Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter.

A/N: This story is proof that inspiration can come from the strangest places. The details are at the end. Enjoy!

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Foofaraw

“I just can’t keep my hands off him!”

Just moments before, Draco Malfoy had arrived home after three days away on business. He wanted nothing more than to see his wife, but her words stopped him cold, his hand on the drawing room doorknob. He knew that Ginny found him irresistibly attractive. What woman wouldn’t? But she categorically refused to tell him so, saying that it would inflate his ego beyond even the pretense of a reasonable size. Although he knew from her actions how she felt, it was still nice to hear it sometimes, even if the comments were addressed to someone else.

“Oh, Luna, you have no idea,” Ginny continued. “That hair, those eyes! And when he reaches for me with those beautiful hands, I get the most amazing shivers down my spine!”

Draco puffed out his chest and allowed himself a smug smile. Before he married, Blaise had warned him that the initial thrill would rub off over the course of the marriage, and that the sex would become routine within the first year. Ginny’s ardor didn’t seem to have cooled in the slightest, though, despite nearly two years of marriage. Next time Draco saw Blaise, he was going to rub it in. He must just be a better lover than Blaise. Not that that would have surprised anyone, except maybe Blaise himself.

Draco was snapped back into reality by Ginny’s next words.

“I saw him yesterday, and held him in my arms, and when he smiled at me, I just melted!”

Draco froze, his smile turning into a frown. She saw him yesterday…. But Draco had been in Berlin the day before, which meant…. “That lying, cheating bitch!” he muttered under his breath.

In a seething rage, Draco spun on his heels, stomped down the corridor to his study, and slammed the door behind him. He looked around his study, with its comfortable furniture and cheerful fire, and shuddered. It was as perfectly arranged as he had thought his life had been. But it was all a sham—all of it—and he wouldn’t live a lie for one minute longer.

Draco took out his wand and began to systematically blast each piece of furniture with one Reductor Curse after another. “Take that!” he said to the last ottoman, the third spell he cast in its direction reducing it to a pile of splinters. He felt a little better, but it didn’t come close to releasing all of his anger. He stashed his wand, and picked up a priceless antique vase. He contemplated it for a few moments, hefting it from hand to hand, then threw it suddenly at the wall, causing it to shatter into as many pieces as the Galleons it was worth. Yes, that was so much more satisfying than using his wand.

As he moved about the room, smashing every breakable ornament he could reach, Draco imagined that each one was the man who had dared to touch Ginny. He would make her tell him his name, then he would hunt the man down and show him just what happened when you cross a Malfoy. His father had taught him several clever ways to defend the family honor, and though most of them came uncomfortably close to Dark Magic, he would take great satisfaction in using them on this particular piece of scum.

Draco looked down to find a bottle of Firewhisky in his hands. He stepped closer to the fire, noticing how the amber liquid gleamed in its light. With a malicious grin, he sent it hurtling into the flames. He delighted in the way the alcohol burned in a furious flash of light, imagining submitting both Ginny and her lover to such a fiery hell.

Draco turned from the fire in search of more to destroy. As he reached for a delicate crystal rose that he knew Ginny’s had always loved, his eyes fell on a framed photograph that was now lying on the floor near his toppled desk, its frame askew and its glass cracked. He stopped, his hand still outstretched toward the flower, and stared mutely at the picture. In it, Ginny and Draco posed in their wedding finery, champagne flutes in hand. It had always been Draco’s favorite picture, because of the wonder with which the photographic Ginny looked at the photographic Draco. Now, Ginny cowered in fear, while his photographic counterpart held her protectively and glared fiercely at the real Draco.

Suddenly, Draco felt all his anger leave him in a rush. Righting one of the less damaged armchairs, he sat down. A spring poked his behind and a tuft of escaped cushion tickled his ear, but he tried to ignore them as he contemplated the photograph he had propped on his knees. How had it come to this? They had been so happy before. Why would Ginny cheat on him? Had he done something to drive her away? He sighed, desperately wishing he hadn’t broken the bottle of Firewhisky, and let his head fall forward into his hands.

Draco wasn’t sure how long it was before Ginny came into the study and found him that way.

“Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana!” she said, utterly astonished. “What have you done, Draco?” Ginny pulled out her wand, muttering “Reparo” repeatedly as she began to clear up the mess Draco had created. “You must have been in a right temper to cause all of this damage. What happened?”

Draco watched Ginny for a few minutes, trying to find something different about her, but she didn’t seem to have changed in the least. Finally, with a flat voice, he asked, “Who is it?”

“Who is what?” Ginny asked distractedly. “Do you mean, who was with me when you arrived? That was Luna. You know she always comes for tea on Tuesdays.”

“No,” Draco said rather more firmly. “Who is he?”

Ginny looked at Draco, her brow furrowed in confusion. When he didn’t answer, she eventually turned back to her repairs. Draco gave her credit for not admitting to anything until she knew exactly what he knew. It was a very Slytherin thing to do.

He looked back down at the photograph in his lap, and sighed yet again. Did it really matter who the other man was? Whoever he was, he had taken Ginny away, and nothing could bring Draco’s life back to what it had been before.

“Actually,” Draco said quietly, “I think I would rather not know.” He paused, taking a deep breath. With a weary resolve, he said, “I’ll contact my solicitor tomorrow, and ask him to draw up the divorce papers.”

Ginny stopped mid-spell. She turned slowly to look at Draco.

“You… You want a divorce?” she asked shakily. “Wh-why?”

Draco noticed Ginny’s lip tremble, and saw the tears well up in her eyes. He marveled at her amazing acting skills. What else had she lied about over the years?

“Of course I want a divorce!” Draco said, the anger welling up inside him once more. He leapt to his feet. “Did you really think you could sleep with another man and get away with it?”

“Wh-What are you talking about?” Ginny’s voice sounded desperate. “I have never slept with any man but you!”

“Liar!” Draco roared. “I heard you tell Luna all about it!” He picked up the item closest to hand, the crystal rose he had spared earlier, and hurled it within a foot of Ginny’s head.

Ginny flinched away from the projectile, and Draco was reminded of how her image in the photograph had reacted earlier. He almost backed down again, but Ginny’s words to Luna were still ringing in his ears. He gave her his most intimidating glare.

“What do you mean, you heard me tell Luna about it?” Ginny asked helplessly. “I’ve never said anything like that!”

“I heard you! You said you met some man yesterday, that you couldn’t keep your hands off him!”

Ginny stared at Draco for a moment, her face unreadable. He held his breath in anticipation of her reaction. But her reaction, when it came, was the last thing he expected—she laughed.

Ginny laughed harder than Draco had ever seen her laugh. She laughed even harder than she had the Christmas she had cursed Fred and George to obey her every command, and had ordered them both to write reports on the benefits of thick cauldron bottoms. She laughed with great guffaws, snorting occasionally, and fell to the floor clutching her side.

Meanwhile, Draco was getting more and more incensed by the minute. His life was falling apart around him, and she thought it was funny?

“Well, if that’s how you feel about our marriage,” Draco said furiously, “then I will certainly be better off without you.”

At that, Ginny seemed to rein in her laughter. “No, that’s not it!” she gasped, out of breath.

“Then what is it?” Draco asked sharply.

“It’s just…” Ginny stopped speaking to chuckle. “It’s just that what you overheard…” She burst into laughter once again.

“Yes?” Draco began tapping his foot in impatience.

“I was telling Luna about Eric!”

“Eric?” Draco asked. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t remember why it should. Who did he know who was named Eric?

“Yes, Eric,” Ginny said, smiling. “My nephew Eric. Bill and Fleur’s son. You know, the one who is two months old?”

Draco was dumbfounded. She was talking about a baby. He asked dazedly, “So you aren’t having an affair?”

Grinning broadly, Ginny draped her arms around Draco’s neck, and kissed him lightly. “No, I’m not having an affair.”

Draco smiled then, wrapping his wife securely in his arms, right where she belonged. “Then I suppose you can cuddle all the babies you want, as long as you come home to me afterwards.”

“Oh, I will,” Ginny answered. “Eric is absolutely adorable, but he’ll never be you.”

“I am rather irresistible, aren’t I?” Draco asked cheekily.

“Don’t expect to hear me say it again,” Ginny said, swatting him lightly on the back, “but yes, yes you are.”

Draco held Ginny tighter, running one hand through her hair. When she looked up at him through her eyelashes like that, she was pretty irresistible herself. “Then let’s go find a room that isn’t in shambles, so you can show me instead.”

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A/N: This story was inspired by the dictionary.com word of the day for January 17, 2007:

foofaraw FOO-fuh-raw, noun:
1. Excessive or flashy ornamentation or decoration.
2. A fuss over a matter of little importance.
Foofaraw is perhaps from Spanish fanfarrón, "a braggart."

I was obviously trying for the second definition, but I’m not quite sure if I got it right, as Draco’s fuss would have been justified (in intention, if not in scale), if the reason for it had been true.