a decorative plant for cover, he attempted to unobtrusively peer into the Auror's office, truly hoping that he wouldn't be seen.

Fortunately, the little Weasley had matters well in hand as she rattled on about the fact that the pair had obviously been remiss in their duties, and that corruption was running rampant within the Ministry. He found himself amused by her ranting. The wee Weasley was an irresistible force, and part of him rather enjoyed seeing her bully somebody else for a change.

“Come on, Ginny, you can't go about making wild accusations like that!” Ron, the great tosser, finally managed to say when she paused long enough to take a breath.

“I happen to know for a fact that one of my clients is being blackmailed right now. They've threatened to investigate him unless he signs into a bad contract. How are they going to do that without a corrupt official to sign the papers?”

Potter's voice broke in calmly. “If it's true Ginny, of course we'll look into it. But it's going to take time. We can't just open a full investigation on your word.”

“We don't have time, Harry,” she said, sternly. He caught sight of her, standing solidly in front of Potter's desk, her arms crossed in front of her, impatiently tapping her foot. “My client can only stall for a few days before they bring it to the papers and ruin his reputation.”

“It can't be all that bad, Ginny. If your friend is innocent, it will all work out all right,” Ron said, rather condescendingly. He moved around to the front of his desk, leaning against it casually, obviously not taking her seriously.

She glared at him, and Draco cowered behind his foliage, feeling intimidated despite the fact that her intense gaze was aimed at Ron, not him. She tapped her foot a little harder, and uncrossed her arms, her little hands balling into fists. Draco almost felt bad for her git of a brother. Almost.

“I wouldn't have come to you if this wasn't serious, Ron.”

“Oooo”, he thought. She gave him the “I'm very disappointed in you” look. Apparently, it worked just as effectively on her brother as it did on him, because he watched Ronald promptly look down at his feet, abashed.

“Maybe it would help if you told us who is going to be the intended victim of this crime, Ginny,” Potter said, also moving out of his seat to stand near Ronald and Ginny.

The snort she gave sounded indignant. “Why does it matter? You don't want to help now. What makes you think that knowing who is going to get hurt will make any difference in what you do?”

"Gosh, Ginny, put another 50 pounds on you and you'll sound just like Mum!"

She turned on her brother and literally snarled, causing him to cringe in obvious fear.

"What? What did I say?"

Draco held back a snort of laughter, knowing that being heard wouldn't help his situation. He was feeling a bit better about having been dragged here, if only for the privilege of watching Ginevra completely frighten her much larger brother.

Fortunately, Potter cleared his throat and looked sternly at Weasley, interrupting the siblings. He appeared to be more reasonable than his red headed git of a friend, as he was willing to listen. “I am taking you seriously, Ginny. It's just that we are going to need some facts to get started. I promise that we'll do everything we can to help your friend.”

“You promise?” she repeated.

“I promise,” he said, and Draco caught the idiot brother nodding his head in agreement.

She looked at them both sternly, holding them to their promise. “And you do mean you'll do everything in your power?”

Draco smiled at her emphasis on the word 'everything'.

“I promise, Ginny. We'll do everything we can to help your friend,” Potter replied.

She looked sternly at Ron, and verified his nod. “Don't worry, Gin. We'll help her.. umm...him. Who are we helping, by the way?”

She smiled superiorly, and Draco decided he never liked her so much as he did in that moment. “Draco Malfoy,” she replied.

“What?” Ron, shrieked. “No way! Sodding Draco Malfoy can go to the devil for all I care!”

In the blink of an eye, she raised her fist and punched him solidly in the upper arm.

“Ouch! Ginny! What the hell?” he shrieked, holding his arm, his eyes watering in pain. Potter was chuckling, obviously finding the exchange somewhat funny. For once, Draco actually found himself agreeing with Potter, although it was likely the strangest revelation of his entire life, and considering his history with Voldemort, that said something.

Draco had to admit, from the safety of his remote location, that he rather liked it when Ginevra was using all that energy to help him. It was much more fun to see her turn on someone else.

She began shouting. “How could you say such a thing! What does it matter who is the victim here? You're supposed to be working for justice! How dare you imply that justice is only for people you happen to like?”

Both Potter and Weasley immediately moved back a half step, their expressions showing no small amount of shame.

“He's my friend, and I happen to like him very much. And, besides, you already promised!” she said, now waving her finger vehemently at each of them. She turned, and started to storm out of the room, then she stopped, turning back to them.

In that moment, Draco was not only glad that he'd tagged along with the little fireball, but decided that he would happily pay for the opportunity, should it ever come about again.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed again, and tapping her foot impatiently. “Now, are you going to help, or not?” she demanded.

Both nodded, looking more than slightly guilty.

“Good.”

- - -

He marched past Edwina on the way to his office, collapsed into his cushy chair, leaned back and closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to determine if the morning spent actually talking with Potter in the Auror's office had been worth his time or not.

Shortly after shaming the Aurors into helping him, she'd practically dragged Draco into their office to speak with them directly about the situation. Then, the little minx had run off to meet up with another appointment, leaving him horribly alone with two of his least favorite people. He'd felt abandoned.

The worst part was that he had been forced to sit there and be civil to the two for most of the morning while they asked him about every possible piece of information he had regarding the case. It had been rather exhausting.

“'Dwina!” he called.

She was there in a moment, notebook in hand, and suddenly he realized something: In all the four years that he'd worked there, she'd never once been late or absent. It was rather frightening, actually.

“I need...”

“I've already contacted the Legal Department, Mr. Malfoy. They've been briefed. I have an initial report on Mr. Covingworth's latest activities on my desk. Would you like to look it over now?”

He blinked at her. Staring at his assistant for another moment, he wondered if, perhaps, she owned a time-turner in order to be so disturbingly efficient. If he managed to get the company through this crisis, he was going to look into getting the woman a raise and an assistant of her own.

“In a moment, 'Dwina. First, I need a...”

“I'll bring in your tea and the bakery should be delivering today's order in a few minutes.”

He loved that woman.

Sitting at his desk a few minutes later, he was just finishing a chocolate eclair and was about to start looking over the first of the documents that Edwina's investigators had produced. It was only preliminary, but gave him sufficient background on Covingworth's activities over the past few years to show that the man clearly wasn't bright enough to concoct this scheme on his own. Clearly he had an accomplice, and Draco was determined to find out who was helping him.

After narrowing his list to a handful of Ministry employees, Draco sent a memo to his investigators, and sat back to wait for more information, reaching once again to his pastry tray.

“Mr. Malfoy, you have a visitor.”

“'I thought I asked you to reschedule my meetings for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, Sir, but she says you'll want to see her.”

He looked up to see Weasley smiling and waving at him from behind Edwina's prim and proper form. The girl was irritatingly spunky. He resisted the urge to drop his head on his desk in defeat.

“Let her in...” he said, with a grimace.

She bounced in, looking extraordinarily pleased with herself, no doubt because she'd arranged to have her two pet Aurors take his case. Unfortunately, due to the fact that she'd left him alone with her brother and the boy-wonder all morning, he decided that he was the tiniest bit annoyed with her at the moment.

However... she was still wearing her rather snug workout attire, which worked in her favor. As his mind pursued that train of thought, he was briefly reminded that she did manage to see him clad in a towel that morning.

It made him rethink the idea that he also referred to her oaf of a brother by the same surname.

"So, Weasley...” he stopped himself, cleared his throat and restated carefully, “ahem, Ginevra."

She looked surprised and paused for a long moment before responding. "Calling me by my first name now? Where did that come from?"

He rather liked that his simple alteration had put her off so easily. It seemed to distract him from his current bout of irritation with her recent actions. Nevertheless, he did have to remind her. "Well, I just spent three hours this morning with your brother and Potter. I've discovered that calling you both 'Weasley' is a bit disturbing."

She was undisturbed by his comment. "I can understand that," she said, still smiling. He decided that he would definitely work to make her feel guilty again at the earliest possible opportunity.

She turned, noticing the half-empty tray of pastries on the side if his desk, and her smile quickly turned into a disappointed frown.

He followed her gaze, an inkling of fear rising in his chest as he asked, in his most innocent tone,"What?"

She moved to take the tray, and he instinctively pulled it protectively toward himself. He couldn't let her take away his main source of comfort, not when his world was balancing on a rather sharp precipice.

"Draco, that's not the way to deal with stress," she said, that terrible commanding tone and, worse, the look of disapproval coming to her features.

The situation was rapidly deteriorating.

He couldn't help himself. He got defensive. "It's gotten me through the last four years, Weas.., ummm, Ginevra. It will get me through a few more."

"It will kill you before your time," she replied evenly.

He tightened his grip on the tray.

Nodding her head calmly, she sat on the edge of his desk, looking at him almost with a disappointed sadness. Guilt started to creep into his emotions, and he bravely tried to fight the feeling, only to realize that he was failing miserably. If he didn't do anything, he was going to lose his pastries again.

He decided to change tactics.

He narrowed his gaze, still hovering protectively over the plate of sweets. "Not this time, Weasley, or I'll ask Potter why you were so sensitive about being compared to your mother.”

It was mean, and he knew it, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd resorted to something like that so he could get his way.

She froze, her eyes widening in horror at his statement. For a moment, he actually felt guilty. He hadn't intended for it to be more than an empty threat because, certainly, she was aware that Potter wouldn't have any inclination to share personal information with him.

But, then again, he had to congratulate himself, because she had rapidly pulled her fingers away from his tray. The hurt look on her face, unfortunately, made it an empty victory.

“You were listening,” she said softly.

“Of course I was listening," he replied. "You were discussing my livelihood.”

She still looked hurt, and it was his fault.

Unbidden, an image of his mother came to his mind and he inwardly cringed. It was a memory of when he was at his eighth birthday party and he'd teased Pansy about her dress until she cried. He vividly recalled his mother scolding him soundly on how to treat a young lady. It hadn't been pleasant.

The thought that his mother gave every indication that she liked Ginevra made him vividly aware of the fact that he'd likely be in for another reprimand if he didn't apologize.

He winced for two reasons: first, that he really, really hated apologies, and, second, that the desktop picture of his mother was once again looking sternly at him, warning him that, indeed, she would not look favorably on his actions.

He had to decide which choice was less painful.

After a very long moment of weighing his options, it appeared that an apology was in order.

He squinted, as if in a great deal of pain as he worked to formulate the words that might make the situation better. “I promise not to ask Potter. You must know I wasn't planning on asking him anyway. I just wanted to change the subject.”

She nodded, then looked at him quizzically. “Yet, you brought it up.”

Drat. Worse than apologizing, he was going to have to explain himself. Apparently, he had made the wrong choice. He began playing with a decorative paperweight on his desk to stall for time, and after a long moment of coming up with a list of horribly unbelievable fibs, he decided to just tell the truth. It was easier.

“It was a rare moment where I didn't see you completely in command of the situation. I must admit that I was intrigued.”

“Hmmph,” she replied, and she looked down at her feet, swinging them deliberately as she sat. Obviously, the topic was interesting, and he found himself truly wanting to know the answer. Perhaps the truth wasn't such a bad thing after all. He decided to seize the opportunity that had presented itself.

“I think you want to tell me.”

“I most certainly do not,” she said, looking up at him, the characteristic fire in her eye returning at his suggestion. He liked that.

It was time to become persuasive. It was part of the standard set of tactics learned by any student in the House of Slytherin. He decided to play on her guilt, which had been woefully overlooked.

"Look, I just spent most of the morning with your brother, and Potter for that matter, after you left. The least you can do is indulge me a bit," he said, rather smoothly. He rather liked being able to use the truth. It was so much more effective.

She looked at him for a long moment, as if contemplating whether or not to answer. Then, she took a deep breath, motioned toward the pastry tray again and said, "I will if you hand over the sweets."

He froze.

A brief, yet intense argument waged itself within the confines of his mind. It was horrible. He actually had to choose what he wanted more: information, or food. Being a rather intelligent sort, if he did say so himself, he decided that he could always revisit the bakery later, where Weasley... er...Ginevra might not give him another opportunity.

He gave a deep sigh, stared almost longingly at his tray, and relinquished it to the red head's waiting hands. Once it was vanished from his sight, he stared up at her expectantly, and watched her reluctantly will herself to share the information.

"I..."

He raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. The normally overconfident little witch clearly had a weakness about this particular topic. Getting up from his chair, he walked around to the other side of his desk, next to where she was currently perched. He leaned against the desk and looked down at her.

She was studying her hands.

He leaned closer toward her and nudged her with his shoulder. When she looked back up at him, almost shyly, he sensed victory was in his grasp.

"Yes, I'm a little sensitive about being compared to my mother."

"And...?"

"And that's about it."

He looked at her sternly. He most certainly did not forfeit his desserts for that pathetic piece of information. This called for serious negotiating tactics.

“Ginevra...” he said, trying to sound smooth.

She frowned, looked up at him with a mixture of amusement and irritation. “My name is Ginny,” she corrected.

He liked that look. It almost seemed as if she was fond of him. He took that as a positive indication. Nudging her again, he repeated, "C'mon, *Ginny*. I seem to recall that you said to your brother that we were friends."

She blushed. He was liking this game more by the moment, despite the fact that he really should be spending all of his time and energy on a backup plan, in case Potter's investigation failed. He realized that, in that particular moment, he really didn't care.


Pulling out her small handbag, she sifted through the contents for a few moments then, finding what she was looking for, she handed it to Draco.

He looked down at a picture of a middle-aged couple, smiling and waving at him.

"Your parents?"

She nodded.

"They seem...pleasant enough," he said, attempting to be diplomatic. He may have been raised to think less of Weasleys, but good business sense taught him to be professional in his remarks.

"My mother hates the idea of me working for myself. She's overprotective and wants me to be settled and married and overweight and having a dozen babies."

"Sounds evil to me," he said in mock agreement.

She slapped him, playfully, but with a bit of an edge.

"Don't laugh. I don't want to be like her. I don't want to be trapped in a house doing nothing but raising and worrying about children for the rest of my life."

"Then don't."

She looked at him carefully. "You say that so easily, yet, here you are, willing to trap yourself in this office, worrying about your family business for the rest of your life."

He didn't like the sudden turn this conversation was taking.

"We do what we have to do, Weasley."

"No, you don't! You don't have to do everything alone, and you don't have to let your work here consume you to the point that your only friend is a bakery item slathered in frosting."

Something about the words "friend" and "slathered in frosting" brought a very interesting image of the girl Weasley to his mind. He grimaced and rubbed his hand over his face in an attempt to hide his reaction.

When he looked back up, he saw her still staring at him, rather intently. She was quite pretty, although a bit on the skinny side. But, at least now he had an understanding of why she seemed so obsessed with her work. The fact that she had fears and flaws seemed to make her just a bit more attractive to him.

He studied her for several seconds, taking in the hazel green of her eyes, then almost automatically looking at her lips. He definitely liked her mouth when it wasn't in the process of barking orders at him. Unconsciously, he began to lean toward her...

"Mr. Malfoy," Edwina interrupted, knocking loudly on the door frame. He jumped back, the moment ruined.

"Yes, 'Dwina," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that was now rapidly forthcoming.

"I just received an owl from Mr. Potter..." she said, holding the item, looking somewhat concerned.

He walked forward to take the parchment from her hand, "Thank you, 'Dwina."

He quickly read the contents, then glanced hopefully between the two witches in his office. "Potter's found something. He wants to set up a way for me to help him gather evidence."

"That's wonderful!" Ginny said, jumping off her seat on the desk, looking genuinely happy.

"I don't understand, Mr. Malfoy..."

He raised his hand to silently halt his assistant from speaking further. It felt odd to actually know something that the witch didn't. He decided to enjoy that thought later, when he had a spare moment. “It's all right, 'Dwina. It will make sense in a moment.”

He turned back to Ginevra. "Are you sure I can trust Potter?" he asked, once again serious. He'd talked with his old adversary for most of the morning, giving as much information as he had available, but he remained doubtful.

Her eyes sparked with confidence, and she gave a smile that could only be described as gleefully evil. "He promised me, Draco. He knows full well that if he goes back on that promise, he'll likely never be able to father children, at the very least."

Draco smiled. He really, really enjoyed having the little spitfire on his team.

"You heard the girl, 'Dwina. Give Mr. Potter any information he needs."

What he saw next was memorable due to its rarity. Edwina Harris smiled.

A week after his initial meeting with Potter, Draco sat in his office, drumming his fingers impatiently while waiting for Covingworth to return. He hated waiting.

Only one thing made it better. He glanced over at the Royal Golden Thistle plant in the corner of his office as it moved slightly, and smiled. He'd never had foliage in his office before, but this was a special occasion. It really was a lovely specimen, albeit a bit on the aggressive side.

“Ouch,” came an irritated voice from the vicinity of the plant.

Draco looked down at the contract in front of him, barely hiding a smile. If all went according to plan, it was going to be a good day.

He needed a good day, he thought, after all he'd gotten very little sleep over the past week. Not only was he busy with the usual activities of his company, but he'd been consumed with having his people conduct a private investigation of Covingworth's company, business dealings, and even his personal hygiene. While the first two items uncovered rather interesting and incriminating information, the third was a bit unsavory.

He was quite certain that he might have nightmares about that last part for the next few weeks.

Fortunately, the distasteful findings about Covingworth's personal habits were offset by the fact that the private investigation had turned up at least two other incidences of corruption involving the Ministry of Corporate Investigations. The good news was that Potter's investigation had confirmed the findings. The bad news, however, was that Covingworth's primary contact within the Ministry remained unknown. It was clear that they needed to glean more information from the man.

Which led to the reason that he now had a rather beautiful stinging plant in his office.

It was also the reason the Draco was allowing himself to feel just the tiniest bit smug.

Potter had, rather reluctantly, asked for his help.

It had been a beautiful moment, Draco recalled. Of course, it had taken all his self-control not to rub it in the Auror's face too much, after all, he still needed them to arrest the filthy bugger who was attempting to blackmail him. But still, it was good to know that Potter couldn't quite complete the job without the help of Draco Malfoy, and he was rather enjoying the thought.

Still, he was getting a bit impatient to be done with it all. He would have time to gloat later. For now, he needed to focus on the task at hand.

He began looking over Covingworth's contract one last time, hoping to gather his thoughts but, once again, the Thistle in the corner of his office moved slightly, and another soft "Ouch!" was uttered from the vicinity of the foliage.

A smile once again twitched on Draco's lips. "Mind keeping it down, Potter? You'll ruin everything if Covingworth arrives and you announce yourself like that."

A rustling noise came from the area. "Your plant keeps stinging me."

Yes, the plant had been acquired for the purpose of creating a better hiding place for none other than the famous Harry Potter. Potter had even been the one to request the item, actually, to ensure that, should his cloak slip in any way, that there was additional cover for his hiding spot. Unfortunately for Potter, the Auror had failed to specify a particular variety of plant that would adequately do the job, so Draco improvised.

Although Edwina had given Draco a stern look of disapproval, she had nevertheless done exemplary work in acquiring the most irritating piece of decorative office shrubbery available. He dearly loved that witch.

Personally, Draco thought the idea was quite brilliant. Not only would it create the appropriate alcove for Potter to see and hear everything, but Covingworth would have no desire to go near it, which would keep him from accidentally stumbling over Potter. He insisted that it had absolutely nothing to do with annoying his childhood rival.

Yes, Draco was well aware that it was completely petty and mean of him, and he hoped to Merlin that Ginevra didn't find out about his intention, but he simply couldn't help himself. Some opportunities were simply too good to pass up.

"Be grateful that it does, that way he won't be tempted to walk anywhere near you. You wouldn't want him to wander around the office and accidentally bump into you, after all."

A muttering of colorful curses came from the corner.

Draco allowed himself a small smile. If the situation hadn't been quite so dire, he might have actually considered it to be a bit fun.

"Just make sure you get him to talk about his contact at the Ministry," came Potter's voice from the corner.

"I know my job, Potter. You keep to yours."

More curses reached his ears, but he didn't have time to smile about them. Edwina was marching her way toward his office.

"It's time," Draco muttered, apparently to nobody in particular. Fortunately, Potter got the hint and the area around the beautiful but offensive plant became completely still.

He looked up at his assistant as she stopped in the doorway, both knowing that the game was now on.

Her expression gave nothing away, as he'd come to expect from her, making her perfect for her role in the operation. She merely stated, in her usual calm, professional demeanor, "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Covingworth has arrived to see you."

He gave her a brief nod, letting her know that they were ready. "Send him in, 'Dwina."

Over the past few days, Draco had been dropping hints to Covingworth that he was becoming open to the prospect of doing business with the man's company. The idea of softening his stance wasn't entirely unusual. Actually, it was a typical Slytherin tactic intended to turn a negative into the most beneficial scenario possible. Covingworth would expect it to some degree.

All that remained was to see if he believed Draco well enough to give him the information that he and the Aurors needed.

When Covingworth entered the office, he barely waited for Edwina to turn and leave the doorway. Draco fought back a sneer at the man's rudeness.

"I didn't expect you so early," Draco said, foregoing any pleasantries or formality. Courtesies weren't completely necessary, considering the nature of their business partnership, and Draco didn't like the man well enough to make any effort.

His less than welcoming comment didn't, however, stop Covingworth from greeting him with his usual oily smile. "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Malfoy. I'm pleased to see that you've reconsidered my generous offer. I'm looking forward to us doing a profitable business together."

Draco didn't return the smile. He merely nodded, seating himself behind his desk. "I'm sure you are. But I have some questions before I sign the contract."

"I would expect so..."

The next half hour was filled with some of the most trivial and boring contractual discussion that Draco had ever negotiated. If this worked, none of it would be relevant, but he needed Covingworth lulled into a sense of security. Once or twice, he thought he saw the plant in the corner move but, fortunately, no sound came from the area.

Finally, it came to the part of the discussion where he might be able to trap his prey.

"And about the supplier for dragon scales..."

"You don't need to worry about that," Covingworth interrupted shortly.

Draco gave no expression, but secretly realized it was the reaction he'd been hoping for. "Yes, I do. I can't have the Ministry questioning the source, even if it's coming through an outside supplier. I'm going to need full disclosure from you."

Covingworth's smile suddenly became less pleasant. "And, as I said, you won't need to worry about it."

"Then, are you saying that you have someone in the Ministry who will be able to vouch for those documents, should they come into question? Because, otherwise, I'll make sure you come to Azkaban with me if you are using poachers. The objective is that we make this profitable for the both of us."

Covingworth's smile returned, but it now contained a hint of something sinister. "You're like your father, a sharp businessman. I like that about you."

The response was what Draco wanted to hear. It hinted that Covingworth wanted this agreement more than he was letting on. There was too much money involved. It was time to bait him with a hint that he might be willing to sweeten the deal. "I'm no fool, Covingworth. We both want this to be a long, profitable venture. If you work with me, we can expand this into other areas and make this very mutually beneficial."

A spark of greed lighted in Covingworth's eyes, and Draco knew that he'd gotten the man's interest. Covingworth looked about the room, making sure that the door behind them was securely closed. He cast a silencing charm on it before turning back to Draco.

"What I tell you goes no further," he said.

Draco merely sat back in his chair, looking bored. "It better be good," he replied.

I've got both Shacklebolt's assistant, who still has ties in the Auror Department, and Nichols from Corporate Affairs working for me. Between them, I can quietly cover my tracks from almost any investigation. And better yet, I can divert the evidence to point to our competitors.

Draco tried his best not to smile in the direction of his plant in the corner, although he did allow his mouth to curve into an evil smirk. He liked his smirk. He'd actually spent time practicing it in the mirror when he was younger, and he hadn't had nearly enough opportunity to use it in recent years. It was a rather celebratory occasion, however, and he took a moment to savor being able to use his favorite expression.

Covingworth's oily smile lit his face, obviously thinking that Draco was in agreement with him. "Aha. Dear boy, I knew you were worthy of your father. You understand how successful this venture can be."

Draco nodded, keeping his evilly happy smirk firmly in place, despite the fact that he was massively offended by the man referring to him in such a familiar manner. "So, that's how Hestia's Herbology was ruined last year," he said, using part of the information from his own investigation, hoping to gather further evidence against the scum in his office.

"Of course! Of course. We considered it a practice attempt before I decided to bring you into it. Wanted to ensure that our efforts were untraceable. I made a fortune investing in Spencer's Herbology, by the way." Covingworth smiled smugly and encouragingly.

Draco merely gave him a curt nod to acknowledge the man's bragging, looked down at the contract again, and decided it was time. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”

He then got up from his desk and walked over to the door, opening it and ignoring the look of confusion on Covingworth's face.

"'Dwina, could you tell my next appointment that I'll be ready in about five minutes. I'm just finishing up in here."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy."

He turned back to Covingworth, giving a quick glance to the plant in the corner, although there was no sign of Potter. "Sorry about that. I just realized we'd taken a bit longer than I expected and my next appointment is rather important."

"Yes, yes," the other man said almost too eagerly agreeing. Clearly his greed was clouding rational thought at the moment.

"I did have one or two minor things, but I think our discussion has clarified a great deal."

Covingworth was apparently becoming rather anxious, so Draco picked up a quill to stall. He wanted to make sure that Edwina had plenty of time to complete her task. "By the way, Covingworth, this might have gone a bit more smoothly if you didn't begin our relationship by threatening me."

The oily smile returned. "I wanted you to know that I wasn't one to be trifled with," he said. “What's a little bit of blackmail between friends, eh?”

Draco laughed inwardly at the idea that the fool fancied himself to be clever enough to be in league with him. Getting up again, Draco sneered at his visitor. "I think this calls for a Firewhisky to celebrate, don't you agree?"

Covingworth nodded thoughtfully, and Draco glanced at the plant, seeing it move ever so slightly, and found himself amused once again by Potter's discomfort. At the very least, the plant had ensured that Potter hadn't fallen asleep during the exchange of information. Draco smiled again.

He opened the office door to see a half dozen Aurors standing there, Ron Weasley standing in the front, looking for all the world as if he wanted to be elsewhere.

"Oh, my next appointment," he said, casually, his hand in his pocket, gripping his wand in preparation for any retaliation. He tried to appear confident, but that wasn't how he felt. There was still the risk that Potter wouldn't fulfill his end of the bargain.

He turned back to see the look of shock on his potential blackmailer's face. A moment later, the look changed to anger as Covington became fully aware of the situation and drew his wand.

"Not so fast," came a third voice from within the room, and Draco let out the breath he'd been holding as soon as he saw Potter remove his cloak. He was standing behind Covington, his wand pressed solidly into the older man's neck.

After Covington was led away in bindings, Draco allowed himself to smirk all he wanted for the rest of the morning.

---

Later that same day, Draco was on his way back from the Auror's offices, on the verge of whistling. Not that he was a whistler, mind you, but things had been going uncommonly well.

His temporary alliance with Potter had worked, to his surprise, and now he could get back to his normal life. Although, he wasn't quite certain what normal entailed at this point, but he would think about that later. He had work to do, since his week of dealing with the Covingworth distraction had put him behind once again.

But for now, it was a good day. And a good day such as this required celebration, and celebration required cake.

He stopped by his favorite bakery on his way back to his office and picked out a particularly decadent confection that was frosted with something so rich that it resembled fudge. It was going to be a good celebration.

Edwina looked up at him as he entered the office, her prim features tightening in an expression that was almost a smile. He smiled back, knowing that his assistant was also pleased with the outcome of the sting operation that had trapped Covingworth. His smile faltered slightly when she handed him the stack of parchments that represented the work he'd fallen behind on.

Undaunted, he looked down at his container of cake, deciding that he would celebrate while catching up on work. It was an old habit, but one that felt comfortable. Turning back toward his office, he caught sight of a bowl full of fruit placed next to his pastry dish. The sight gave him pause, but he dismissed it quickly.

Just then, a thought came to mind. “'Dwina, could you please contact Miss Weasley? I'd like to take her to dinner tonight to thank her for her help this past week.”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” she responded, in her usual brisk tone.

Yes, all was well in the world.

He settled himself at his desk and pulled out the document resting at the top of the pile, idly reading as he opened his container of cake. Realizing he had no utensils, he quickly grabbed a quill and muttered a charm to transfigure the innocuous item into a fork.

Digging the fork into the treat, his mouth started to water in anticipation.

"Stop right there, Malfoy."

He paused, fork halfway towards its destination of his open mouth. Quickly realizing that he probably looked ridiculous in that particular pose, he slowly closed his mouth and lowered the utensil, raising his eyes somewhat tentatively toward the source of the voice.

There she stood, arms crossed, foot tapping and eyebrows raised. Her red hair flowed loosely about her shoulders and there was fire in her eyes. In a way, he hated how incredibly gorgeous she was, because he'd forgotten why she had become such a fixture in his life.

He looked up, guilt written all over his face, looking very much like a child caught in the middle of mischief. Her response completely surprised him.

She laughed.

“I'm trying to celebrate, Weasley.”

She crossed her arms, drawing his attention to her shirt, which stretched tight across her chest as she crossed her arms. “There are probably a thousand calories in that thing. Malfoy, it's time to get back to work.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to do here. If you'll notice, I have a stack of parchment here that needs to be addressed by end of day today, but I was busy helping your dear Potter do his job.”

She frowned. “You know what I mean, now, hand over the cake. We only have four weeks until the tournament, and you've still got a long way to go.”

He blinked in disbelief. He looked at her, then back down at his cake. Somewhere during the past week he'd forgotten. And she was spoiling his perfectly happy afternoon.

It was making him feel...petulant.

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

And he was suddenly overcome by...fear. He glanced out the open office door to see if perhaps Edwina might come to his aid, but all he saw was her empty desk. Traitor.

“Weasley, let's be reasonable here.”

She leaned forward, placing her hands on his desk, and he found himself pulling away as she stared at him. It was simply unfair that someone that small could be that intimidating. All semblance of the confidence he'd had earlier in the day evaporated.

"If you're that desperate, you may have one bite, and one bite only and then I'm taking the rest away.”

That was when the thought hit him. During the few weeks, he'd come to enjoy her company, and had let himself believe that she had enjoyed his as well. During the past week, when she'd helped him overcome one of the biggest professional threats of his life, she'd seemed like a friend and a partner.

“You know I'm only trying to help,” she said, almost soothingly.

He wasn't falling for it. “You let me have what I wanted all last week,” he said, sounding like a whining child, but he didn't care.

“A bit of a relapse is normal, and you had far bigger worries last week. It wouldn't have been right for me to place this as a priority. But you can't address stressful situations by turning to food. Next time, we'll be more prepared, so hopefully you won't need to resort to food to cope.”

“Fine,” he mumbled, giving the Weasley as dirty a look as he could possibly muster. His disappointment driving his rather petulant mood.

He looked at his cake, carved off as big a piece as possible, keeping it rather precariously balanced on his fork. He met her gaze a bit defiantly, as if daring her to challenge the size of the piece on his fork, before stuffing it into his mouth.

Then, she vanished the remainder of his cake and he watched in horror as it disappeared.

He glared at her as he rather messily chewed the overlarge bite, silently cursing himself for not transfiguring a bigger fork. It was quite a good cake.

She watched him, her warm eyes alight with humor, which really did nothing for his ego, since he was attempting to be angry with her. It somehow wasn't fair that she always seemed to get the upper hand in these situations.

“Malfoy,” she said, leaning over his desk, making it extremely difficult to remember that she was in his employ. “I'm not trying to make this hard on you, but you aren't going to succeed by going back to all your old habits. As it is, you haven't worked out in a week.”

There she went, trying to be all nice and reasonable, when he knew darned well that she was evil and only looking to rob his taste buds of all his favorite sweets. Yet, he had agreed to this, and something told him that he secretly enjoyed the challenge.

“Fine,” he mumbled again, although his mother would likely have kittens if she ever found out that he had just spoken with food in his mouth. He became rather concerned at the thought, but pushed it aside in favor of more immediate matters. Namely Weasley.

“You really love that stuff, don't you,” she said, although it came out as a statement more than a question.

He nodded, deciding that pouting seemed to be working on her at the moment. He came to the conclusion that looking pitiful was his best weapon. After all, he was unhappy and if he was going to get his way, his only option was to evoke sympathy. He gave her the look he used to practice in the mirror as a child. The one that got his mother to buy him just about anything.

It worked, because she responded with an almost sympathetic smile. “Well, we can plan in some snacks, so you won't be tempted to overindulge in the future.”

He brightened and was pleased to see that she responded in kind. It was quite an interesting game trying to manipulate her, and he felt like he might even win in the end, although he wasn't quite sure what winning might entail.

“But,” she continued, a bit more sternly, causing little warning sirens to immediately go off in his head. “I'm going to have to schedule some extra time for your workout, to allow for the extra food and to make up for the fact that you've been off your training this past week. We're losing time and you need to make up for it.”

Somehow, he would live with it, as long as he could get his chocolate. And, a little extra time with her didn't seem all that bad either.


- - - - -

The next day, he was roused earlier than usual by the Weasley from hell.

Not that she was all that bad, but he really did hate getting up early, and although he'd agreed to the extra workouts, it just wasn't as fun when faced with getting out of bed earlier than he felt was necessary.

And he really needed to speak to his mother about allowing her to barge into his room like that. It simply wasn't dignified.

He'd actually tried his best to squirm his way out of the extra workout session. He'd gone so far as to convince Weasley that he needed he needed to catch up on work. He thought he'd won, actually, when she agreed that. Yes, the Covingworth incident had set him back and he needed to be in his office, he said, and she'd agreed.

Unfortunately, her response was to wake him all the earlier that day and, by getting him to capitulate, she seemed to have developed a new determination when it came to getting him to meet his goals for the tournament.

And now, after waking him up, she'd abandoned him.

If he wasn't a grown man, in charge of his own company, he might have actually pouted. And, at the moment, he really wanted a donut to comfort himself.

It had all gone wrong shortly after she'd hauled him out of the house. Not that he really minded her manhandling him, but it was important to maintain some level of control so, as usual, he whined the entire time. But today, instead of bringing him to the Quidditch pitch as he'd come to expect, she took him to the new Wizard's gym on the far end of Diagon Alley.

She mentioned something about her schedule being a bit off due to adding the extra workout for him, and something about schedule conflicts. He didn't fully pay attention to the details. It was only after they entered the gym that he realized that her explanation affected him. That was when she explained that he was supposed to keep himself entertained on the various equipment while she met with one of her other clients in the same location.

He was unceremoniously placed on a treadmill and had to watch while “his” Weasley spent a solid hour coaching an overly rounded witch through some simple weight-lifting and stretching routines.

If she had the gall to wake him up at an ungodly hour, the very least she could do was give him a little attention.

In the past, running had only been tolerable because he really enjoyed watching her arse as he followed her around the Quidditch pitch. The treadmill thing kept talking to him to speed up his pace and he could only catch momentary glimpses of the girl while she worked with her other client at the far end of the room.

It was completely unacceptable.

The next day followed the same routine and, although they had their Quidditch practice in the afternoon together, he remained miffed.

So, on the third day, as he jogged on his treadmill and watched Weasley spend her time with the inept, overweight witch again, he did the only proper thing that any self-respecting Slytherin could do: he plotted ways to eliminate the competition.

Two days later, the witch disappeared, having won a three-week, all-expense paid trip, which included a never-ending buffet and dessert bar, courtesy of Blankenship's Flying Carpet Cruise Line. With a bit of luck, he was hoping that the witch might eat so much on the trip that she'd explode and wouldn't be able to come back at all.

He smirked to himself when Weasley arrived at the gym to meet him that morning.

She opened her mouth several times, but no sound came out, while looking at him with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "I can't believe you would do such a thing," she finally said.

“I don't know what you are talking about,” he returned smoothly, although he was quite unable to contain the pleased expression on his face as she hauled him out the door of the gym.

As soon as they were out of the building, and out of earshot of any bystanders, she turned to him. “You financed the contest for that trip! I saw the fine print when Mrs. Huggins showed me the contract! You rigged it for her to win, and totally sabotaged her training!”

He tried his best to look innocent. “My company sponsored a contest. It's simple marketing. She'll have a wonderful time.”

“But you rigged it so she would win!”

“And you have a problem with that Weasley?”

She pulled her wand out of the waistband of her impossibly tight jumpsuit and waved it threateningly. “I can't believe you. You are, by far, the most difficult client I have ever had.”

“Yet, each day you keep coming back,” he said, just a bit triumphantly.

“Ooooo!” she sputtered, still brandishing the wand. For a change, her anger didn't intimidate him. He'd gotten the best of the situation and was very much enjoying the moment.

She growled, glaring daggers at him before stating, “Let's go to the pitch. We've got two hours and if I don't burn off some of this negative energy, I swear I'm going to hex you into next week!”

And so she did. At the end of it, he was physically exhausted, but he found that he didn't mind in the least.

Draco sat in his office, muttering under his breath as he finished the last of his paperwork. Edwina walked by his office door and lifted an eyebrow, reminding him that his muttering was once again becoming audible. He gave a sigh and went back to reading the financial statement that lay open on his desk.

He'd spent the past three weeks catching up on his work and, quite frankly, he was annoyed. The encounter with Covingworth had set him back from his schedule and he'd had to go back to working longer days and Saturdays to catch up. He'd hoped that such long hours were a thing of the past.

Raising a hand to rub a weary hand over his eyes, he set the document aside.

In addition to his workload, he still had to keep up with the daily schedule with Weasley. The little bint hadn't let up on him in the slightest. In fact, over the past few weeks she'd been even more brutal than before, if that was possible.

“It's good to keep up with your routine to work off the stress,” she'd said.

“Hmmph,” he muttered to himself as he recalled the little witch's words, but his reaction only earned him yet another raised eyebrow from Edwina.

The odd fact of the matter was that he'd actually begun to enjoy the workouts, despite the pain.

Of course, he hadn't appreciated Weasley's words at the time. Actually, he recalled grumbling some very unflattering things under his breath and was quite convinced that Weasley had heard him because, soon after making the remarks, he managed to take several rather painful falls from his broom.

Yes, his broom. He smiled at the thought When she let him use his own real racing broom instead of the heavier, slower trainer, it had been a most triumphant day.

The best part was that he was making progress. His weight was down by almost two stone, although he had barely the time to go and get his clothing altered, leaving him in pants that looked rather clownish at the moment. He cursed Covingworth again as he put aside the last of the documents for the week, grateful to finally be on top of matters again.

It had been a long three weeks and the truth of the matter was that, even for someone of his superior caliber, he found that he was tired. So, with only one week remaining before the tournament, he came to the decision that he could afford a small break . It was Saturday evening, after all.

In celebration of finally catching up on his work, he decided to take that evening and the next morning off. He mentioned as much to his loyal assistant while she tidied her desk for the evening and asked her to move his morning workout appointment to the afternoon so he could catch up on some sleep.

Or so he thought.

After that, his evening progressed in a relatively orderly fashion. First, he finished his dinner and went up to his rooms, just as he'd planned. He'd even had time to talk with both his parents, persuading them to make a rare public appearance so that they could watch his match, which was a victory in its own way.

After that, he went up to his rooms and prepared for bed. Not that there was anything unusual about his routine, since he'd had it well-established for some time. However, with only one week to go, he took an extra moment to study his recently slimmed figure in the mirror to verify that he truly was ready to show the world that he, Draco Malfoy, was back to his superior self. He rather enjoyed that. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he spent a full five minutes admiring himself. He even flexed a few muscles, simply because he could.

Feeling satisfied that all was right in his universe, he crawled into his comfortable bed and gave his current alarm clock a smirk. It was a prototype. In fact, it was manufactured to his personal specifications and the most durable that his company could produce, although he sincerely doubted it could stand up to his abuse, given that all its predecessors had failed miserably. However, he had no intention of testing it in the morning. It was, after all, his day off. Nevertheless, he gave it an extra harsh glare just in case it had any strange ideas.

So, it came as quite a shock when he was awakened from his blissfully sound sleep by someone shouting "Malfoy!" from the vicinity of his bedroom door exactly one hour after the aforementioned alarm failed to ring.

In fact, when the call came, he was so convinced that it was only a dream that he opened one eye, lifted his head from underneath the pillow and gave the intruder a baleful look. Once that action was completed, he then reached the only logical conclusion that his sleep-addled brain would accept: that he was still asleep and was having yet another dream about Weasley. It was something that had become unfortunately common in recent weeks.

Looking at her again, he verified that, yes, she was once again attired in one of those impossibly form-fitting workout garments she liked to wear. His dreams typically started in a similar manner, so there was nothing unusual there.

What was unusual about this particular dream was the fact that she did not look happy. However, dreams were strange things so he decided to play along.

“I thought we were past you leaving me stranded waiting for you, Malfoy. I told you, my time is valuable.”

Something in his brain woke up enough to question why she might be angry with him. He'd clearly left word with Edwina to move his Sunday appointment with Weasley to the afternoon. But, then again, he was still mostly asleep and really did not feel the urge to try to spend too much energy on why. It was a dream, after all.

Keeping one eye on the witch, lest she attempt something damaging, he plopped back down into his pillows and mumbled, "It's Sunday, Weasley. I am entitled to sleep in."

“You could have at least had the courtesy to inform me,” she said, somewhat snippily.

The remark confirmed the fact that it had to be a dream, albeit an odd one. If he gave instruction to Edwina to move the appointment, he was quite certain that the Weasley had been informed.

She walked over to his bed, stood at the edge, crossed her arms and tapped her foot, as if she expected some sort of response from him. He didn't care. This was becoming an annoying dream and he wanted to get back to sleep. After all, it was his morning and he fully intended to stay where he was.

“Go away, Weasley. I'll see you this afternoon. I'm busy right now.”

She nevertheless pulled back the covers, urging him to get his sorry arse moving and he groaned as the cool air hit his bare torso.

"Sorry Malfoy, it's what you hired me for and I'm not going to give up on you with only one week to go."

“What more could I possibly learn with only a week left?”

He was becoming confused. This wasn't his typical dream and it was no fun whatsoever. At the very least, he had had quite enough. He was in no mood to argue.

Frustrated, he started to move toward the edge of the bed and, perhaps it was the fact that he wasn't fully awake, or perhaps it was because she was dressed in one of those obscenely tight outfits, but suddenly an idea came to mind.

"You know what, Weasley. I think you need to learn how to lighten up just a bit," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into the bed with him. She squealed but he was pleased to find out that he was able to easily contain her moderately struggling body.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked, looking up at him with no small amount of surprise as she collapsed on the bed next to him.

He smirked. He'd been smirking much more often lately and, truth be told, he rather liked that the expression seemed to come to his face more easily lately. "You, my dear Weasley, are going to take the morning off. Have a lie in and realize that there is more to life than work."

With that, he pulled the covers over the both of them, ignoring her look of shocked indignation. For once, he thought he might have gotten in the last word as he happily buried his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes.


- X - X - X -

Two hours later, he awoke feeling more rested than he had in years. He turned to look over at his most recent alarm clock and realized that the blankets were blocking it from view. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he then realized that there was someone underneath the blankets. The telltale red hair gave him his next clue on who the someone might be.

He blinked again, unsure if he was imagining the sight. A knot of fear gripped him in his gut as he looked down upon the peacefully sleeping witch. The memory of him pulling her into bed came back with disturbing clarity. He'd only wanted to win the argument so that he could go back to sleep. Now... well...

It was inappropriate, at best. She was currently in his employ, first of all and, well, he'd been brought up better than to bed random witches so, if his mother ever got wind of this transgression, there'd be hell to pay. He could already imagine the lecture.

But it was far worse than that, as he'd been having a rather nice dream about Weasley after he'd fallen back asleep and, well,as with most wizards, he tended to be a bit more hormonal in the morning. She really did look rather attractive sleeping in his bed, after all.

"Oh sweet Merlin," he muttered, dropping back onto the pillow. When she woke up, he had little doubt that she would kill him. The only question was: how.

She stirred, making him realize that getting out of the bed now would be just the slightest bit embarrassing, due to his already aroused state, as her sleepy movements seemed to make her all the more attractive to him.

He closed his eyes and waited for the barrage of words from her that would indicate that she was fully awake and completely furious with him. When he didn't hear any, he cautiously opened one eye and looked over at her.

She appeared to be amused.

He opened the other eye to stare at her in confusion.

"Congratulations, Malfoy. I guess you were right. It was rather nice to sleep in, if just a bit awkward."

He rubbed a hand over his face, and looked out at her from between his fingers. "Yeah, Weasley, about that... umm... sorry."

She surprised him by merely giving a rather amused chuckle as she extracted herself from the bed, still clothed in her workout attire, although he noticed that she'd removed her shoes at some point earlier.

He looked at her apologetically and she smiled at him in a way that could be considered as fond. "I'll wait outside for you to get dressed."

"Right," he agreed, feeling just the tiniest bit grateful that she didn't say anything about pressing charges against him.


- X - X - X -

The Sunday-Lie-In incident left him without sleep that night. Despite the fact that he'd spent most of the afternoon on his broom with the red-head and, during that time, she never even mentioned the incident. While that was a desirable outcome it didn't seem to help him very much. The fact that she didn't seem to bring it up bothered the hell out of him. In fact, it disrupted his evening routine in every possible way.

It all began when he walked into his room after dinner. Normally, he'd simply read or ready himself for bed. Instead, he found himself staring at the bed for several long minutes, reminding himself that Weasley had actually slept in it. As he changed into his pyjamas, he found himself glancing back at the bed, as if to check that the girl hadn't managed to return, especially since she seemed to have a habit of arriving in his room unannounced.

Of course, that was really his mother's fault. He reminded himself that he really did need to speak with her about allowing the girl access to his room so readily, but somehow he'd never found the right way to address the subject.

Subsequently, he did not sleep very well that night and it had little to do with broaching a rather uncomfortable topic of conversation with his mother.

The next morning, he found himself facing his loyal and ever-so-efficient assistant with a question.

“'Dwina, you did remember to send word to Miss Weasley that I had canceled my appointment with her for yesterday morning, didn't you?”

Edwina looked up over her reading glasses, with her typical owl-ish expression and merely blinked at him once. He suddenly was overcome with the distinct feeling that he'd just asked the stupidest question in the history of stupid questions.

Her response was completely neutral, neither expectant, nor accusing, nor guilty.

In fact, she was effectively ignoring his question.

He had an overwhelming thought that the woman could easily make a fortune playing poker if she ever chose to attempt it as a career. Just once, he really, really wanted to know what went on inside her head.

“Your appointment with Mr. Oakes has been moved to 9:30,” she replied with her usual efficiency.

He blinked, nodded in affirmation and walked toward his office, wondering how the woman repeatedly managed to maintain such perfect control. It was uncanny.

Scratching his head, he sat at his desk, still trying to comprehend Edwina's response. Was she ignoring the fact that he'd failed to give her appropriate instruction, or that, in an overwhelming unusual circumstance, that maybe, just maybe, she'd failed to inform Ginevra of the change in schedule, or that Ginevra had somehow forgotten or ignored the message?

His eyebrow raised as he was struck by an even more unlikely scenario: that Edwina had deliberately ignored his instruction.

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside and tried to concentrate on his work.

Edwina watched as her boss walked up to her desk, looking particularly thoughtful.

He paused, idly running his fingers along the edge of the desk, apparently unsure of what to say. That in itself indicated that there was a problem. She placed her quill down to give him her full attention.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

“I wasn't aware that there was a banquet on the evening of the Quidditch match.”

She'd actually mentioned it to him, at least twice, but he'd obviously been too distracted to fully acknowledge the reminder.

“I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy. The invitation arrived some time ago, I should have brought it up sooner.”

He shook his head, “I know 'Dwina. It's not important. I likely wasn't planning to attend, anyway.”

“But you are now?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I've been considering it,” he said, idly tracing a pattern on the wood surface of her desktop.

Edwina kept silent, waiting for him to prompt for her input.

“May I ask your opinion on something?” he asked, somewhat shyly. Apparently, his request was of a personal nature. Internally, she felt somewhat pleased that he might consider her opinion of value.

“Of course, Mr Malfoy.”

He took a breath, holding it for a long second before he spoke. Obviously, it was a difficult question. “Would you think it unprofessional if I asked Miss Weasley to accompany me?”

Edwina gave him a gentle smile. Obviously, he was aware that he enjoyed the company of the young witch. “I don't think it's unprofessional, Mr Malfoy.” Another person might have expanded the response, saying that the contract would be over by that time, or something like that, but Edwina's view of the matter was that usually the less said, the better.

He nodded, still looking thoughtful. “Thank you, 'Dwina.”

She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile and returned to her work.

X - X - X -

Despite the fact that he'd gone into this entire diet drama rather reluctantly, Draco found that his attitude toward his daily workouts had changed over the past three months. Granted, he still hated some parts of his exercise routine, and, most certainly, he still missed his morning muffin, but nevertheless, he found that he was regretting the fact that his contract with Weasley was going to end soon. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

After spending a day or so of careful contemplation after speaking with Edwina, Draco came to a decision. It happened rather abruptly one morning as he flew around the pitch in his daily contest with the little Weasley. As they raced around in pursuit of the little golden Snitch, he came to the conclusion that he'd become quite addicted to the perfect view of the girl's very lovely bum when he followed behind her. In fact, he very soundly decided that he liked it even better than chocolate cake, which was saying quite a lot.

Without a doubt, he was going to ask her to accompany him to the post-match banquet.

Unfortunately, things did no go exactly as planned and Draco really, really didn't like it.

It all started when he went to the Auror office that same afternoon to finish some ridiculous paperwork from the recent episode with Covington. Things were just fine and dandy until he overheard his Weasley in the next office, talking to her brother, the imbecile, about the upcoming match.

“I know you don't want to go, Ron, but as lead chaser for the Ministry team, I'm officially inviting you. I've already picked out my dress.”

“Well, I hope this one has more material than the one you wore at the Christmas party. I don't want to spend the whole night pulling every random bloke off you.”

She laughed, and Draco rather enjoyed the sound. Yes, asking her was totally the right thing to do. He would do so immediately after she finished this conversation.

“Harry and I will be heading over to my place to change after the match, then we'll meet you there?”

The brother mumbled something in response, but Draco was too annoyed to bother to listen.

X – X - X

Edwina looked up when her employer returned from his appointment, noticing that he appeared to be quite grumpy as he marched past her desk. She had little doubt about the source of his mood and came to the conclusion that his interaction with Miss Weasley did not go as expected, which surprised her greatly. From Edwina's observation, the young woman had become quite enamored with young Mr Malfoy.

Concerned, she immediately began working on a contingency plan. By the time her boss had marched out of his office, still in a foul mood, she had received word back from one of her contacts. She sat quietly and waited for the tantrum to pass as he paced in front of her desk, sputtering incoherently.

Her objective was to time her words at the point he was calm enough to listen, but just before he would begin to tell her that he'd failed in his endeavor and would not be attending the banquet.

She watched him calm down and, just as he opened his mouth, she spoke. “I have word from Mr Goyle. He wanted to schedule lunch with you tomorrow to discuss plans for Saturday, and I've set up an appointment at three with the tailor for your formal attire.” She paused for a moment, gaging his reaction. Seeing that he was thinking of speaking again, she continued as if the information she was spewing was exactly what he expected from her. “Oh, and I've already received word from the Hogwarts Improvement Charity, thanking you for your generous donation as well as your time. They'll be recognizing you at the banquet. The publicity department has already issued a press release and I have them working on your acceptance speech.”

With the last statement, she handed him the parchment containing the draft press release for his review.

He closed his mouth before any words could emerge, stared at her dumbly for a long moment, then simply said, “Alright, then,” and turned to go back into his office.

Disaster averted, Edwina returned to her usual duties.

X - X - X

Arriving at the banquet with his teammates, Draco felt surprisingly content. He'd won. He'd beaten Potter soundly, and it felt good. Not that it truly mattered in the grand scheme of the universe, but it the world of Draco Malfoy, it had been a memorable moment. Now, in the company of his teammates, a small celebration was in order.

He recounted the match several times to various business acquaintances, enjoyed catching up with several old friends, and even got several warm smiles and glances from his Weasely, who, to her brother's extreme dissatisfaction, was wearing a rather enticingly flattering dress.

So what if she was there with Potter. She'd flown like a bat out of hell during the match, scoring so many points that the Ministry team had nearly won without the Snitch. In the end, however, he'd ended the game and he'd heard her cheering for him, even though his catch had caused her team to lose. It was a memorable moment.

As the evening wore on, he found that he'd become rather popular. His stellar performance seemed to encourage every person in the room to step up to chat with him.

Finally breaking away, he settled himself on one of the balconies and breathed in the fresh air. Having had so little of socializing for so long, the moment of solitude was welcome from the crowd inside. He looked out over the city, sadly realizing that he would no longer have reason to train as regularly as he did. He would miss having the little witch beat him to a pulp on a daily basis.

“Having a good time, Malfoy?” a soft, welcome voice asked him.

He turned, to see her standing next to him, her back leaning back against the railing. He wasn't accustomed to seeing her dressed for a formal event, and he had to admit that she was quite lovely.

“Almost too much, I should think. I'm not used to so much attention.”

She grinned, giving a light laugh at his remark. “Yes, I noticed. Gwendolyn Turner seems to be quite taken with you.”

It was true. Oddly enough, the supermodel had approached him no less than three times, and yet he was completely not interested.

“Jealous, Weasley?”

Uncharacteristically, she turned away and he thought he caught a hint of a blush even in the dim light. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, but she seemed to be avoiding his gaze. It gave him a reason to suspect that he might be correct.

He smiled inwardly, and attempted to feign disinterest, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Well, Goyle said she was a bit shallow...”

She laughed, and he found himself smiling in return, but it soon turned sad. He felt resigned as he realized that he was going to miss the little fireball of a witch.

“Well, I don't want to keep you from your date...” he said, turning back to look out over the city.

“I don't have a date,” she replied, sounding confused.

He turned back, a bit too quickly, to face her. He caught himself, forcing his expression to not appear too hopeful. “You don't?”

“Well, no. What would make you think I did?”

He had the good grace to look abashed. “I was at the Auror's office and overheard that you were coming here with Potter.”

She laughed again. “Good heavens, no!” The smile sparkled in her eyes. She looked at him with mild disbelief, as if it seemed amusing to consider the idea that Potter might be her date. “I mean, I arrived with him, but only because there were several of us from the team who decided to come here together.”

He said nothing, although he felt a smile tugging at his lips again. “I find it difficult to believe that some lucky bloke didn't attempt to ask you.” He stopped himself short of saying more.

She turned her head, the sparkle in her eyes brightening again. The girl was flirting with him and he very much liked it. “Well, I didn't say I wasn't asked, just that I wasn't here with anyone.”

He swallowed, and the memory of her being curled up against him for a nap suddenly snapped unbidden in to his mind. He felt as if the temperature on the balcony had just risen several degrees. She certainly was flirting with him, and it was clearly up to him to make the next move. It wasn't something he was accustomed to.

“Draco, are you all right?” she asked.

No, he most certainly was not. He found himself loosening his tie, because it suddenly felt just a bit too snug. He was actually nervous. And Malfoys were not supposed to be nervous or, at the very least, they weren't supposed to show the fact that they were nervous.

She terrified him. And, no, it was not because he was afraid of women. He dealt with them regulary in business quite calmly and capably. But the fact of the matter was that he truly did have very little experience with relationships.

And if he didn't do anything tonight, he'd have little reason to see her again tomorrow. Their working relationship was over for the time-being. The only reason she'd need to see him again was if he continued to hire her and, quite truthfully, he didn't want things to continue that way.

“Weasley, I...”

Oh, just great. Nervous and at a loss for words. He was just in prime form tonight.

She stepped closer. Blasted pushy bint.

“You can call me Ginny, you know.”

Gulp. “Ginny...” he replied, though his voice sounded amazingly strained.

She looked up at him hopefully, that accursed smile still playing at her lips. She was being so brazenly bold, but that smile gave a hint of sweetness and innocence that just about made him melt.

“I wanted to apologize if I behaved inappropriately this past week,” he said. No! That is NOT what he wanted to say.

Her smile faltered. “That's quite all right, Draco. I understand,” she said, looking apologetically at him. She slowly turned away, as if to return to the party.

Every fiber in his body screamed in protest. She was walking away and if he allowed that to happen, he knew he'd never summon the courage to approach her again. He reached out and grabbed her hand, stopping her retreat.

“Don't go. That didn't quite come out right.”

She looked down at his hand, then back up to him, confusion clouding her usually bright eyes.

“Ginevra, I...”

She said nothing, but continued to look at him expectantly.

“Oh, damn,” he finally said, and tugged on her hand to pull her closer, wrapping his other arm around her waist. He barely registered the look of surprise on her face before he closed his eyes and kissed her.

A little gasp came out of her mouth and he dearly hoped she wasn't going to hex him into next week after they parted. But it was his one chance, and he refused to let it get away from him. He'd been hiding in his office for four years, and this little witch had been the one to draw him out, making him want to rejoin the world again.

After a moment of surprise, she returned his kiss, rather enthusiastically, actually. He quite forgot that they were at a public gathering and anyone could likely see them if they looked outside the open doors. But that didn't really matter. He was quite enjoying himself.

When she finally pulled away, her smile had returned, with that hint of sweetness that he found so very endearing.

“It took you long enough,” she said, with just the tiniest spark of mischief glimmering in her eyes.

“Long enough? Excuse me? We've only been standing here for a few minutes.”

She laughed. A part of him was hideously offended.

“No, silly, you've been looking at my arse for weeks now.”

He blanched. If anything, he'd been desperately trying to be a proper employer, since Edwina and his mother would certainly have words to say if he stepped out of line in the least. He had been spending weeks worrying about offending the witch, because, in truth, he truly had been staring at her arse on every available occasion.

Then, the thought crossed his mind that it was entirely possible that she'd been wearing those tight jumpsuits quite intentionally.

He had a momentary inkling that, perhaps, he should be annoyed at the idea of having been manipulated, but he pushed the idea aside. With business, his entire day was spent on guard, working to obtain an advantage. With women, it was a completely different matter. He didn't fully understand them. Actually, they completely confused him, and he really didn't have the time to figure it all out. Besides, if she had been attempting to catch his attention with her attire, he decided that he really didn't mind. It was rather flattering.

For the moment, propriety called. The Minister of Magic was stepping up to make the awards presentation, and a rather persistent tinkling bell was going off to call the attendees to the main hall.

“Well, perhaps we should rejoin the party,” he suggested. “If you'd like, perhaps we can continue this conversation later?”

She smiled flirtatiously, which he took to be a good sign.

X – X - X

After they wandered back in, and the presentation came to its merciful conclusion, he noticed that Ginny was cornered by two of her teammates, who seemed determined to recount the match they'd just finished in nauseating detail.

He'd barely had a chance to begin plotting their abysmal demise when he was cornered by none other than Gwendolyn Turner, the rather buxom blonde who'd caught his attention only six months prior.

She eyed him from head to toe, and he suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.

“Umm...”

She moved closer.

“Umm...” he said again.

“You played brilliantly today,” she said, flashing her most flirtatious smile.

“Thank you,” he replied carefully, taking a sip of his drink and glancing over at Greg Goyle, the witch's former boyfriend, hoping that the man might feel jealous enough to come over and interrupt them. Unfortunately, he was in the far corner of the room with his friends, apparently taking no notice of them. He cursed inwardly, realizing that his friend was not going to be of much help in the matter.

The witch was quite gorgeous, one of the most sought-after models in the Wizarding world, and she was apparently attempting to use her assets to her advantage as she sidled up a bit closer to him. “I'm surprised we haven't met sooner.”

He choked down a sip of his drink, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the woman's nearness, although he'd certainly hoped for and would have eagerly welcomed it six months prior. “I believe we did meet,” he said. “Last March, if I recall correctly.”

Gwendolyn's pretty features scrunched into a pout. “Oh, that was about the time I started seeing Gregory.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn't want to keep you from him,” Draco replied, motioning in the direction of his soon-to-be-former friend, who was currently being no help to him at all.

“Oh, we aren't together any more. He was fun but, well, we just aren't suited for each other,” she said, her flirtatious smile returning.

He looked around the room, attempting to locate his petite redhead in the sea of colorfully dressed revelers, hoping that he might find a way to draw her attention. She was no longer in sight, and he suddenly realized that he hadn't felt quite so desperate since the last time the little redhead took his dessert away from him. He glanced toward the dessert table, hoping to retreat.

“Well, I was just about to try some of those sweets...” he said, looking over longingly at the treats on the table. He didn't really have a craving, but it was the perfect excuse to leave gracefully. As a prominent businessman in the community, his position demanded that he remain tactful and courteous while trying to escape from his new admirer.

Unfortunately, her gaze turned mildly predatory. He began to feel a bit too warm. And cornered. He took a step back.

She took a step forward.

He felt like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolfhound and about to be devoured.

Backing into the table, he reached behind, grabbed the nearest item and was just about to shove it into his mouth, if only in a last ditch effort to get something between himself and the predatory witch, when the little peach tart was plucked from his grasp.

“Malfoy! I thought we'd discussed over-indulging at parties!”

Oh, good God, he thought, cringing. Had he been imagining the lovely woman and their interaction on the balcony? It was only one little tart, for goodness sake, and it was being used in self-defense, after all!

He looked down, expecting the worst, and noticed that Ginny was grinning at him impishly. He narrowed his eyes at her with suspicion. She seemed just a bit too determined and he wondered if she'd seen his predicament and had come over to save him. At that moment, she turned away to address his buxom blond stalker. “Gwendolyn!”

Gwendolyn forced a polite smile at the shorter woman, obviously annoyed at the interruption. “Oh, how nice to see you, Ginny. I've been meaning to have my agent owl you about rearranging our schedule.” The model's tone of voice was quite dismissive, and the mention of Ginny's job was intentional, placing Ginny as an employee, therefore not quite an equal to their company.

Ignoring the snub, Ginny smiled pleasantly at the witch, smoothly ignoring the intention behind the remark. “Yes, I got your message about moving your session to Tuesday this week, but actually, I was here to talk to Draco.”

The model nodded, her fake smile still plastered to her lips, turning to Draco. “She's such a dedicated thing, isn't she?” Looking back to Ginny, she sided closer to the blond man, looking just a tad possessive. “I'm sure there's no rush to discuss your business, Ginny, this is a party after all. If you are worried about him not following one of your meal plans, there's no need to bother yourself. I'll look out for him for you.”

Draco glanced back at the desserts, feeling just a bit desperate, although he tried his darnedest to appear cool and business-like. He stole a glance at Ginny, catching the slightest glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She was mocking his pain. The little bint.

But the small Weasley didn't spare him a direct glance. Instead, she turned to Gwendolyn, dropping her voice, as if telling an important secret. “Of course, but, I just thought you should know that Madison Skybert is talking to the Chief Editor of FashionWitch about next month's cover.

Gwendolyn's eyes widened and she nodded seriously. Apparently, Madison was competition, because she thanked Ginny, turned back to Draco and said, “Sorry, I have to go talk to someone. Business, you know.” She smiled again, and ran a finger down his arm. “Maybe we could get together later?”

She turned and darted in the direction of her competition without even waiting for his reply, likely assuming that he would agree. Draco gave a sigh of relief as the tall blond disappeared into the crowd.

“Thank you for that.”

“It wasn't me, I was talking to your friend Greg and he noticed that you seemed a bit uncomfortable. He would have come over himself but, apparently, he and Gwen didn't split up on entirely amicable terms, so he asked me to do it.”

“Talking with Goyle?” he said, looking over at his friend, who happened to be looking their way. The large man raised his drink and smiled in greeting before turning back to his conversation with his friends. Draco felt an uncomfortable tightening in his chest at the thought of Weasley talking to the large, handsome bloke. Goyle, after all, had managed to have no problem attracting witches as beautiful as Gwendolyn Turner. The thought of him turning his interest on Weasley...well, he preferred not to think about that.

The little redhead smiled, oblivious to his momentary bout of jealousy. “Yes, he and I were team mates for a few months while I was playing professionally,” she said casually, as if it was no matter at all. “He was introducing me to his latest girlfriend.” She laughed. “I think he's finally found a nice one.”

He immediately looked over again, locating the large figure of Goyle and, after closer scrutiny, located a short, almost plump, little brunette tucked by his side. Her pleasant smile matched that of his not-quite-former friend. The pair were waving at him. He gave a weak smile in response, attempting not to appear guilty for his recent unkind thoughts about the man.

Turning back to Ginny, he noticed she was smiling at him affectionately, as if she was well-aware of his traitorous thoughts but found him amusing regardless. How women did that, he'd never know.

“Well, thank you anyway,” he mumbled.

“You're welcome.”

She paused, turning her head and giving him a look from the corner of her eye, almost suspiciously. “I seem to remember that you were rather interested in dating Gwen a few months ago.”

He raised an eyebrow. He distinctly recalled that he had never made mention of his disastrous attempt to date the model. After all, it was hardly one of the highlights of his life. He doubted Edwina would have mentioned anything, and he was quite sure she'd been the only person to see him rant about it.

“What gave you that impression?” he asked, hoping to keep his tone neutral.

Surprisingly, she blushed and looked down. Normally, she was quite confident, and the reaction surprised him.

“Well, she is one of my clients after all.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? And she mentioned me to you?”

“Oh no,” she said, then looked up at him worriedly, and bit her lip. It was rather cute. “I mean, I do work with her, yes. That was why I happened to catch you talking with her at the Spring banquet.”

He looked at her questioningly. It was one of those occasions when the small witch was not in total control and he rather liked it when the tables were turned in his favor. In fact, not that he was the most astute individual, but he could clearly see that there was more to this story than she was letting on. He decided that he very much wanted to know more.

“And you were approaching her to say something and overheard the conversation?”

She looked more uncomfortable. He liked that. “Not exactly.”

He stepped forward, invading her personal space. “Spill, Weasley.”

She looked up at him, her big hazel eyes begging him not to press the matter. But, he was enjoying himself very much, thank you.

“I was coming over to talk to you.”

He gave a deep sigh. “Because you were looking to give me your card so you could gain more business, I suppose,” he said dejectedly. Yes, he knew that he was out of shape at that time. He really rather wanted to forget that episode in his life.

“Oh, no!” she said emphatically. Her eyes widened further and she blushed.

The action once again piqued his curiosity. He continued to look down at her expectantly. When she only continued to look at him helplessly, he went all out and raised an eyebrow, an action that finally prodded her to speak.

“Because,” she said quietly. “I thought you were rather attractive and I wanted to get to know you better.”

He resisted the urge to rub at his ear, which would be a rather unattractive thing to do, although the urge was quite strong because he was quite certain he did not hear that clearly. He decided to prompt for clarification.

“You found me... attractive?”

She blushed, which was more adorable than watching her bite her lip. “Well, you were so shy and so unlike what I remembered. I thought it was, well, cute.”

His jaw dropped in disbelief. Gone was the feeling of control he'd just felt by prodding her for the information. After a second, he realized how idiotic he must look with such an expression and forced himself to close his mouth. It wasn't easy.

She nodded, giving him a smile that warmed his heart. She stepped closer to him, tugging on his shirt. He felt a compulsive urge to smile back.

“That's why I persuaded you to hire me on,” she responded. “I wanted to get to know you better.”

“I thought you wanted to make me miserable.”

“Well, there's something to be said for having a bit of fun along the way,” she said with a grin.

She was a devil wrapped up in a tiny, little package, pushing him to be more than he thought he could be, and he suddenly decided that he loved her for it. Well, not in the passionate lover type of way, at least, not yet, but the potential was there. She saw more to him than just his outer facade, and he rather appreciated that.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in close, delighting in the impish grin that came to her lips at his action.

Suddenly a burst of confidence sparked within him.

“You realize that you won't always get to have your way with me,” he said, pulling another tart from the dessert table with his free hand and promptly taking a bite before she could stop him.

“Draco!”

“Compromises will be made, Ginevra,” he said seriously, lifting the item to her lips so she could take a bite also. Surprisingly, she did.

“In moderation,” she responded warningly, after she swallowed the treat, trying to discretely wipe a few errant crumbs from her lips.

“So be it,” he agreed, a triumphant smirk coming to his face. “Although, knowing that you were attracted to me before I trimmed down leaves me tempted to eat half that table just to keep Ms Turner away.”

Her eyes flashed in alarm, and she sucked in a breath, obviously ready to respond in her usual, energetic way, but he stopped her by covering her mouth with his, crumbs and all.

Edwina Harris arrived at work and situated herself at her desk, just as she had almost every day for the last twenty five years. The long winter was finally coming to an end and the warm spring day had put her in an unusually good mood, although few would have noticed the subtle change in her calm facade.

Her morning had passed pleasantly enough as she organized the latest meetings, previewed a legal document, and sent owls to coordinate the next annual board meeting. Mr. Malfoy had only passed through her area once, grabbing an apple along the way as he greeted her with a cheerful good morning. She returned his greeting with small smile, thinking that the nice weather had put everyone in a particularly good mood.

When the morning mail arrived, Edwina was pleased to find the invitation to the Hogwarts Improvement Charity Annual Quidditch Match among the contents. She immediately began drafting the reply, having little doubt that her employer would wish to attend. He hadn't missed the event for the past five years and each year he looked forward to the event eagerly. This year, however, Edwina had been informed that Mrs. Malfoy would not be participating. Only a few days ago, young Mr. Malfoy had joyfully announced that his wife was expecting their second child and Edwina had spent much of the week re-arranging Mr. Malfoy's schedule to accommodate him joining his wife for her healer appointments.

It was nearly lunchtime when young Mrs. Malfoy arrived at the office for an unscheduled visit, greeting Edwina with her usual warm smile. It was not uncommon for the witch to stop by when she was in the area and her visits were always a pleasant distraction. The young woman was not quite as thin as she had been when Edwina had first met her but her red hair was just as vibrant, and the confidence and smile had not wavered in the slightest over the past five years.

Her arrival was a pleasant surprise in itself, but what truly brought joy to Edwina's day was seeing the small blond-haired boy who was holding her hand.

The child was barely a toddler, but he was dressed impeccably, his small chin lifted high in the air as surveyed the area, insisting to his mother that he walk on his own instead of being carried. He surveyed the office carefully, initially taking in details that small boys would typically find interesting, however, when he saw Edwina, he immediately rushed to hide behind his mother's legs.

Edwina placed her quill aside and got up from behind her desk to greet the pair appropriately. While the child's visits were rare, largely because his proud grandparents took every opportunity to babysit, Edwina wished to make the youngster welcome.

“Come now, Cassius, don't be shy. I'd like you to say hello to Mrs. Harris,” Mrs. Malfoy said sweetly, smiling down at the child.

He peered out from behind his mother with wide, hazel eyes, looking at Edwina with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. The reaction was quite endearing and Edwina stood patiently, waiting for the boy to conclude that nothing was amiss. After a minute or so, with no small amount of trepidation, he slowly moved out from behind his mother and stood tall, attempting to appear brave. He was the spitting image of his father at the same age, bringing to mind when Edwina had first met Draco Malfoy so very long ago.

Edwina's gaze softened and she knelt down on the carpeted floor to meet the young man at his own level. Gathering his courage, he walked up and looked at her curiously.

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said calmly, allowing herself to give the child a genuine smile, a rarity while she was at the office.

He nodded, quite seriously. Then, apparently judging her worthy, gave her a smile back. “Hello.”

Edwina was delighted.

“Dwina, have you received an owl back from...” she heard, and all three women looked up to see young Mr. Malfoy as he walked out of his office. His question was left unfinished, however, because the moment that he saw his family, a boyish grin immediately brightened his handsome features.

Edwina smiled again upon seeing the joy on her employer's face. It was good to see that the hard-working young man was finally happy and content. She often saw the happiness light up his face whenever mention was made of his wife, and a sense of satisfaction came over Edwina each time, knowing that she'd played some small part in bringing this about.

He gave his wife a smile as he reached down to scoop up his small son, lifting him into the air and spinning around, causing the child to erupt in a giggle. “Daddy!” the small boy squealed in delight.

Balancing the toddler on his hip, he leaned over to give his wife a kiss, causing Edwina to avert her gaze politely.

“We were in the area shopping for my mother's birthday gift and I thought we'd stop by to say 'hello',” Mrs. Malfoy explained.

It was such a simple conversation, yet it brought back memories from when Edwina first began working for Lucius Malfoy so many years ago, and she recalled meeting Draco as a child in much the same manner. She didn't listen to the details of what the family talked about, not wanting to intrude on their privacy, yet, she still allowed herself to feel happy for the young man she'd known almost all his life. Seeing the younger Mr. Malfoy with his son had somehow brought a feeling of pride, and a sense of completion for herself professionally.

She was pulled from her thoughts as Draco spoke again. “It's almost lunchtime, perhaps we can go together?” he said to his wife so cheerfully that it warmed Edwina's heart. He then turned to glance at his loyal assistant, and she gave a nod, affirming that there was nothing pending that was urgent enough to keep him from his family.

Giving Edwina a warm farewell, the family walked out of the office together. After watching them go, Edwina found herself wiping an uncharacteristic tear from her eye at the simple beauty of the scene that she'd just witnessed.

Seating herself back at her desk, she immediately began to reschedule the lunch appointment that Mr. Malfoy was going to miss as a result of the impromptu meeting with his family, but it was hardly a bother. Edwina understood the priority.

With that thought in mind, she decided that it was time to start another project, one of a somewhat personal nature, and took out a fresh folder, labeling it carefully. A small smile came to her face as she thought of the little blond boy, so like his father, and realized that this project would likely be the most important of her professional career.

She carefully began planning the project outline with a precision that surpassed even her most important work. There was little doubt that this new project would likely require her to use every one of her skills, and she intended to give unprecedented attention to every detail. She fully expected the task to take several years.

After all, she planned on retiring at some point, and she wanted to take the utmost care in finding her perfect replacement.