Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This was written for Rainpuddle’s Great D/G Fic Contest of 2006, which required a story revolving around Ginny as a mail-order bride. All of the entries can be found at the ginnylovesdraco community on LiveJournal. I will post the story here in three parts.

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Unexpected Consequences

Part I: January

Oh, dear Merlin! What have I done? I thought it would be the best thing for both of them. I never thought… I never thought it would end like this.

I’ve only ever wanted my children to be happy and healthy. And I mean Harry and Hermione too, not just the children I gave birth to. The war forced them to grow up so quickly, it nearly broke my heart. But they all did the right thing, even though they were so young. I am so incredibly proud of every last one of them.

When the war ended and all of my family was still alive, if a little worse for wear, I was convinced that their time had come. Now they could live the lives they were meant for, free of the threat of You-Know… I mean Voldemort. They could live and love and raise families of their own. And most of them have done that. The older boys are all married. Bill and Fleur even have two little boys now—my first darling grandchildren. And Ron and Hermione have finally gotten engaged. It is such a joy to watch the two of them now, after all the time they denied their feelings. But Ginny and Harry… I worry about Ginny and Harry.

Ginny came back from her fifth year at Hogwarts so unnaturally quiet, but she wouldn’t tell me why. What teenager wants to confide in her mother? She wouldn’t talk to Hermione either, which was even more worrisome. Hermione told me that Harry and Ginny had had a relationship of sorts. Ginny seemed to walk on air for the time, she said. Neither Harry nor Ginny would say much about why it ended. Hermione thought Harry did it to keep Ginny safe. If that’s what happened, it was probably for the best. He had enough on his plate without having one more person to worry about. But no girl wants to hear that. Not from the boy she’s in love with, and certainly not from her mother. Poor Ginny has been withdrawn ever since, spending almost all of her time with the magical creatures she breeds. How can she be happy that way? Maybe if she was settled, with a home of her own, and a husband and children to care for… Maybe then she could be happy and I would have my Ginny back.

And then there is Harry. Poor, dear Harry. Since he defeated He-Who… I mean Voldemort, he hasn’t done anything, really. He tried Auror training, worked for Fred and George for a bit, even spent a month or two with the Chudley Cannons. But he can’t seem to stick with anything for very long. I would never have wished this on him, but I can’t really blame him either. He feels like he has “fulfilled his destiny” already. What can follow that? I can see just how miserable he is, how lost. He needs something to work for, something to help him find meaning in life again. And I was so sure I knew what that something should be.

Harry’s eyes always follow Ginny, and he seems to visit the Burrow when he thinks she might be home. I haven’t seen him put his elbow in the butter dish yet, but he reminds me a bit of how Ginny used to act around him. I’m sure he still has feelings for her. But Ginny avoids Harry. She is still hurt from the way Harry treated her—I figured she never got over him. I thought that all she needed was to see that he cares for her, that he won’t hurt her again.

I’ve tried inviting Ron, Hermione, and Harry for dinner on nights when I knew Ginny would be home. I tried to draw Ginny into my conversations with Harry. I even hung mistletoe at Christmas, hoping Harry could catch her underneath it. But Ginny hardly acknowledged Harry. She would talk to Hermione about the wedding plans instead, or disappear into her room. Nothing I did to bring Harry and Ginny together seemed to work. I had to try harder. If Hermione weren’t there, I thought, Ginny couldn’t avoid talking to Harry without being rude. I invited Harry for dinner tonight, without Ron and Hermione. And then I told Ginny a little white lie.

I had only the best intentions in lying to her. It was for her own good, her own happiness after all. But I’m afraid I crossed a line. And now my good intentions will surely pave the road to hell… my own hell, but worse, I’m afraid they will lead to Ginny’s hell as well.

***

Lucius would undoubtedly turn over in his grave if he knew what I have planned. He would rant and rave about blood traitors and Muggle lovers and the Malfoy name. But the Malfoy name is not what it used to be. And, as they taught us in Slytherin House, the ends justify the means. If my gamble ends well, and our family is restored to its rightful position in society, then that will more than justify its… less savory aspects.

Draco has worked tirelessly since the end of the war to cleanse the Malfoy estate and all of its properties of Dark artifacts, to free it of the stigma that it acquired when Lucius’s affiliation with the Dark Lord became public. But in the current political climate, his hard work has not been enough to mitigate the existence of the Dark Mark on his arm. Draco is free because he never actually committed a crime worthy of Azkaban, but most of the public conveniently ignores that. Apparently having the Malfoy name is crime enough. This is nothing new; he and I have endured this treatment for years now. But I realized one day last week, while shopping in Diagon Alley, that the situation had become intolerable. It would only deteriorate further unless I took decisive action.

Before the war, shopping was one of my favorite pastimes. I admit to a mild obsession with robes, shoes, and jewelry. And I never tired of the way the salespeople fawned over me because of my wealth and power. But everything has changed now.

I still keep up with the latest trends, but I rarely buy anything now. After all, where would I wear new robes if I did? Long gone are the days when I could make or break a hostess’s reputation by accepting or declining her invitation. Now, the excursions to Diagon Alley are the few occasions when I can escape the Manor. Even then, I have become accustomed to disgraceful treatment from others, though it was never anything I could not bear. My trip last week, however, was the proverbial feather that broke the Hippogriff’s back.

First, Adele Avery passed me without a glance. Her husband had narrowly managed to avoid suspicion after the war, and any association with me might be cause enough for the Ministry to investigate. But we had been best friends since we were in nappies, so her desertion stung.

After that, I went to Gladrags to order new work robes for Draco. I waited an inordinate time to speak to a saleswitch, but then Molly Weasley was served before me, even though she had come into the store after I did. When I was finally allowed to place my order, I was told that it would take three weeks for it to be filled, rather than two days, as I had been accustomed to in the past.

But one particular event convinced me that something had to change. As I have little to do at the Manor, I enjoy visiting Fourish and Blotts to choose new reading material to occupy my time. I was browsing in the gardening section when I heard two girls giggling in the next aisle. I stopped, my hand on a book about Ever-Blooming Roses; one can sometimes glean the most useful information by eavesdropping.

“So, tell me about last night,” one of them said teasingly.

The other one giggled, “It was amazing! Better than I expected.”

“How so?”

“He was so intense. And the Dark Mark was there, plain as… well, night, I guess.”

I froze. As far as I know, Draco is the only wizard with the Dark Mark who was not sent to Azkaban.

“I thought he was innocent. Wasn’t he cleared of all charges?”

“He might have been cleared, but there is no way he is innocent! He almost devoured me last night… Not that I am complaining, of course!”

I crept to the front of the store, away from the gossiping girls. I was stunned. I had suspected before that Draco must seek out female companionship rather frequently. He is out much too late many nights, and I know that a man of his age has… needs. But he apparently had no idea of the damage he was doing to his reputation.

What men often fail to understand is that public opinion is not decided in the boardroom, or even in the Ministry. Instead, it is decided in drawing rooms, powder rooms, and yes, even the gardening section of Flourish and Blotts. If witches didn’t take Draco’s efforts to reform seriously, he had no chance with the wizards. And the witches would never take him seriously if he had a reputation as a playboy. As Draco had apparently inherited his father’s sex drive, there was only one solution: to find him a regular partner. And the only socially acceptable regular partner would be a wife.

But whom could Draco marry? The Slytherin girls he knew best were out of the question. They could only mar his reputation further. It had to be someone else, someone who was not associated with the Dark. But who would both help his reputation and agree to marry him? I looked down at a magazine I had idly picked up while thinking and the answer stared me in the face. It would be a shocking solution, but perhaps the only one that would come to anything.

I paid for the magazine, then Apparated home, wondering how to convince Draco to agree to my plan.

***

I hummed as I bustled about the kitchen preparing dinner. I chuckled at my plan to ensure Ginny and Harry would be left alone together. After the meal, I would pretend to have a headache and ask Ginny to wash up. Harry would of course offer to help her (such a well-mannered young man!) and would certainly jump at the chance to spend time with Ginny. I smiled. She surely couldn’t resist him, not after fancying him for so long. And then my little girl would finally be happy.

I had just put the roast in the oven when I heard a pop of Apparition behind me. I turned to see Ginny there, much earlier than I expected.

“Oh, hello, Ginny, dear!” I said enthusiastically, even though I knew that something must be wrong. Ginny never came home early from work unless there was an emergency. And something was queer about the way she was acting. She was never so calmly controlled as she seemed to be. Quiet and withdrawn, yes, at least recently. Flashing with anger, on occasion—she is a Weasley, after all. But she was looking at me with an intense stare that was entirely new to me.

I turned back to the oven, closing the door. “You’re early! You can help me peel these potatoes, then.” My voice sounded a bit thin to my ears, but I hoped Ginny wouldn’t notice.

“No, I don’t think so,” Ginny said coolly.

I tried not to let my worry show. “Well, if you don’t want to do that, you can shuck these peas instead. Oh, and by the way,” I added casually. “Ron Flooed earlier this afternoon. He and Hermione can’t make it tonight after all.”

When I turned to look at Ginny, her eyes were flashing, though she was otherwise calm. “I highly doubt that,” she said, “considering you never invited them in the first place.”

I opened my mouth, but didn’t know what to say. “I ran into Hermione at the Ministry today,” Ginny continued, her voice colder than I had ever heard it. “Imagine my surprise when she didn’t even know the first thing about your little dinner party tonight. But I suppose you did invite Harry.”

It had never occurred to me that Ginny would catch me in my little white lie, or that she would be so… angry with me for it. No, she was beyond angry. If she were merely angry, she would throw a tantrum, yell, and slam doors. I was beginning to believe her brothers’ stories about her ferocity in battle. I had never quite believed what they had said about her until that very moment. She was usually so sweet. But now…

“I… I j-just th-thought…” I managed to stutter.

“You just thought you could set us up,” Ginny said in that same cold voice.

“Well, yes, I want you to be happy. And he does fancy you, you know…”

“Of course he does!” My jaw dropped at Ginny’s outburst. She knew? But then why didn’t she…?

“I’m not blind, Mother!” I felt a pang. Ginny has always called me “Mum”. “Any fool could see that he fancies me. Did it never occur to you that I might not fancy him?”

“But I thought… You always did.”

“That was years ago. Harry long since gave up any chance he ever had with me. And I don’t appreciate you encouraging him to think otherwise.”

“Oh.” I was deflated. Had I really misjudged Ginny so badly? Maybe Harry had hurt her worse than I thought. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy—just that I’d have to rethink my plan a bit. “Well, it doesn’t have to be Harry,” I suggested hopefully. “You could find some other nice wizard to marry…”

Ginny’s fists clenched. “And to you, of course, happiness is the same as marriage. It would be impossible for you to imagine one without the other.”

I realized that she was right. There is nothing that makes me so happy as the comfort of falling asleep in Arthur’s arms. I could never be truly happy without him, or without my children. Why wouldn’t the same be true for Ginny?

“That’s what I thought,” Ginny said, then swept up the stairs. I stood, gaping, until my wand vibrated, reminding me to turn the roast.

After five minutes or so, Ginny came back down the stairs. She brushed past me, ignoring my attempts at apology, and quickly tied a letter to Pigwidgeon’s leg. As she sent him careening out the window, she turned to me, her eyes flashing, some parchment in her hand.

“If you want so badly for me to get married,” Ginny said, her voice hard, “then I will. But if it doesn’t turn out according to your silly fairytale plans, just remember that it was your idea.” She threw the parchment down on the table, then Disapparated with a pop.

I approached the table nervously. The parchment seemed to be torn from the back of Wizard’s Quarterly. Ginny had circled one advertisement in red ink.

“Hitch-A-Witch Matchmaking Service,” it read. “Introducing the finest brides to discriminating wizards by owl since 1969.”

I collapsed into my chair as the advertisement’s meaning sank in. Oh, dear Merlin!

***

Convincing Draco that it was in his best interest to be married, and that a mail-order bride was the best solution, was much easier than I had expected. In good Slytherin tradition, his face lacked any expression at all as I made my case. I held my breath as he thought for a few moments after I finished speaking. I was sure my argument was convincing, but the latest generation of Slytherins seems to have an unexpected romantic streak. Pansy Parkinson refused the marriage her father had arranged with the Crabbe boy, which was admittedly not entirely unexpected, considering how flighty her mother can be. But Mireille Zabini is one of the most practical people I know, and that didn’t stop her son from running off with a Hufflepuff Mudblood.

Draco nodded and I breathed a sigh of relief. “If you think it will help, I’ll agree. But I would like to meet the woman you choose first, before it is official.”

“Of course,” I said. I had been concerned that Draco might insist on choosing a bride for himself; I was relieved that he understood that I would know better which woman could help him the most. I stood to leave the room, but Draco stopped me.

“And, Mother…” he began hesitantly. I looked at him curiously—Draco was rarely hesitant about anything. “You will try to choose someone… attractive, won’t you?”

I smiled reassuringly. “Of course, dear. A plain bride would only hurt your image. And just because this marriage will be a business proposition does not mean you cannot enjoy it.”

I wrote to Hitch-A-Witch despite their name. How do they expect to attract the business of “distinguished wizards” with a distasteful name like that? But according to my enquiries, it was by far the best service of its kind in the wizarding world. I specified that I was only interested in Caucasian witches with pure blood; the mother of the Malfoy heir could be no less. The next day, a catalogue arrived by owl post.

The first woman listed was extremely beautiful. She was Russian, with blonde hair and blue eyes; she would certainly help maintain the Malfoy looks. I marked her page so I could find her very promising profile later. The second woman was… nearly identical to the first. As was the third, the fourth, the fifth. Apparently Russian witches are particularly interested in marrying British wizards. I kept flipping through the catalogue. How would I ever choose?

My attention was caught by a witch shockingly different from those that came before. She wasn’t as objectively beautiful as the Russian witches, but she had striking red hair and sparkling brown eyes, and she was British. Then I saw her name. Ginevra Weasley. She would never do—her family is full of blood traitors.

I turned the page, only to find yet another blonde Russian beauty. And so it continued.

Over several days, I would look through the catalogue whenever I had a spare moment, trying to find some way to choose among the Russians. But my eyes were always drawn back to Ginevra Weasley. I couldn’t understand why. With her family, she was out of the question.

But the more I thought, the less certain I became. The Weasleys are more important in wizarding society now than they ever have been before. They took a clear stance against the Dark Lord in the war. Arthur had been promoted to Deputy Minister because of it. They were not nearly as poor as they used to be; their children all had successful careers. And they had close ties to Harry Potter. Indeed, their reputation was spotless—if only the same could be said for their complexions.

Maybe the Weasley girl was the solution after all. If she married Draco, society would see the marriage as an endorsement of our family by hers. I smirked as I closed the catalogue. She would do quite nicely. Now I just had to convince her.