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.

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Unexpected Consequences

Part II: February

I fretted constantly for weeks after Ginny confronted me about my plans for her and Harry. I hid the Hitch-A-Witch advertisement in the drawer with the dish towels. I pulled it out and looked at it whenever I had a spare minute and I was sure I was alone. It wouldn’t do for Arthur to see it.

What had Ginny done? Had she really signed up for the service? Or was she just trying to scare me? Either way, I had hurt her badly by pressuring her into something she didn’t want. I regreted that more than anything else I had ever done. As I stared at the dog-eared bit of parchment for what must be the hundredth time, I came to a conclusion—I needed to apologize to Ginny.

Easier said than done. Ginny was working much longer hours than usual, claiming that the Hippogriffs were in heat. But I’m sure the Hippogriffs were in heat at this time last year as well, and she didn’t work such long hours then. When she did return to the Burrow, Ginny would hardly look at me or say much more than “pass the salt.” When I tried to approach her, she would make an excuse and disappear.

Ginny has always had a temper, but it tends to flare wildly and then burn itself out relatively quickly. Unlike her father, she usually doesn’t hold grudges. But I forget that Ginny hasn’t been herself lately. Or maybe she changed and I never noticed. I guess me not noticing is what caused all the trouble to begin with.

After three weeks of Ginny avoiding me, she came home one Sunday just before dinner. She sat at the table with Arthur and me, and looked me in the eye. My stomach dropped. I knew that look. It was the same look she used to wear when refusing to eat her vegetables, or when insisting that we leave a candle lit to ward off the Flobberworms under her bed. She was fiercely determined about something. I held my breath, fearing the worst.

“Mum, Dad,” she said firmly and evenly. “I’m going to be married next week.”

***

I anonymously arranged a meeting with Ginevra Weasley at the Hitch-A-Witch offices. Fortunately, I saw her before she saw me, giving me a chance to size her up. She was much prettier in person than in her photograph; her freckles were less apparent and her robes flattered her figure.

I knew the first test would be whether or not Ginevra would leave immediately once she recognized me. Indeed, her eyes widened and she gasped slightly, but she quickly covered her surprise.

“Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy,” she greeted me politely. We eyed each other as we exchanged pleasantries and engaged in the necessary small talk. I was pleased that Ginevra seemed to understand the intricacies of polite conversation, and that she maintained a pleasant demeanor despite her understandable wariness. I had worried that with her less than genteel background, she might embarrass Draco in a social setting, but she put most of my fears to rest.

After a slight pause in the conversation, I got down to business. “Now, Miss Weasley,” I said, “the reason I asked you to come here today is to discuss the possibility of a marriage between you and my son Draco.” She nodded. “But before we continue, I have a rather important question. Why did you choose to submit a profile to Hitch-A-Witch?” I was quite curious about this; I would have thought that she would insist on marrying for love, as her parents did.

“My mother wishes me to marry,” Ginevra said simply.

“And she suggested the service?” I asked, surprised.

“Oh, no,” she said with a smile. “She’s all for me falling madly in love with Harry Potter, or failing him, some other nice wizard she approves of.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“No,” she said with a wry little smile. “I… haven’t had the best experiences with love.”

“I see,” I said. And I did see. I had my share of tragic romances when I was at Hogwarts. Looking back, they weren’t nearly as monumental as I had thought at the time. But they certainly contributed to my acquiescence when Lucius asked my father for my hand.

“Very well,” I continued. “If you agree to the marriage, you and your family will be well provided for financially. One hundred thousand Galleons will be deposited into your Gringotts account upon your marriage, and an additional five hundred thousand upon the birth of an heir.” Ginevra blushed. I was unsure whether it was caused by the mention of money, or the thought of what would she would need to do in order to produce an heir with Draco.

But to my delight, Ginevra quickly pulled herself together. “Before I agree to anything,” she began, looking me boldly in the eye, “I have a few questions myself.”

“Of course. Please ask anything you like.” I was pleased that Ginevra had questions for me; it was promising that she did not dismiss the idea out of hand.

“First, why do you want Draco to marry me? Our families have never gotten along. You must have some other reason.”

“You’re right,” I answered. Before the meeting, I had decided that I would need to be candid about my motives, or at least most of them. Ginevra was a Gryffindor and would naturally distrust a Slytherin, especially if she suspected I was hiding something from her. I explained how the association with her family would help restore the Malfoy reputation. I did not mention Draco’s reputation for sleeping around.

“I think I understand,” Ginevra said slowly when I had finished speaking. “Has Draco agreed?”

I smiled. “Not yet, but he will once I talk to him. Perhaps you should come to the Manor for tea tomorrow so he can meet you.”

“That would be lovely.” Ginevra paused, then continued hesitantly. “There is one more question I need to ask before I agree to this arrangement.” She took a deep breath, then looked at me with determination. “During the war, Draco was a Death Eater.”

I nodded. There was no use denying it.

“How can I trust him?”

I collected my thoughts before answering. This was the question that would make or break the whole deal. “Draco was just a boy when he took the Mark. He did not truly understand what it meant until he was assigned to kill Professor Dumbledore. He was told that if he failed, he, his father, and I would all be killed. He tried to do it to save our lives, but in the end, he could not complete the task. He is not a murderer.”

Ginevra was watching me very carefully.

“Dumbledore knew it, too. He offered Draco sanctuary,” I continued. “But then events spiraled out of control. When it was over, Severus Snape helped Draco and I hide to avoid the Dark Lord’s wrath. Lucius was still in Azkaban and was not so lucky. But Draco and I survived, and his soul remains intact.”

I paused. Ginevra’s face was inscrutable.

“Believe me, Miss Weasley, every crime that Draco committed during the war was committed to save his family. If you marry him, you will be part of that family. He would not harm you.”

Ginevra was quiet for several minutes. I broke the silence, asking, “Will you agree?”

“I’d like to talk to Draco tomorrow first, before I decide. Will that suffice?”

I nodded my agreement. We quickly made our goodbyes and parted for the evening.

While it made me nervous, Ginevra’s caution also convinced me that I had made a wise choice. She would represent the Malfoy family well. Convincing Draco was another matter entirely.

Over dinner that night, I told Draco of my plans. Despite my carefully laid arguments as to the advantages of the union, he refused outright to marry Ginevra. He said that she was a Muggle lover. I pointed out that she was pureblooded nevertheless. He countered that she was a blood traitor. I argued that perhaps some of her family might be, but by marrying him, she would not be one herself. He complained that her family was poor. And yet, I noted, they have more influence now than we do. And finally, though he would never say so, Draco mentioned what was really bothering him.

“And she’s in love with Potter anyway.” This explained Draco’s unusual antipathy towards Ginevra. He had been jealous of the Potter boy, I think, even before they met. Luckily, I could use that jealousy to my advantage in this case.

“Perhaps she was once,” I said with deliberate casualness. “But from what she said today, her mother would like nothing more than to see a match between them, and yet Ginevra refused.”

Draco, who had been scowling at the window, turned his head quickly in my direction.

“Well, then,” he said with just a hint of the Malfoy smirk, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to meet her.”

Tea the next day was a success. I left the two of them alone together for twenty minutes. Draco left the room rubbing his cheek. I do not know whether Ginevra kissed him or slapped him, but whatever she did must have been effective.

***

I love all of my sons dearly, but I never have had as much input as I would like in planning their weddings. Hermione has tried to include me in her plans, but she and Ron will have a Muggle ceremony and it isn’t quite the same. We can’t have decorative fairies on the cake, for instance. But I’ve been picturing Ginny’s wedding in my mind since the day she was born.

We would plan it together over the course of several months, if not a year. We would hold it in the garden here at the Burrow when it was in full bloom. The whole family would be there. She would wear elaborate robes that I had sewn myself. I would cry when I saw the love in her eyes as she looked at the groom, my new son. Later, after all the eating and drinking and dancing, I would cheer as the newlyweds left for their honeymoon.

But Ginny’s actual wedding was nothing like I had planned.

Ginny told us less than a week before the ceremony that she would marry Draco Malfoy of all people. I don’t know why she did it. She could have chosen another wizard—any other wizard! But… Draco Malfoy? He was a Death Eater! And his father… Not only did Lucius Malfoy torment Arthur and me in school, but he was the cause of all Ginny’s troubles in her first year. I can only think that Ginny must have chosen him deliberately, knowing how much more it would hurt me. But she told Arthur and me in no uncertain terms, and with a steely, determined voice, that if we did anything at all to oppose her on this, she would never speak to us again.

So what could we do? It would hurt even worse to lose a child, our only daughter. But keeping my mouth shut was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

The wedding was held in one of the smaller parlors in Malfoy Manor. Only Narcissa Malfoy, Arthur, and I were invited. Ginny had insisted on this and had sworn us all to secrecy until after the marriage was official. I suppose she was worried about what her brothers and Harry would do if they found out about it. As much as it pains me to say it, she was probably right. Imagine Ron’s reaction!

I had half expected Narcissa Malfoy to sneer at Arthur and me through the whole wedding, but she was as polite as could be. I might have even felt comfortable as her guest if her blandness didn’t make me wonder if it was all an act.

Just before the ceremony began, I pulled Ginny aside, my hand resting on the sleeve of the plain white robes she had bought off the rack at Madame Malkin’s. “Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Yes, Mum,” she answered with a hint of exasperation. My face fell. Part of me had assumed that Ginny had been planning to call the wedding off at the last minute, that she had gone through with the plans up until that point just to get back at me.

Ginny must have seen my expression. She hugged me for the first time in ages, and whispered, “It will be all right, Mum. He can’t truly hurt me. And that will make me happy—to not hurt anymore.”

I hugged her again, more tightly this time. It saddened me to think of the pain that led Ginny to choose an empty marriage, and that I had never seen the extent of that pain before. I thought of the Malfoys’ expressionless faces. What kind of life would Ginny lead in this overly large house, with such emotionless people? But maybe that is what she wanted—that lack of emotion. I decided that if this was what would make Ginny happy, then I would respect her decision—and I would make sure the rest of the family respected it as well.

Minutes later, as the Ministry official recited the ancient words that would bind Ginny to Draco Malfoy, a tear slipped down my cheek. But it wasn’t the tear of joy I had always expected to shed at Ginny’s wedding.