Ginny Weasley really, truly, desperately needed a job.

A second job, that was, if you counted freelancing for Witch Weekly as a job, which out of sheer embarrassment Ginny did not. You knew you weren't far from rock bottom when you found yourself writing articles like 'Bringing Your Wand Into The Bedroom' and 'Lose Weight Faster Than You Can Say Reducio!'.

But the cold hard truth was that she needed cold hard cash, and she needed it now.

Walking out of the Quibbler's office empty-handed last week had been an all time low. It had become increasingly clear that Luna's dad was only interested in writers as batty as himself, and she knew the interview had gone south when he couldn't persuade her that Dumbledore and McGonagall had been having a secret affair for thirty years.

"I mean, apart from anything else, Dumbledore's obviously gay!" Ginny exclaimed to Luna herself, who nodded sagely. "This is so ridiculous. I wouldn't be stuck writing for Witch-bloody-Weekly just to pay my rent if the Prophet hadn't chucked me out on my arse. Not so much as a toodle-oo."

Hermione's sigh somehow managed to convey that she'd become bored of this conversation a week or two ago. "Ginny, I'm really sorry you're out of a job, but you did write that article."

"I was in a bad mood. I'd had a couple of bottles of Firewhiskey. And I'd just downed some Pepper-Up Potion. Not doing that again, they definitely don't mix well. My judgement was impaired."

"That didn't stop Flint from suing the Prophet for libel and damage to his business."

"Most of what I wrote was completely true! Lockley couldn't catch a Quaffle if it floated up to him and punched him in the nuts! As for Reeve, have you seen his reflexes? I really don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that he's probably part troll."

"I'm sure you were spot on," Hermione said soothingly, "Just not about Flint being so broke that he couldn't afford better players. Or the part where you said that anyone sponsoring the Wigtown Wanderers should pull out now before they get dragged down with a sinking ship."

Ginny groaned. "I don't even remember writing that."

It was true. Everything after the third bottle of Firewhiskey was still slightly hazy; the last thing she properly remembered was looking up the definition of 'mountain troll' in order to make an accurate comparison to the Wanderers' Beater. Unfortunately it seemed like she had still been sober enough to finish writing an article that really really should not have been published, and owl it off to an editor who was too busy with last-minute deadlines to do more than read the first couple of paragraphs.

"So what are you going to do now?" Luna asked with her usual directness.

Ginny paused, taken aback. It was a really good question. She'd been so busy raging about being fired and trying to pay this month's rent that she hadn't thought seriously about any long-term plans. "Other than never writing under the influence again? I suppose I'll have to start applying for any job I can get my hands on. I heard Flourish and Blotts might be hiring. Anything as long as I don't have to move back in with Mum and Dad, you know what Mum's like."

"I heard Florean Fortescue is looking for a new ice-cream server." Hermione suggested with only the tiniest smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. Ginny thunked her head against the table.

"Can't I just rewind back two months and smack myself over the head before I drink that Firewhiskey?"

"You'd have to find one of those Time-Turners that the Ministry has modified to travel long distances first," Luna said seriously. "I heard Mundungus Fletcher has been selling them smuggled straight out of the Department of Mysteries itself."

"Probably just a pocket watch on a piece of string." Hermione snorted, and that was that.

---

Draco Malfoy really, truly, desperately needed an assistant.

But not one who wanted to jump the bones of the Malfoy heir. All the pouting and hair twirling got rather tedious after a while. Besides, when he did eventually shag them (if he needed to break a dry patch, or if he was working late, or if it was a slow day at the office), he had to fire them before they got any expectations.

It made for quite a high turnover of assistants.

He had a strong suspicion that Flint hired them based purely on their appearance and their bra size; it would certainly explain the surprising number of attractive young witches walking around their corridors. This time around Draco would do the hiring himself, based solely on their performance and professionalism. He didn't have time for another girl batting her eyelashes at him over his desk while he was trying to pull together the tax law that could make or break his Ministry career.

---

The Office of Magical Finance Law was not the place that Ginny would have put as her first, second or even third choice for finding gainful employment. Just a few short weeks ago she would have turned her nose up at the idea of working in the Ministry; now she was jumping at the chance to bring some wizened old solicitor his morning Gillywater.

How far the mighty had fallen.

However grumpy she felt about it, though, the bottom line was that they had been the only place in a week and a half to offer her an interview. The Quaffle had owled back a depressingly short scroll peppered with phrases like 'liability' and 'unfortunate lack of judgement'. Flourish and Blotts hadn't replied at all. Even Fred and George, who might have offered her a Saturday job out of brotherly pity, were on an inconveniently-timed research trip to South America.

So here she was bright and early in the Atrium, trying to look like a professional and efficient assistant-to-be and not like Ginny Weasley, recently disgraced Quidditch reporter.

Which was really difficult to do when Colin Creevey had just emerged from the nearest fireplace.

"Ginny!"

Deciding plausible deniality wasn't really an option - they had shared classes, a House and a crush on Harry Potter for several years, after all - the redhead met Colin's excited gaze with resignation. "Hi, Colin."

"I knew it was you the minute I walked in! Well, unless it was one of your brothers trying out a new hairstyle, but I thought odds are that it's you. How have you been!? What are you doing here?"

Well, I got stupendously drunk and accidentally wrote an article that got the Daily Prophet sued and me kicked off the sports desk, then I've been alternately sending out job applications and churning out articles for Witch Weekly that my quill could write by itself if I left it for half an hour, and now my career is about to downgrade from journalist to personal assistant, if I even get the job, so overall I'm just peachy.

"Oh, me? I'm doing great. Er... have you read the Prophet recently?"

"No, why? Has anything exciting happened? I have to admit, I don't keep up with Quidditch all that much at the moment - I'm much more keen on the cricket."

She hadn't known that Colin kept pet insects, but formalities aside - as tempted as she was to not mention anything about her lack of employment, the truth would come out in about five minutes' time when they were both called to interview for the same job.

"...I got fired. And," she said hastily, "I don't want to talk about it. Tell me about your photography instead." If she knew anything about Colin Creevey, it was that he could talk for Britain about cameras and darkrooms and lenses and some Muggle technology called video recording.

Her former classmate looked mournful. "It's not going too well. That's why I'm applying here too. We've got to start somewhere, eh?"

Whatever Ginny might have answered to the idea that she might have to work her way up from the bottom again was lost in a sudden sea of rustling and straightening up from the other applicants sitting nearby. A tall blond man had just ducked out of Colin's fireplace. He brushed Floo powder from his cloak, strode through the Atrium and disappeared through the wrought golden gates that led to the lifts.

It was Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy works here?"

Truth be told, she hadn't thought much about any of the snobby Slytherin pure-bloods after graduation. She'd speculated light-heartedly with friends that they would all live off their parents' estates and spend their time hosting charity balls to raise money in the name of blood purity. It was either that, or Luna's theory that the upper classes were all secretly in league with the goblins of Gringotts and supplied them with wands in return for a share of their wealth.

Colin was giving her an odd look.

"What?"

"Did you find out anything about the Office before you applied?"

"Of course I did!" Nope.

"Malfoy runs the place! He's the one hiring a new assistant."

"What!?"

"I thought you would have known."

She bloody well had not known. He ran it? He was only a year older than her! If she'd known she was applying to work directly under arrogant, stuck-up Draco Malfoy, she wouldn't have bothered in the first place. She felt like she might run outside and throw up. Or stay inside and throw up all over the Ministry's expensive-looking sofas.

But. The thought of being left out in the cold, unemployed, having to move back in with her loving, caring, over-protective mother who sent no less than four Howlers when she was fired from the Prophet... that made her want to choke on her vomit and die, just to get it over with.

Colin chewed his fingernails, a nervous habit he'd had since first year. "Are you still going for the job?"

Draco Malfoy... unemployment. Draco Malfoy... parental wrath. Draco Malfoy...

She bit the bullet.

"Better the devil you know."