"I'm in."
"Fold."
"Dammit, Malfoy. Deal me better cards next time. I'm out."
"Fold."
"You would."
"Shut up, Jack."
"Call," I said, pushing a pile of chocolate McVities toward the centre of the table, leaving a trail of crumbs in its wake. We had no poker chips on hand, and no one was all that willing to bet real money. Due to the abundance of digestives in the house, biscuits thus became our preferred currency.
I eyed Jack, our Keeper, with exaggerated intensity as Malfoy told us to reveal our hands.
Malfoy gave our cards a brief glance. "And Weasley wins again," he announced.
Jack grumbled while I happily gathered the McVities back to my end of the table. It was messy business, what with the chocolate and crumbs and all, but immensely gratifying.
"I can't believe this," said Natalie, looking forlornly at her rapidly dwindling pile of biccies (some of which Mark surreptitiously ate). "You used to be crap at cards, Gin. You couldn't even play Cheat properly."
"I got good," I said coyly, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Malfoy smirking at me.
A few more hands later and, save for the ones inevitably eaten during the course of the game, the McVities were all mine, albeit a little worse for the wear.
As the other players left the table in search of other leisurely pursuits, I beamed at no one in particular, feeling unjustly proud of my card-playing skills, despite knowing Malfoy'd stacked the deck specially for me.
Malfoy started gathering the card decks up, and then leaned over towards me. "Good show, Weasley," he murmured, out of earshot of everyone else. "For a while I thought my instruction might have gone to waste on your empty head there." He patted my head.
Brushing off the slight tingling sensation induced by his breath on my ear, and rightfully indignant about his insinuations about my mental capacity, I elbowed him sharply and shoved a biscuit in his mouth for good measure.
"Kidding, idiot," said Malfoy without rancour, chewing his digestive and then making a face. He tossed the rest of it back down on the table in disgust. "This stuff's awful, Weasley. Are you trying to kill me? And after all I've done for you?" Malfoy demanded, his air of righteous anger somewhat lost on account of half his tongue hanging out in revulsion.
"I'm merely giving you a share of my winnings as compensation for your services," I said briskly.
"You permanently damaged my tongue," he whinged. He grabbed a serviette from the kitchen, then stood and looked at it for a moment, trying to decide whether he could suffer the indignity of openly scraping partially chewed food off his tongue with table linens. "Back in a tick," he said finally.
I rolled my eyes as he scuttled off, and cleared the table of residual cards and crumbs.
"I want reparations, Weasley, and I want them in non-biscuit form," Malfoy said upon his return, with arms crossed petulantly and still somewhat stuck in disgusted-face mode, looking very like a child being denied his favourite sweet.
I only laughed at how adorable he looked, at which point my train of thought came to a screeching halt and imploded in a fiery ball of absurdity. Malfoy, adorable? What the hell was I thinking? It was only when Malfoy suspiciously asked if I was all right that I realised that the effect of my mental implosion had unwisely registered itself on my face, making me both splotchy and wide-eyed. Hastily issuing a totally irrelevant excuse, I scurried off to set things straight with my traitorous brain. In the end, traitorous brain and I settled upon complicatedly characterising the whole incident as a freak occurrence of neurons misfiring, wherein "adorable" really meant "peevish." We agreed never to speak of it again.
Hah. Adorable. As if Malfoy really would –
…Starting right now.
*****
Natalie stood around in the room making noises about how lucky I was while I gleefully packed a bag for the weekend. It was Harry and Luna's wedding, and naturally, I'd gotten permission from Andrew to go home and partake in the festivities. The added bonus was that I got to leave the damn chalet, of whose inhabitants I was getting heartily sick (and they of me, I'm sure). Never had I loved Harry more.
Despite the best efforts of our lovely house elves, we were all slowly descending into filth and madness, and ready to mutiny. Before this idiotic arrangement of living under one increasingly confining roof, we all got along just fine. But now that we had no one to interact with but each other - and couldn't leave the premises alone, after dark, or for extended periods of time without Andrew's permission - we became mired in petty arguments and general childishness.
The position of toilet seats in the morning, the decibel level of the WWN past midnight, the obstacle course of Mark's clothing strewn about the house, and who had had the audacity to dip an errant finger into Emily's sacred blackcurrant jam all became cause for long, loud shouting matches about considerateness, personal property, and alternately, fascist dictatorships.
Although I had once lived with six brothers and a various assortment of roommates at Hogwarts, I had gotten used to a fair amount of solitude over the past few years, and suddenly living with fifteen other people with their own set ways was hardly an arrangement I considered desirable.
Only Malfoy seemed unfazed by the goings-on in the house, and when I asked him about it he explained it thusly: "Weasley, despite all the wards I've thrown up at the manor, I've had crazy women camp out in my garden just to catch a glimpse of me, for fuck's sake. And you better believe I've had soiled ladies' underwear somehow worm their way into my belongings." He paused, his face taking on a look of simultaneous annoyance and horror. "But once you've had enough idiots bounce off the house shields, you learn to pick your battles and bodyguards accordingly. Frankly, since everyone thinks I'm off holidaying in the French Riviera, I'm glad for the respite. Mark's questionable personal hygiene notwithstanding," he'd added conspiratorially.
Nonetheless, Malfoy aside, tensions in the house were palpable, and I was glad to go - if only for a few days.
*****
"Ginny!" Mum exclaimed happily upon seeing me at the Burrow's front door. She ushered me in and gave me a rib-crushing hug. "Oh, are they treating you all right? You look so skinny; do you get enough to eat, dear?" she asked breathlessly.
"Everything's fine, Mum," I said, delicately extricating myself from her grip. I heard some clamouring from the back garden. "Someone else here?"
"Yes, all your brothers," she beamed. "I thought it'd be lovely if we could all sit down and have a nice family dinner, since you, Bill and Charlie are in town for a few days. We're just getting ready for dinner now. Go put your things away; I'll call the boys in to help set the table. Oh, it's so nice to have all of you home!" Mum gushed, and bustled away to the kitchen.
I did as I was told, and upon returning downstairs was greeted by the rest of my family with hugs and by Charlie with a head ruffle, which I hated and loved at the same time.
Dinner was, as usual, a chaotic affair, with everyone talking at the same time, and I basked in the glow of its familiarity.
"Oh! Ginny, I've been meaning to ask you," George said suddenly.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, George," Mum interrupted.
George made a big show of chewing and swallowing before he continued. "Who's this secret Seeker you have now? None of the tabloids can agree; last week the Quibbler even said it might be Draco Malfoy," he chuckled heartily.
"Oh," I said, returning a tight smile. "I'm not allowed to say. It's in our contracts, you know."
"Come on, Gin," Fred wheedled. "You can tell us, we'll give you a twenty percent discount at our shop, won't we, George?"
George nodded vigourously while Percy rolled his eyes and huffed.
"Ah, leave your sister alone, boys," said Dad mildly.
"Right, sorry," said George, allowing a new flow of conversation to start up. "But you'll tell us after dinner, won't you?" he murmured, poking me in the arm.
I smacked his hand away. "No," I said resolutely, though the look he and Fred then exchanged meant that any hopes I had for post-dinner peace were shot to hell.
*****
When we were much younger I used to be the resident grass through no real intent of my own; it was ridiculously easy to tell when I knew something I wasn't supposed to, and once Mum caught hold of that look she knew exactly who to ask about broken chairs and poorly weeded garden patches. It wasn't that I didn't try covering up for my brothers. It was just that when I did, it became even clearer that something was awry – I'd stammer and sweat and go red, and then Mum would know who the culprits were, and then I'd end up catching an earful from whichever brother happened to be the cheeky one that day.
Understandably, my brothers got sick of this pattern very quickly, and conspired to remedy my glaring flaw. It became a bit of a pet project for them, really, during a particularly lazy summer, each of them taking sinisterly gleeful turns to suck the natural honesty out of me. Even Percy, who initially refused to take part on principle, was drawn into the whole process out of morbid curiosity. At the time I didn't much mind either, as I couldn't have been much older than about seven or eight, and I relished having the undivided attention of my big brothers.
By the end of the summer and their experiment, I was lying as smoothly and easily as anything, surpassing my brothers' expectations with my added benefit of looking every inch the model adorable, angelic little child. An innocent, saccharine "I don't know, Mummy" became my mantra, much to Mum's chagrin and my brothers' delight (and consequently, my own, as pleasing my brothers pleased me).
To this day, nothing short of Veritaserum can glean anything from me, my artfully deceptive ways being part of the reason why Malfoy's teaching me poker produced such successful results.
Well, there is actually one thing besides Veritaserum. Well, six, to be exact – my brothers, especially Fred, George, and Ron. Since they were the ones to build up my lying skills, they could also tell with frightening precision just when I was fibbing if they paid hard enough attention.
It was of little surprise, then, that the twins cornered me coming out of the bathroom after dinner, with George holding a bowl of ice cream aloft.
"You can't bribe me," I said nobly.
"What, this?" George looked at his bowl. "Oh, this is just for me. We don't need bribes to get the truth out of you."
"Well, it wouldn't hurt," I said, sparing a longing glance at the hot fudge dribbling down the generous scoops of ice cream in George's hands.
"Fred," George said.
"Right away, sir," Fred exclaimed, saluting George and running to the kitchen to procure what was to inevitably be an admittedly low price for my confidence.
"Do your worst, then," I said, when Fred presented me with my very own hot fudge sundae.
Sporting identical grins, the twins led me to their old bedroom, which was remarkably cleaner and nicer-smelling now that they'd finally finished moving all their operations to their shophouse.
"Now, what's the best way to do this?" Fred asked.
"I'uhuh," I said through a spoonful of pure decadence, shrugging unhelpfully.
"Man or woman?" George began, looking rather intense, as Fred dug around for recent magazines speculating about the upcoming Quidditch season.
"Man," I said in a small voice. Now that the actual questioning had begun I was suddenly feeling like a very bad person indeed for being about to give up team secrets for a bowl of ice cream.
"Oh, it's Albert Thornhill, isn't it?" Fred piped up excitedly from behind one of his magazines. "His stats were excellent last season. I think he was at the end of his contract, too, with the Harpies. Oh, that'd be great for the Arrows; you certainly need someone like him on your team, the way he pulls off those great plays – "
"Focus, Fred. Thornhill's just renewed his contract anyway," George said, frowning. He turned back to me. "Now, did this new Seeker go to Hogwarts?"
"No," I said firmly, hoping to steer their focus away from anyone who went to our school.
"Are you sure?" George prodded suspiciously.
"Yes."
"Ginny," George said matter-of-factly. "You're just making this more difficult than it has to be."
Fred sighed dramatically. "Imagine, all these years and she's still trying to lie to us. Her own brothers!" He clutched at his heart.
I rolled my eyes and groaned.
Fred turned to me, mid-theatrics, his eyes lighting up as if he'd only just noticed that I was there. "Well, eat up," he said cheerfully. "Got to keep your energy up for the interrogation. George and I, we've got all night."
*****
"Draco Malfoy!" Fred crowed, his voice filled with glee at finally battering down my last defences.
"Not so loud!" I begged, but before I could restrain him, Fred had leapt out the room in exuberance to go tell the rest of the family what he and George managed to force out of me.
George looked at me and shrugged.
"Oh, shit," I said.
When George and I descended the stairs, Ron was the first to speak. "Malfoy?" he asked disbelievingly.
"No," I said wearily.
"Malfoy," Ron said again. "Hmph."
Mum bristled at the name. "Those Malfoys, nothing but bad blood in them. Why, after what that Lucius Malfoy did to Bill… I hope that wretched son of his isn't making things difficult for you, dear."
"Erm, no, he's all right," I said. "Just please don't tell anyone he's our Seeker. I could get in loads of trouble with Andrew, and I rather fancy keeping my job."
"Nice fellow, that Draco," Bill said offhandedly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"What? He brought me a really nice fruit basket when I was in the hospital," Bill explained, unconsciously shifting his limp leg, a souvenir from Lucius Malfoy during the war.
Mum harrumphed, clearly unwilling to be pacified by fruit. "That's just the problem. Those Malfoys think they can buy their way anywhere, always flaunting their wealth. I bet anything he bought his way onto the Arrows too, just like he did at Hogwarts," she huffed, looking pointedly at me.
"Oh… Well," I waffled. "I don't think… Well, he's really good. He's even better than when we were in school, and only Harry could outfly him back then."
"Anyway, with all his money, I think he could find a better team to buy his way onto," said Fred. "I mean, sorry, Gin, but the Arrows aren't exactly top notch these days."
We knew neither of those were the correct responses Mum was looking for, because she glared and pressed her lips together in a tight line, signalling an end to that particular conversation.
*****
"Hello," Ron said, standing in my doorway and tapping lightly on the door.
"Oh, hi, Ron. Come in," I said. "I'm just getting ready for bed."
Ron walked in slowly and sat on the edge of my bed as I pottered around. "You sure you're all right playing with Draco Malfoy? I mean, he wasn't exactly a candidate for Model Human Being of the Year back in the day."
"Yeah," I said, smiling. "Well, you know I'd never let personal problems get in the way of my playing. And anyway, Malfoy's not that bad anymore, really…"
Ron looked at me sceptically.
"Well, he's still rather an arrogant arse sometimes, but… I don't know, Ron," I said slowly, talking as much to myself as to Ron. "I don't even really remember what it was that I hated so much about him in school, just that I did. And it was so long ago… I mean, sometimes I forget that some of our schoolmates even existed, let alone what kind of issues I had with Malfoy in particular."
I frowned, wondering how to explain this to Ron when I could barely reconcile my present thoughts with the old feelings I had gotten so accustomed to. "You know, at the time it seemed like such a life or death struggle, the antagonism with Malfoy, but now it's just, well, it seems kind of pointless, really. I don't like him, certainly, but I don't really hate him either. To be honest, any negative feelings I have toward him now are more out of habit than anything. He hasn't done anything terrible in years - that I know of, at least. And in the war he did end up fighting on our side, too, for whatever reason."
"Yeah," said Ron. "Believe me, I was the most gobsmacked about that one. Still can't figure out why he did that. I think I understand what you're saying, though. It has been a long time." He sighed. "God, we're old."
I chuckled. "You know, I am a bit surprised you didn't kick up a big fuss about me and Malfoy being on the same team."
"Yes, well, it's not like I can really begrudge him for existing, can I?"
"You certainly used to," I prodded.
"And that took a lot of energy, too, to actively hate someone that much. I've got better things to do these days," Ron said.
"Yeah, like shag Hermione," I said cheekily, and received a pillow in the face for my insolence. "But seriously," I continued in a tone that did not in any way imply seriousness. "When are you two getting married?"
"Oh, shut up, you sound like Mum. As if she doesn't have enough blooming grandchildren already," Ron complained. His facial expression belied the tone of his voice, however; he looked as though he wouldn't be completely averse to actually marrying Hermione, which was good enough for me (and Hermione, I suspect). With dramatic effort, Ron pushed himself up from the bed and began walking out. "Well, Gin, I may have mellowed with age, but if the ferret gives you any trouble, I'll be only too glad to break his legs for you."
"So noted," I grinned.
*****
The wedding went off without a hitch, and considering Hermione was the self-appointed wedding planner, that was to be expected. Harry looked, well, like Harry, with a tinge of nervous energy and perpetually untamed hair. And Luna couldn't have made a more beautiful bride. Well, perhaps if she had left her butterbeer cork necklace off, but I suppose that added to her overall charm. All in all it was a lovely wedding, and there were more than a few happy tears shed on my part.
"Harry," I said, giving the groom a tight hug at the reception. "Congratulations."
Although I was never as close with Harry as Ron and Hermione were, it wasn't difficult for me to see the tremendous burden he'd taken on as a child and the pain that came with it. It was gratifying to see Harry truly happy and at peace with himself at last. Much of that could be credited to Luna, whose unique perspective had been instrumental in helping Harry come to terms with all the death and destruction in his life.
"Thanks, Ginny," Harry grinned. He elbowed me playfully. "Now, when are we going to see you settle down?" he asked, in that exasperatingly honeyed tone newly-weds often mysteriously acquire as soon as their vows have been exchanged to sic on their unmarried friends.
"Don’t you start on me, Potter," I said, wagging a finger at him. "Besides, it's Ron you've got to work on, not me."
"Oh, Ron and Hermione have practically been married since we were twelve."
I laughed. How true; though Ron and Hermione didn't really officially start dating until they were out of Hogwarts, they'd been bickering like an old married couple almost since they day they met, and it seemed like only a matter of time before they both realised what everyone else had seen for years.
After a few minutes' more chitchat, Harry gave me another hug and begged off to go mingle with the other guests. Alone for the time being, I surveyed the elegantly decorated room, idly thinking to myself that when I got married, I'd definitely get Hermione in on the planning. Of course, this was all pending me actually finding and keeping a guy long enough for us to want to marry each other. But currently, romantic prospects were not looking up, as all the gentlemen my friends and family insisted on picking out for me kept turning out to be duds. Perhaps it was all for the better anyway, what with my hectic Quidditch schedule and crazy living arrangement.
Well, that was that, then.
I looked at my champagne flute and downed its contents.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: A big, heaping pile of thanks to my betas Alexandria Malfoy and Talia, as well as to everyone who has reviewed.
"Fold."
"Dammit, Malfoy. Deal me better cards next time. I'm out."
"Fold."
"You would."
"Shut up, Jack."
"Call," I said, pushing a pile of chocolate McVities toward the centre of the table, leaving a trail of crumbs in its wake. We had no poker chips on hand, and no one was all that willing to bet real money. Due to the abundance of digestives in the house, biscuits thus became our preferred currency.
I eyed Jack, our Keeper, with exaggerated intensity as Malfoy told us to reveal our hands.
Malfoy gave our cards a brief glance. "And Weasley wins again," he announced.
Jack grumbled while I happily gathered the McVities back to my end of the table. It was messy business, what with the chocolate and crumbs and all, but immensely gratifying.
"I can't believe this," said Natalie, looking forlornly at her rapidly dwindling pile of biccies (some of which Mark surreptitiously ate). "You used to be crap at cards, Gin. You couldn't even play Cheat properly."
"I got good," I said coyly, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Malfoy smirking at me.
A few more hands later and, save for the ones inevitably eaten during the course of the game, the McVities were all mine, albeit a little worse for the wear.
As the other players left the table in search of other leisurely pursuits, I beamed at no one in particular, feeling unjustly proud of my card-playing skills, despite knowing Malfoy'd stacked the deck specially for me.
Malfoy started gathering the card decks up, and then leaned over towards me. "Good show, Weasley," he murmured, out of earshot of everyone else. "For a while I thought my instruction might have gone to waste on your empty head there." He patted my head.
Brushing off the slight tingling sensation induced by his breath on my ear, and rightfully indignant about his insinuations about my mental capacity, I elbowed him sharply and shoved a biscuit in his mouth for good measure.
"Kidding, idiot," said Malfoy without rancour, chewing his digestive and then making a face. He tossed the rest of it back down on the table in disgust. "This stuff's awful, Weasley. Are you trying to kill me? And after all I've done for you?" Malfoy demanded, his air of righteous anger somewhat lost on account of half his tongue hanging out in revulsion.
"I'm merely giving you a share of my winnings as compensation for your services," I said briskly.
"You permanently damaged my tongue," he whinged. He grabbed a serviette from the kitchen, then stood and looked at it for a moment, trying to decide whether he could suffer the indignity of openly scraping partially chewed food off his tongue with table linens. "Back in a tick," he said finally.
I rolled my eyes as he scuttled off, and cleared the table of residual cards and crumbs.
"I want reparations, Weasley, and I want them in non-biscuit form," Malfoy said upon his return, with arms crossed petulantly and still somewhat stuck in disgusted-face mode, looking very like a child being denied his favourite sweet.
I only laughed at how adorable he looked, at which point my train of thought came to a screeching halt and imploded in a fiery ball of absurdity. Malfoy, adorable? What the hell was I thinking? It was only when Malfoy suspiciously asked if I was all right that I realised that the effect of my mental implosion had unwisely registered itself on my face, making me both splotchy and wide-eyed. Hastily issuing a totally irrelevant excuse, I scurried off to set things straight with my traitorous brain. In the end, traitorous brain and I settled upon complicatedly characterising the whole incident as a freak occurrence of neurons misfiring, wherein "adorable" really meant "peevish." We agreed never to speak of it again.
Hah. Adorable. As if Malfoy really would –
…Starting right now.
*****
Natalie stood around in the room making noises about how lucky I was while I gleefully packed a bag for the weekend. It was Harry and Luna's wedding, and naturally, I'd gotten permission from Andrew to go home and partake in the festivities. The added bonus was that I got to leave the damn chalet, of whose inhabitants I was getting heartily sick (and they of me, I'm sure). Never had I loved Harry more.
Despite the best efforts of our lovely house elves, we were all slowly descending into filth and madness, and ready to mutiny. Before this idiotic arrangement of living under one increasingly confining roof, we all got along just fine. But now that we had no one to interact with but each other - and couldn't leave the premises alone, after dark, or for extended periods of time without Andrew's permission - we became mired in petty arguments and general childishness.
The position of toilet seats in the morning, the decibel level of the WWN past midnight, the obstacle course of Mark's clothing strewn about the house, and who had had the audacity to dip an errant finger into Emily's sacred blackcurrant jam all became cause for long, loud shouting matches about considerateness, personal property, and alternately, fascist dictatorships.
Although I had once lived with six brothers and a various assortment of roommates at Hogwarts, I had gotten used to a fair amount of solitude over the past few years, and suddenly living with fifteen other people with their own set ways was hardly an arrangement I considered desirable.
Only Malfoy seemed unfazed by the goings-on in the house, and when I asked him about it he explained it thusly: "Weasley, despite all the wards I've thrown up at the manor, I've had crazy women camp out in my garden just to catch a glimpse of me, for fuck's sake. And you better believe I've had soiled ladies' underwear somehow worm their way into my belongings." He paused, his face taking on a look of simultaneous annoyance and horror. "But once you've had enough idiots bounce off the house shields, you learn to pick your battles and bodyguards accordingly. Frankly, since everyone thinks I'm off holidaying in the French Riviera, I'm glad for the respite. Mark's questionable personal hygiene notwithstanding," he'd added conspiratorially.
Nonetheless, Malfoy aside, tensions in the house were palpable, and I was glad to go - if only for a few days.
*****
"Ginny!" Mum exclaimed happily upon seeing me at the Burrow's front door. She ushered me in and gave me a rib-crushing hug. "Oh, are they treating you all right? You look so skinny; do you get enough to eat, dear?" she asked breathlessly.
"Everything's fine, Mum," I said, delicately extricating myself from her grip. I heard some clamouring from the back garden. "Someone else here?"
"Yes, all your brothers," she beamed. "I thought it'd be lovely if we could all sit down and have a nice family dinner, since you, Bill and Charlie are in town for a few days. We're just getting ready for dinner now. Go put your things away; I'll call the boys in to help set the table. Oh, it's so nice to have all of you home!" Mum gushed, and bustled away to the kitchen.
I did as I was told, and upon returning downstairs was greeted by the rest of my family with hugs and by Charlie with a head ruffle, which I hated and loved at the same time.
Dinner was, as usual, a chaotic affair, with everyone talking at the same time, and I basked in the glow of its familiarity.
"Oh! Ginny, I've been meaning to ask you," George said suddenly.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, George," Mum interrupted.
George made a big show of chewing and swallowing before he continued. "Who's this secret Seeker you have now? None of the tabloids can agree; last week the Quibbler even said it might be Draco Malfoy," he chuckled heartily.
"Oh," I said, returning a tight smile. "I'm not allowed to say. It's in our contracts, you know."
"Come on, Gin," Fred wheedled. "You can tell us, we'll give you a twenty percent discount at our shop, won't we, George?"
George nodded vigourously while Percy rolled his eyes and huffed.
"Ah, leave your sister alone, boys," said Dad mildly.
"Right, sorry," said George, allowing a new flow of conversation to start up. "But you'll tell us after dinner, won't you?" he murmured, poking me in the arm.
I smacked his hand away. "No," I said resolutely, though the look he and Fred then exchanged meant that any hopes I had for post-dinner peace were shot to hell.
*****
When we were much younger I used to be the resident grass through no real intent of my own; it was ridiculously easy to tell when I knew something I wasn't supposed to, and once Mum caught hold of that look she knew exactly who to ask about broken chairs and poorly weeded garden patches. It wasn't that I didn't try covering up for my brothers. It was just that when I did, it became even clearer that something was awry – I'd stammer and sweat and go red, and then Mum would know who the culprits were, and then I'd end up catching an earful from whichever brother happened to be the cheeky one that day.
Understandably, my brothers got sick of this pattern very quickly, and conspired to remedy my glaring flaw. It became a bit of a pet project for them, really, during a particularly lazy summer, each of them taking sinisterly gleeful turns to suck the natural honesty out of me. Even Percy, who initially refused to take part on principle, was drawn into the whole process out of morbid curiosity. At the time I didn't much mind either, as I couldn't have been much older than about seven or eight, and I relished having the undivided attention of my big brothers.
By the end of the summer and their experiment, I was lying as smoothly and easily as anything, surpassing my brothers' expectations with my added benefit of looking every inch the model adorable, angelic little child. An innocent, saccharine "I don't know, Mummy" became my mantra, much to Mum's chagrin and my brothers' delight (and consequently, my own, as pleasing my brothers pleased me).
To this day, nothing short of Veritaserum can glean anything from me, my artfully deceptive ways being part of the reason why Malfoy's teaching me poker produced such successful results.
Well, there is actually one thing besides Veritaserum. Well, six, to be exact – my brothers, especially Fred, George, and Ron. Since they were the ones to build up my lying skills, they could also tell with frightening precision just when I was fibbing if they paid hard enough attention.
It was of little surprise, then, that the twins cornered me coming out of the bathroom after dinner, with George holding a bowl of ice cream aloft.
"You can't bribe me," I said nobly.
"What, this?" George looked at his bowl. "Oh, this is just for me. We don't need bribes to get the truth out of you."
"Well, it wouldn't hurt," I said, sparing a longing glance at the hot fudge dribbling down the generous scoops of ice cream in George's hands.
"Fred," George said.
"Right away, sir," Fred exclaimed, saluting George and running to the kitchen to procure what was to inevitably be an admittedly low price for my confidence.
"Do your worst, then," I said, when Fred presented me with my very own hot fudge sundae.
Sporting identical grins, the twins led me to their old bedroom, which was remarkably cleaner and nicer-smelling now that they'd finally finished moving all their operations to their shophouse.
"Now, what's the best way to do this?" Fred asked.
"I'uhuh," I said through a spoonful of pure decadence, shrugging unhelpfully.
"Man or woman?" George began, looking rather intense, as Fred dug around for recent magazines speculating about the upcoming Quidditch season.
"Man," I said in a small voice. Now that the actual questioning had begun I was suddenly feeling like a very bad person indeed for being about to give up team secrets for a bowl of ice cream.
"Oh, it's Albert Thornhill, isn't it?" Fred piped up excitedly from behind one of his magazines. "His stats were excellent last season. I think he was at the end of his contract, too, with the Harpies. Oh, that'd be great for the Arrows; you certainly need someone like him on your team, the way he pulls off those great plays – "
"Focus, Fred. Thornhill's just renewed his contract anyway," George said, frowning. He turned back to me. "Now, did this new Seeker go to Hogwarts?"
"No," I said firmly, hoping to steer their focus away from anyone who went to our school.
"Are you sure?" George prodded suspiciously.
"Yes."
"Ginny," George said matter-of-factly. "You're just making this more difficult than it has to be."
Fred sighed dramatically. "Imagine, all these years and she's still trying to lie to us. Her own brothers!" He clutched at his heart.
I rolled my eyes and groaned.
Fred turned to me, mid-theatrics, his eyes lighting up as if he'd only just noticed that I was there. "Well, eat up," he said cheerfully. "Got to keep your energy up for the interrogation. George and I, we've got all night."
*****
"Draco Malfoy!" Fred crowed, his voice filled with glee at finally battering down my last defences.
"Not so loud!" I begged, but before I could restrain him, Fred had leapt out the room in exuberance to go tell the rest of the family what he and George managed to force out of me.
George looked at me and shrugged.
"Oh, shit," I said.
When George and I descended the stairs, Ron was the first to speak. "Malfoy?" he asked disbelievingly.
"No," I said wearily.
"Malfoy," Ron said again. "Hmph."
Mum bristled at the name. "Those Malfoys, nothing but bad blood in them. Why, after what that Lucius Malfoy did to Bill… I hope that wretched son of his isn't making things difficult for you, dear."
"Erm, no, he's all right," I said. "Just please don't tell anyone he's our Seeker. I could get in loads of trouble with Andrew, and I rather fancy keeping my job."
"Nice fellow, that Draco," Bill said offhandedly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"What? He brought me a really nice fruit basket when I was in the hospital," Bill explained, unconsciously shifting his limp leg, a souvenir from Lucius Malfoy during the war.
Mum harrumphed, clearly unwilling to be pacified by fruit. "That's just the problem. Those Malfoys think they can buy their way anywhere, always flaunting their wealth. I bet anything he bought his way onto the Arrows too, just like he did at Hogwarts," she huffed, looking pointedly at me.
"Oh… Well," I waffled. "I don't think… Well, he's really good. He's even better than when we were in school, and only Harry could outfly him back then."
"Anyway, with all his money, I think he could find a better team to buy his way onto," said Fred. "I mean, sorry, Gin, but the Arrows aren't exactly top notch these days."
We knew neither of those were the correct responses Mum was looking for, because she glared and pressed her lips together in a tight line, signalling an end to that particular conversation.
*****
"Hello," Ron said, standing in my doorway and tapping lightly on the door.
"Oh, hi, Ron. Come in," I said. "I'm just getting ready for bed."
Ron walked in slowly and sat on the edge of my bed as I pottered around. "You sure you're all right playing with Draco Malfoy? I mean, he wasn't exactly a candidate for Model Human Being of the Year back in the day."
"Yeah," I said, smiling. "Well, you know I'd never let personal problems get in the way of my playing. And anyway, Malfoy's not that bad anymore, really…"
Ron looked at me sceptically.
"Well, he's still rather an arrogant arse sometimes, but… I don't know, Ron," I said slowly, talking as much to myself as to Ron. "I don't even really remember what it was that I hated so much about him in school, just that I did. And it was so long ago… I mean, sometimes I forget that some of our schoolmates even existed, let alone what kind of issues I had with Malfoy in particular."
I frowned, wondering how to explain this to Ron when I could barely reconcile my present thoughts with the old feelings I had gotten so accustomed to. "You know, at the time it seemed like such a life or death struggle, the antagonism with Malfoy, but now it's just, well, it seems kind of pointless, really. I don't like him, certainly, but I don't really hate him either. To be honest, any negative feelings I have toward him now are more out of habit than anything. He hasn't done anything terrible in years - that I know of, at least. And in the war he did end up fighting on our side, too, for whatever reason."
"Yeah," said Ron. "Believe me, I was the most gobsmacked about that one. Still can't figure out why he did that. I think I understand what you're saying, though. It has been a long time." He sighed. "God, we're old."
I chuckled. "You know, I am a bit surprised you didn't kick up a big fuss about me and Malfoy being on the same team."
"Yes, well, it's not like I can really begrudge him for existing, can I?"
"You certainly used to," I prodded.
"And that took a lot of energy, too, to actively hate someone that much. I've got better things to do these days," Ron said.
"Yeah, like shag Hermione," I said cheekily, and received a pillow in the face for my insolence. "But seriously," I continued in a tone that did not in any way imply seriousness. "When are you two getting married?"
"Oh, shut up, you sound like Mum. As if she doesn't have enough blooming grandchildren already," Ron complained. His facial expression belied the tone of his voice, however; he looked as though he wouldn't be completely averse to actually marrying Hermione, which was good enough for me (and Hermione, I suspect). With dramatic effort, Ron pushed himself up from the bed and began walking out. "Well, Gin, I may have mellowed with age, but if the ferret gives you any trouble, I'll be only too glad to break his legs for you."
"So noted," I grinned.
*****
The wedding went off without a hitch, and considering Hermione was the self-appointed wedding planner, that was to be expected. Harry looked, well, like Harry, with a tinge of nervous energy and perpetually untamed hair. And Luna couldn't have made a more beautiful bride. Well, perhaps if she had left her butterbeer cork necklace off, but I suppose that added to her overall charm. All in all it was a lovely wedding, and there were more than a few happy tears shed on my part.
"Harry," I said, giving the groom a tight hug at the reception. "Congratulations."
Although I was never as close with Harry as Ron and Hermione were, it wasn't difficult for me to see the tremendous burden he'd taken on as a child and the pain that came with it. It was gratifying to see Harry truly happy and at peace with himself at last. Much of that could be credited to Luna, whose unique perspective had been instrumental in helping Harry come to terms with all the death and destruction in his life.
"Thanks, Ginny," Harry grinned. He elbowed me playfully. "Now, when are we going to see you settle down?" he asked, in that exasperatingly honeyed tone newly-weds often mysteriously acquire as soon as their vows have been exchanged to sic on their unmarried friends.
"Don’t you start on me, Potter," I said, wagging a finger at him. "Besides, it's Ron you've got to work on, not me."
"Oh, Ron and Hermione have practically been married since we were twelve."
I laughed. How true; though Ron and Hermione didn't really officially start dating until they were out of Hogwarts, they'd been bickering like an old married couple almost since they day they met, and it seemed like only a matter of time before they both realised what everyone else had seen for years.
After a few minutes' more chitchat, Harry gave me another hug and begged off to go mingle with the other guests. Alone for the time being, I surveyed the elegantly decorated room, idly thinking to myself that when I got married, I'd definitely get Hermione in on the planning. Of course, this was all pending me actually finding and keeping a guy long enough for us to want to marry each other. But currently, romantic prospects were not looking up, as all the gentlemen my friends and family insisted on picking out for me kept turning out to be duds. Perhaps it was all for the better anyway, what with my hectic Quidditch schedule and crazy living arrangement.
Well, that was that, then.
I looked at my champagne flute and downed its contents.
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A/N: A big, heaping pile of thanks to my betas Alexandria Malfoy and Talia, as well as to everyone who has reviewed.
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