If he got caught, Draco Malfoy was going to be in trouble. His handler would burst a vein as his temper finally went, and he'd threaten death, dismemberment and dishonor before finally sighing and ending with the worst of it, disappointment. It would be terrible.
Draco didn't care. He was English, dammit, and he was tired of being surrounded by Americans. Tired of having to keep a charmed bracelet on his wrist to change his accent. Tired of fighting to remain a stranger in a land where he was horrified at the prospect of going native. In short, he wanted to go home, and so he had. Under layers of spells designed to redirect attention away from his appearance and hide his identity, of course, but he still went.
Walking down Diagon Alley was a pleasure like it hadn't been since he'd first seen it as a tyke clinging to his father's robes. Despite the decades that had passed, it all looked the same. There was a strange comfort in the thought that it would take more than time and a war to make the shopfronts of Diagon Alley change.
Just as he was peering into the window of Eeylops, trying to decide if that was the same owl that had been there on his last trip to buy Hogwarts supplies, or possibly since the dawn of time, a voice at his elbow said, "Anyone who looks that happy at seeing the same mouldering old shops deserves to take a pretty girl to lunch and explain why."
In a good enough mood that he was prepared to humor the girl's cheek, Draco said, "I suppose I could settle for you, though, in a pinch." He promptly felt like kicking himself for not having turned around before he opened his mouth, as the girl actually was quite pretty.
She laughed, though, and responded in kind. "Times are tough all over, no sense holding out for better."
"Maybe I should secure dinner, then. No sense taking any chances of having to look further down the ladder." Draco smiled charmingly and hoped that at least some of his good looks came through the glamours.
With a shake of her head, she said, "Now, now, who says I'm going to settle for you?" She tossed her hair and shot him a wicked glance. "All that a goofy smile and a nice arse will get you is a chat-up line and company for lunch."
"What about a spectacular arse?" he asked, his mouth quirking as he fought the urge to laugh.
"That's why we're having lunch, so I can find out if you are one before I accept your dinner invitation." She grinned and held out her hand. "Ginny Weasley, pleased to meet you."
He paused only a fraction of a second before taking her hand and saying, "David Malloy, likewise."
"So," she said impishly, "do you have reservations?"
"Many," he replied with absolute honesty, if a dry tone. It really was insane to take out this girl of all the girls in the world, but he was taking chances and damning the consequences just by being there - why not enjoy his insanity to the fullest? "But I think I can manage lunch at the Slipper."
He held his arm out imperiously and she giggled before sticking her nose in the air and placing her hand on his elbow. With exaggerated dignity, they strolled down the street and entered The Glass Slipper, Diagon Alley's best restaurant. A certain amount of money discreetly changed hands and they were shown to a table, where Ginny looked around assessingly. "Well, we're not banished to the kitchen, but we're not in the real prestige section. It seems you don't need to flaunt and show off that you're Someone."
"I suppose not," he said, hiding a smile behind his menu. As a Malfoy, he'd been accustomed to automatically being seated at the best table in the house, and if he dropped his disguises, he'd be willing to bet he would be again. Of course, he'd be risking assassination or arrest, and it seemed she was sufficiently impressed regardless.
Looking at her own menu, Ginny laughed. "Could this be any more pretentious? Foie gras terrine en croute seems a bit much for lunch."
"You should see what they do to food in New York City," Draco said. "At least a basic knowledge of French will tell you that's a loaf of goose liver wrapped in pastry. There everything has to be seared or infused or seviched or en passant or whatever the hell someone's dreamed up that week and put on the cover of a glossy food magazine. And garnished with some herb or vegetable that no one's ever heard of."
"Sounds dreadful," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I take it you're not from New York, then, if you dislike the food so much."
"No, not from there." Thankfully, the waiter appeared before he had to think about how much his cover story could be modified to suit the circumstances.
Ginny frowned at the menu for a moment, then flipped it closed and tossed her hair back and smiled. "The gentleman will order for me."
"A lesser man might be intimidated," Draco said, "but I happen to be a master at ordering pretentious food."
The waiter's expression flickered towards distaste, but after Draco had ordered (in French, of course) he nodded approvingly and bowed before leaving the table. Once they were alone again, Ginny said, "I'd be more impressed if I didn't have a distinct impression that you can't cook."
"I'll have you know I make excellent omelets," Draco said haughtily, although he couldn't entirely suppress a smile.
That was all right, though, because she couldn't quite suppress hers. "Maybe I'll find out directly someday, although definitely not before I know you a bit better." He'd be prepared to swear she'd deliberately waited until he had a mouthful of the wine that had arrived with the appetizer before she added, "Of course, I do feel like I know your arse already."
He managed not to choke to death, although just barely, and after a moment and another sip of wine, he collected his composure enough to say, "After lunch we can find a quiet spot and you can extend your acquaintance."
"Not yet... But if you ask me for another date, I'll say yes." She took a delicate bite and batted her lashes at him.
Draco felt his stomach sink a little as he said, "I'm afraid I have to go back to New York tonight."
Her face fell, and before he knew what was happening, he heard himself saying, "Of course, it's only temporary. I may be moving back to England soon."
A smile like a midsummer sunrise came over her face and she waved imperiously for the waiter, then informed the man that he needed to bring them a newspaper and a quill, immediately. Draco raised an eyebrow and, as the waiter bowed and removed himself and the remains of the appetizer, Ginny shrugged. “Well, there’s no sense delaying, is there? I’ve got today off, I can help you look for flats, and then once you have a flat I can leave my floo address on your mantle.”
Draco laughed. She really had no discretion whatsoever, but after a lifetime of discretion and decorum, it seemed charming and new and completely wonderful. Despite the little voice at the back of his mind that shrieked for caution and good sense, Draco leaned over the table to brush a kiss over her lips just before the waiter returned, bearing the Prophet, a self-filling quill with a silver nib, and a haughty expression. Draco’s haughty expression was much better, though, so in short order he and Ginny were poring over the rental listings and eating their second course without the proper reverence for excellent food.
When they left the restaurant at last, leaving a truly astonishing tip in recompense for having occupied the table for several hours of chatting and laughing and studying the newspaper, they set off to examine the various flats they’d marked as having potential. Draco told himself at regular intervals that he wasn’t committing himself to anything, but then he’d look at Ginny’s smiling face and forget about logical thoughts for another little while. He didn’t hold back his scathing comments about the flats they visited, but she laughed more often than not, and made more than a few pithy remarks of her own.
Eventually the sky darkened and she said regretfully, “I should get home. I promised to go to my mum’s house for dinner, or I’d invite you out for fish and chips.”
“You’ll have to do it for another time, then. I love fish and chips.” Actually, he thought it was a crime against the sea to submit its creatures to being minced and battered and coated in grease, but he’d just eat his fried potatoes and… And he was committing himself, dammit, because he wanted to see her again. Where had this sudden urge for self-destruction come from?
“Walk me home, will you?” She smiled again, and he called himself all sorts of names as he let her link her arm through his and guide him along. “It’s not far, just up there by the Cauldron.”
He followed in her wake, listening to her chatter. They reached the steps of a building with a prominent ‘to let’ sign, and he said, “Another flat to look at?”
“No, this is my building. I just wasn’t going to bring you here unless I felt reasonably sure you weren’t the type to be clingy.” This time her smile wasn’t so much sunny as evil, like a cat listening to a human who has discovered what it did in their favorite shoes. “I mean, what if we went on a couple of dates and then I wanted you to stop calling? A bit awkward if you’re in the same building.”
“How very sneaky of you,” he said in admiring tones.
She laughed. “Someone at my school once said that the difference between sneaky and foresighted is just a matter of semantics.” His heart stopped, he swore it did, because she was quoting him, even if she didn’t know it. He didn’t know what to say, so he just followed her in as she entered a flat on the ground floor. She went over to her desk and he strolled to the window, still trying to work out what he thought of everything.
His eyes fell on a red squirrel that stood up to chatter furiously as soon as it saw him. He laughed; the way it was standing on its hind legs and moving its front paws almost looked like it was clenching tiny fists, and it reminded him all too clearly of Ron Weasley’s fits of temper back at Hogwarts.
“What’s so funny?” Ginny joined him and saw the squirrel, which redoubled its angry squeaks when she approached and touched Draco’s arm. She giggled as well and said, “Don’t ever tell him I said so, but that little guy reminds me frightfully of my brother Ron. Always shows up when he’s unwanted and makes a frightful fuss.”
Draco choked, and Ginny slapped his back heartily before slipping a piece of paper into his hand. “My floo address, my regular address, and my mobile number.” She then tilted her face up and kissed him before stepping back. “In case you haven’t noticed, David Malloy, I like you an awful lot. Even if you have to stay in America, don’t be a stranger, all right?”
Caught completely under her spell, he just nodded and pulled his wand out to apparate before he threw himself at her feet and swore eternal devotion. When he found that he’d landed back in the street in front of her block of flats instead of in his apartment in New York, he gave himself up for lost and went in to arrange a lease. Maybe it was dangerous, but he’d been in danger all his life. He’d only been with Ginny Weasley one afternoon, but he already knew he’d risk a lot more danger in order to have another day like this one.
Draco didn't care. He was English, dammit, and he was tired of being surrounded by Americans. Tired of having to keep a charmed bracelet on his wrist to change his accent. Tired of fighting to remain a stranger in a land where he was horrified at the prospect of going native. In short, he wanted to go home, and so he had. Under layers of spells designed to redirect attention away from his appearance and hide his identity, of course, but he still went.
Walking down Diagon Alley was a pleasure like it hadn't been since he'd first seen it as a tyke clinging to his father's robes. Despite the decades that had passed, it all looked the same. There was a strange comfort in the thought that it would take more than time and a war to make the shopfronts of Diagon Alley change.
Just as he was peering into the window of Eeylops, trying to decide if that was the same owl that had been there on his last trip to buy Hogwarts supplies, or possibly since the dawn of time, a voice at his elbow said, "Anyone who looks that happy at seeing the same mouldering old shops deserves to take a pretty girl to lunch and explain why."
In a good enough mood that he was prepared to humor the girl's cheek, Draco said, "I suppose I could settle for you, though, in a pinch." He promptly felt like kicking himself for not having turned around before he opened his mouth, as the girl actually was quite pretty.
She laughed, though, and responded in kind. "Times are tough all over, no sense holding out for better."
"Maybe I should secure dinner, then. No sense taking any chances of having to look further down the ladder." Draco smiled charmingly and hoped that at least some of his good looks came through the glamours.
With a shake of her head, she said, "Now, now, who says I'm going to settle for you?" She tossed her hair and shot him a wicked glance. "All that a goofy smile and a nice arse will get you is a chat-up line and company for lunch."
"What about a spectacular arse?" he asked, his mouth quirking as he fought the urge to laugh.
"That's why we're having lunch, so I can find out if you are one before I accept your dinner invitation." She grinned and held out her hand. "Ginny Weasley, pleased to meet you."
He paused only a fraction of a second before taking her hand and saying, "David Malloy, likewise."
"So," she said impishly, "do you have reservations?"
"Many," he replied with absolute honesty, if a dry tone. It really was insane to take out this girl of all the girls in the world, but he was taking chances and damning the consequences just by being there - why not enjoy his insanity to the fullest? "But I think I can manage lunch at the Slipper."
He held his arm out imperiously and she giggled before sticking her nose in the air and placing her hand on his elbow. With exaggerated dignity, they strolled down the street and entered The Glass Slipper, Diagon Alley's best restaurant. A certain amount of money discreetly changed hands and they were shown to a table, where Ginny looked around assessingly. "Well, we're not banished to the kitchen, but we're not in the real prestige section. It seems you don't need to flaunt and show off that you're Someone."
"I suppose not," he said, hiding a smile behind his menu. As a Malfoy, he'd been accustomed to automatically being seated at the best table in the house, and if he dropped his disguises, he'd be willing to bet he would be again. Of course, he'd be risking assassination or arrest, and it seemed she was sufficiently impressed regardless.
Looking at her own menu, Ginny laughed. "Could this be any more pretentious? Foie gras terrine en croute seems a bit much for lunch."
"You should see what they do to food in New York City," Draco said. "At least a basic knowledge of French will tell you that's a loaf of goose liver wrapped in pastry. There everything has to be seared or infused or seviched or en passant or whatever the hell someone's dreamed up that week and put on the cover of a glossy food magazine. And garnished with some herb or vegetable that no one's ever heard of."
"Sounds dreadful," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I take it you're not from New York, then, if you dislike the food so much."
"No, not from there." Thankfully, the waiter appeared before he had to think about how much his cover story could be modified to suit the circumstances.
Ginny frowned at the menu for a moment, then flipped it closed and tossed her hair back and smiled. "The gentleman will order for me."
"A lesser man might be intimidated," Draco said, "but I happen to be a master at ordering pretentious food."
The waiter's expression flickered towards distaste, but after Draco had ordered (in French, of course) he nodded approvingly and bowed before leaving the table. Once they were alone again, Ginny said, "I'd be more impressed if I didn't have a distinct impression that you can't cook."
"I'll have you know I make excellent omelets," Draco said haughtily, although he couldn't entirely suppress a smile.
That was all right, though, because she couldn't quite suppress hers. "Maybe I'll find out directly someday, although definitely not before I know you a bit better." He'd be prepared to swear she'd deliberately waited until he had a mouthful of the wine that had arrived with the appetizer before she added, "Of course, I do feel like I know your arse already."
He managed not to choke to death, although just barely, and after a moment and another sip of wine, he collected his composure enough to say, "After lunch we can find a quiet spot and you can extend your acquaintance."
"Not yet... But if you ask me for another date, I'll say yes." She took a delicate bite and batted her lashes at him.
Draco felt his stomach sink a little as he said, "I'm afraid I have to go back to New York tonight."
Her face fell, and before he knew what was happening, he heard himself saying, "Of course, it's only temporary. I may be moving back to England soon."
A smile like a midsummer sunrise came over her face and she waved imperiously for the waiter, then informed the man that he needed to bring them a newspaper and a quill, immediately. Draco raised an eyebrow and, as the waiter bowed and removed himself and the remains of the appetizer, Ginny shrugged. “Well, there’s no sense delaying, is there? I’ve got today off, I can help you look for flats, and then once you have a flat I can leave my floo address on your mantle.”
Draco laughed. She really had no discretion whatsoever, but after a lifetime of discretion and decorum, it seemed charming and new and completely wonderful. Despite the little voice at the back of his mind that shrieked for caution and good sense, Draco leaned over the table to brush a kiss over her lips just before the waiter returned, bearing the Prophet, a self-filling quill with a silver nib, and a haughty expression. Draco’s haughty expression was much better, though, so in short order he and Ginny were poring over the rental listings and eating their second course without the proper reverence for excellent food.
When they left the restaurant at last, leaving a truly astonishing tip in recompense for having occupied the table for several hours of chatting and laughing and studying the newspaper, they set off to examine the various flats they’d marked as having potential. Draco told himself at regular intervals that he wasn’t committing himself to anything, but then he’d look at Ginny’s smiling face and forget about logical thoughts for another little while. He didn’t hold back his scathing comments about the flats they visited, but she laughed more often than not, and made more than a few pithy remarks of her own.
Eventually the sky darkened and she said regretfully, “I should get home. I promised to go to my mum’s house for dinner, or I’d invite you out for fish and chips.”
“You’ll have to do it for another time, then. I love fish and chips.” Actually, he thought it was a crime against the sea to submit its creatures to being minced and battered and coated in grease, but he’d just eat his fried potatoes and… And he was committing himself, dammit, because he wanted to see her again. Where had this sudden urge for self-destruction come from?
“Walk me home, will you?” She smiled again, and he called himself all sorts of names as he let her link her arm through his and guide him along. “It’s not far, just up there by the Cauldron.”
He followed in her wake, listening to her chatter. They reached the steps of a building with a prominent ‘to let’ sign, and he said, “Another flat to look at?”
“No, this is my building. I just wasn’t going to bring you here unless I felt reasonably sure you weren’t the type to be clingy.” This time her smile wasn’t so much sunny as evil, like a cat listening to a human who has discovered what it did in their favorite shoes. “I mean, what if we went on a couple of dates and then I wanted you to stop calling? A bit awkward if you’re in the same building.”
“How very sneaky of you,” he said in admiring tones.
She laughed. “Someone at my school once said that the difference between sneaky and foresighted is just a matter of semantics.” His heart stopped, he swore it did, because she was quoting him, even if she didn’t know it. He didn’t know what to say, so he just followed her in as she entered a flat on the ground floor. She went over to her desk and he strolled to the window, still trying to work out what he thought of everything.
His eyes fell on a red squirrel that stood up to chatter furiously as soon as it saw him. He laughed; the way it was standing on its hind legs and moving its front paws almost looked like it was clenching tiny fists, and it reminded him all too clearly of Ron Weasley’s fits of temper back at Hogwarts.
“What’s so funny?” Ginny joined him and saw the squirrel, which redoubled its angry squeaks when she approached and touched Draco’s arm. She giggled as well and said, “Don’t ever tell him I said so, but that little guy reminds me frightfully of my brother Ron. Always shows up when he’s unwanted and makes a frightful fuss.”
Draco choked, and Ginny slapped his back heartily before slipping a piece of paper into his hand. “My floo address, my regular address, and my mobile number.” She then tilted her face up and kissed him before stepping back. “In case you haven’t noticed, David Malloy, I like you an awful lot. Even if you have to stay in America, don’t be a stranger, all right?”
Caught completely under her spell, he just nodded and pulled his wand out to apparate before he threw himself at her feet and swore eternal devotion. When he found that he’d landed back in the street in front of her block of flats instead of in his apartment in New York, he gave himself up for lost and went in to arrange a lease. Maybe it was dangerous, but he’d been in danger all his life. He’d only been with Ginny Weasley one afternoon, but he already knew he’d risk a lot more danger in order to have another day like this one.
To Be Continued.
Mynuet is the author of 71 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 17 members. Members who liked Impulse also liked 1079 other stories.
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