Disclaimer: I only own the plot. The character and most of the settings aren’t mine.
-[Chapter 1: A Deal of Sorts]-
“Do you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, take Harry James Potter to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health…” The vows were drowned out by the disarming sight of Harry, smiling warmly down at her, his eyes glowing with happiness, looking nothing short of dashing in a set of handsome new black-and-white dress robes. And he was hers…
“I do,” she answered breathlessly, beaming fondly up at Harry as Minister Shacklebolt himself nodded and handed her the ring, which she slipped onto Harry’s finger, marveling at its perfect fit. It was a simple, white gold band, but it symbolized for her the pure simplicity of their love. Or at least that was what the jeweler witch had assured her. It wasn’t exactly natural for Ginny to come up with something so sappy as that on her own.
“And do you, Harry James Potter, take Ginevra Molly Weasley to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish so long as you both shall live?” Lupin asked intently, peering over the old, leather bound book of vows he was holding to regard Harry with a patient smile. Ginny looked up at him, too, her brown eyes filled with utmost adoration and joy, willing him to gaze back down at her and to mirror her affections.
But Harry wasn’t looking at her. He was gazing down at the band on his ring finger as if it had suddenly turned into a menacing shackle and had sprouted chains. He glanced back and forth from the ring to Lupin, whose expression was clouding over with what was unmistakably doubt. Harry looked for all the world frightened out of his mind, as if the full seriousness and finality of what he was about to do was only just setting in.
“I…I…” He stammered, looking tongue-tied, confused, and very lost. His dazzling smile had vanished and now he just looked like a scared, little puppy. Ginny’s eyes bugged out of her head. She gave him a meaningful look that urged him to say ‘I do’ and get it over with, but he missed it completely and turned to stare out at their audience in the many white garden chairs. More than half of Britain had shown up, it seemed, to see the Boy-Who-Lived finally hitched to his sweetheart, Ginny Weasley, and they hadn’t been let down by the glorious scene of their outdoor springtime wedding. Flowers bloomed and dripped from every surface and covered everything in their bright hues and intoxicating, captivating fragrances. Ginny’s own bouquet was a simple arrangement of white lilies, and tiny, white rosebuds had been woven into the elegant twist she wore beneath her veil.
Ginny fought back the panic that was threatening to break her patience. “Say ‘I do’, Harry,” she hissed under her breath, straining to reach him through the veil (hey, pun!) of uncertainty that was beginning to choke him and still appear fairly pleasant and unheard by the rest of the crowd. “Say it, dammit,” she finally snapped just loudly enough to cause Lupin to arch an eyebrow in surprise. Ron, who she could see just over Harry’s shoulder, was beginning to look anxious. She could hear Hermione coughing lightly behind her.
“Vat is going on now?” she heard Fleur complain, and heard the sound of Fleur give a small shriek as Hermione accidentally ground her heel into Fleur's toe. If Ginny hadn’t been suffering what was beginning to be one of the most humiliating moments of her life on what should have been the happiest day of her life, she might have turned to thank Hermione, but at the moment a drop of sweat had rolled off the tip of Harry’s nose to land softly in Ginny’s bouquet of lilies.
There was a surreal moment of complete silence in which everything seemed to freeze and then begin again in exaggeratedly slow motion, before Harry suddenly turned to bolt from the altar, sprinting madly back towards the Burrow, where the private reception was due to be held for family members and close friends of the bride and groom. There was a slam as the kitchen door shut behind him.
“Harry!” Ginny shrieked after him, tossing her bouquet into the air as she prepared to pursue him, but the crowd of paparazzi who had gathered to record the momentous occasion began to swarm around her. She turned to shout for help but was shocked to discover that everyone was scrambling not after her but for the stupid bouquet. Hermione caught it, and blushed sheepishly as her eyes met Ron’s through the crowd of people. At any other moment in her life, this would have made Ginny hopeful, but right now it grated on her every nerve.
Surrendering to the sea of obnoxious, camera-wielding hornets, she let them all wash over her until her beloved wedding dress, which had been her Mum’s, was trampled in the mad rush. Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as she heard the delicate ivory fabric make an all-too-severe ripping noise above the buzz of chatter and cameras flashing. Blinded by the flashes going off around her, her eyes teared up, her throat burned, and she realized that Harry had abandoned her yet again at the most inconvenient, unbefitting time.
She threw her head back and yelled so loudly it almost shook the very ground she stood on.
“SHIT!”
Beep! Hey, Ginny…It’s Hermione. Are you alright? Haven’t seen you in a week since…erm—Do you think we could meet up this morning for coffee or something? We could go to that cute, little coffee shop you like, the one that’s on your way to work…I really need to tell you something important. Please try to come…See you soon…Beep!
Beep! Hey, Gin. S’Ron. Erm…you okay? Sorry I didn’t call sooner—had to track down Harry first. He sort of took off after…Yeah. Well, I promised I’d meet up with Hermione. Call me if you need anything, and be sure to call Mum and Dad, ‘cause Mum’s been pestering us all and Dad won’t get off my back about being a poor excuse for a big brother or something like that…and because they’re really worried. Well, um…bye. Beep!
Beep! It’s Mum, dear. Please call me back. We’re all worried about you and you haven’t returned any of our calls. I hope you’re well. We all get our hearts broken sometime, dearest, and you can’t exactly blame Harry for backing out so suddenly. I’m sure he loves you more than anything, but—really—he never really knows just what he wants. And you were only his second girlfriend, remember, and I guess the pressure only just got to him when he saw you up on that altar. I suppose it was all just too much for him, poor dear…Well, try to drop by the Burrow sometime for lunch. How about this afternoon? Take care. Love, Mum—oh, and Da sends his love, too!…Yes, Arthur, you can say something too…It’s a telephone, dear. Okay, Here’s your father: ‘Ello, Gin-bug. Cheer up, sweetheart. Harry was lucky you ever gave him the time of day. Stop by around noon and Mum’ll try to have all of your favorite things to eat ready. See you then, dear. Beep!
Beep! --And you might consider spending your last week of vacation here at the Burrow! It’ll do you good to be around your family just now instead of cooped up, alone at your flat. Just consider it! Arthur! Of course it’s what she needs! No, I don’t care if she’s grown up…Oh, Arthur!—Ginny, see you around noon then, and don’t worry about making up your mind until then, eh? Love, Mum. Beep!
Beep! Gin…It’s me…I hope you’re not still mad with me, but I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into until…well, until I realized what I was getting myself into. It wasn’t you, it was me. Gin, please pick up the phone…Gin. Ginny. Please?…Fine. I’ll call back later sometime. Beep!
“No more new Floo messages. To replay messages—“
With a quick flick of her wand the flames in the grate were suddenly extinguished. Ginny crawled out of bed, stumbling through the piles of dirty laundry, empty cartons of ice-cream, and a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey, all of which had been slowly piling up over the last week on her bedroom floor. Sunlight fought to get through the edges of the tightly closed blinds and once she pried her eyes apart she quickly shut them again to the harsh intensity of the light. She entered the bathroom at roughly a snail's pace and nearly screamed in horror at the state of her hair, which was a tangled mess nested in a precariously piled heap atop her head.
She made her way over to the shower and turned the knob, releasing a steamy jet of drizzle. She stepped out of her pajamas that were beginning to smell slightly and had several sticky, dark stains on them--procured, she guessed, from the chocolates and ice-cream she’d been living off of for the past week--and stepped into the cleansing rain of the shower head.
After fifteen minutes of revitalizing shampooing and scrubbing, she emerged smelling of peppermint, her hair combed into a neat, wavy curtain of shoulder length red hair. She took a deep, refreshing breath and smiled wanly. Her skin had been so thoroughly scrubbed that it was now pink and she was still tingling from scalp to toe from the crisp, refreshing peppermint oil. She wrapped a towel around herself and made her way over to the vanity to comb her hair and brush it quickly back into a ponytail. Then she made her way through the mess of her bedroom again, navigating around the mess to work her way over to her closet, where she selected a dark blue shirt with three-quarter length sleeves and a pair of snug, comfortable pair jeans with a pair of practical brown flats. She wouldn’t even bother with her Ministry regulation robes today, as she wasn’t planning on returning to work until she had used every last second of her vacation time, the time she might have spent on a secluded beach somewhere on her honeymoon.
She dug through her drawers for underwear and then went back into the bathroom to change. She emerged from the bathroom looking fresh and casual and decidedly normal; not at all as if the one person she’d loved unflinchingly for fifteen years had dumped her at the altar less than a week ago. She was twenty-five and already the stupid prat had managed to break her heart no less than three times, beginning in her fifth year when he’d dumped her at a funeral for Merlin’s sake, supposedly for her own good.
”And I almost married that conceited, self-centered ass!” she seethed aloud to herself as she reached for her bag and slid it up her arm to rest on her shoulder. She tucked her wand into the front compartment, snatched up her house-keys, and exited her tiny flat trying to keep from exploding with the sudden wave of bitter, angry emotions she was feeling towards a certain Scar-faced hero.
“You showed up!” Hermione cried, surprised, encircling the red-head in a bone-crushing hug that smothered her almost to the point of suffocation. Really, it almost made her nostalgic for her own mother’s hugs. Almost.
“Oh, we were so worried about you,” Hermione gushed, almost to the point of tears, looking so relieved and ecstatic Ginny couldn’t help but smile herself. Then she noticed the ‘we’ Hermione had been referring to occupying the other side of the booth. Nestled against the window, one arm slung casually over his seat while the other rested on the table-top, light illuminating his violently red hair, Ron smiled and gave a small wave but wisely chose to remain in his seat, eating one of several apple Danishes piled high on a napkin before him. Ginny rolled her eyes at him as he bit into a loaded Danish and the filling promptly exploded onto his face.
“I’m fine now,” she affirmed, pulling away from Hermione to take a seat. Hermione grinned and sat down beside Ron, who was attempting in vain to wipe the apple from his eyes. Finally the bushy-haired brunette sighed and rolled her own brown eyes before vanishing the mess from his face with a flick of her wand. She chuckled lightly as his eyebrows rose in amazement and he grinned at her, thankful and considerably impressed as well as totally embarrassed. His ears began to color madly.
“I’ve got to go get some coffee,” Ginny said hastily, attempting to slide away before she had to witness a mushy moment from the sappy, love-story-like drama that was Hermione and Ronald. Hermione nodded absently before Ron pulled her into a passionate kiss and they both began snogging as if for dear life in the front window of the cozy coffee shop.
Ginny sighed. “You ordered a caramel frappe with a shot of espresso, right?” the girl behind the counter asked, tapping a few keys on the register.
Glancing back at the snogging scene behind her, Ginny felt her insides crawl. “Make that a double shot of espresso, please,” she grumbled, shaking her head slightly as if to will the disturbing images now congesting her mind to just magically disappear.
“Coffee, black. A medium,” came a suave, commanding tone from just over her shoulder. She sheepishly realized she had been leaning against the counter for more than a full minute now while the line of impatient customers grew behind her. “With a travel lid,” the man added, and she could guess without looking behind her that he had noticed Hermione and Ron practically eating each other’s faces off.
Her face flushed a deep crimson and she moved over to where the straws and napkins were in order to be as far away from the crazy couple as possible. To her utter horror she heard Hermione begin to giggle as Ron nibbled away at her ear. When the server announced that her order was ready she hurriedly snatched it up and proceeded to gather a straw and napkin as quickly as possible in order to make a hasty escape.
“Excuse me,” came the handsome voice again, and she realized that yet again she had become the obstacle in the way of the customers and their orders. Or, at least, the customers and the napkin-and-straw bar. She backed away quickly, but stopped suddenly as she noticed a rack of newspapers with her photo on them. The Daily Prophet’s front page contained a large, moving photograph of Harry dashing from the altar and her, standing there alone, looking horrified and deeply perplexed. It wasn't a very flattering look for her at all.
“It seems ‘unphotogenic’ would be the understatement of the century,” she heard the stranger drawl, reading her thoughts exactly, and she angrily wheeled around to give a piece of her mind to whoever it was who felt they had the right to grill her nerves to hell before she had even gotten properly caffeinated.
That is, until the suave stranger, upon recognition, turned out not to be a stranger at all, and she quickly turned back around and tried to flee. She still wasn't awake enough to sit awkwardly through Hermione and Ron's impassioned make-out session, and a curious sensation had seemed to creep up her legs and through her body the moment she recognized Malfoy, hindering any possible movement. She had simply gone numb, and now the only means of escape would be either getting him to leave or the rare miracle of Hermione and Ron coming up for air sometime this century. For now she could only try to avoid eye contact and keep from saying anything remotely stupid.
Cross that. She wasn't even going to attempt to say anything at all.
“Nice to see you, too, Weaslette,” Draco Malfoy remarked casually, smirking that profoundly annoying little smirk of his that somehow, on his older and more mature face, just managed to look sexy instead of menacing and sinister. He was wearing a soft, gray polo shirt that seemed to fit his toned upper torso quite nicely and a pair of casual, deep green slacks that ended in a pair of his uniform black Doc Martins—Of all things! she remarked silently while mentally rolling her eyes. His white-blonde hair, as usual, was slicked back against his scalp, his gray eyes gleaming with mischief beneath light, slightly arched brows as he took a moment to look her over. "It certainly has been a while," he grinned, never once glancing away from her as he sipped his black coffee. She blanched, staring down into her frappe as if it had suddenly occurred to her that the meaning of life was floating somewhere among the ice cubes. She took a breath and dared the impossible: speech.
“’Unphotogenic’ is not a word,” was all she could manage to choke out, and prepared to leave before he could laugh and ridicule her or worse, continue to look unbelievably sexy and tempting—which defied all logic and reason, as far as Ginny was concerned—but Hermione and Ron had just looked up from their canoodling to hinder her exit. Figures now would be the time, she thought, wincing, as Hermione turned to spot her but somehow missed the very amused-looking Malfoy screwing the plastic lid onto his cup. Ginny inched over to where the rather disheveled-looking pair sat glancing eagerly at her, Hermione beckoning her and looking slightly apologetic for having gotten so distracted.
“Ginny, wait! We haven’t gotten a chance to tell you something important,” Hermione said breathlessly, straightening her outfit while Ron took the sudden opportunity to shove another Danish into his mouth. Ginny sat, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Malfoy snatch up a copy of the Prophet as he sat the coffee cup down, and snigger to himself as he thumbed through the pages to locate the story on her disaster of a wedding. Perfect.
“Ginny, we wanted to tell you as soon as it happened, but we decided to wait until the last possible moment…” There were actual tears welling up in Hermione’s eyes.
She had become a total mess of unrestrained emotion since she’d started dating Ron. It was as if some hopeless romantic had suddenly abducted her soul and inhabited her body—Ginny mentally smacked herself. She was beginning to sound like Luna. She sat up and offered her full attention.
“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione began, smiling so hard it seemed her face might just split down the middle. “Ron proposed!” Ginny froze. “We’re getting married!” Ginny’s jaw fell onto the table and then into her lap. “And we don’t want to wait any longer! Most of your family is still here! We’re getting married at the Burrow next weekend, during your vacation time, so you can spend the week helping my mum and I plan and get ready!” Ginny’s jaw fell from her lap onto the floor, and her eyes bugged out of her head as Ron smiled to confirm that what Hermione said was true before swallowing his mouthful of Danish and kissing Hermione sloppily on the cheek.
"I guess you could say what happened with you and Harry wasn't all that bad, since it helped 'Mione and I decide to take the big plunge," Ron added blatantly, attracting a few stares from a few of the customers.
Ginny didn't dare attempt a glance in Malfoy's direction. She could feel his eyes resting on her, could sense the sinister smirk working its way across his face. Hermione turned and gave Ron a stern look that buttoned his lips instantly. Ginny prayed that the ground might open and swallow her half of the booth whole.
“So what do you think?” Hermione whispered enthusiastically, suddenly conscious of the attention they were attracting as she leaned across the table to take Ginny's hand in her own. Ron was staring expectantly at her, too, his arm draped around Hermione's shoulder as they regarded her with the same pleading, hopeful expression.
Ginny responded by downing her frappe, for which she was rewarded with a head-splitting brain freeze, and yanking her purse off of the table before bolting from the restaurant with all the force and energy of the double shot of espresso that was now burning through her system.
She blindly turned a corner and felt someone roughly grab her arm. Fearing it was Hermione or Ron, she turned to plead with them to let her go, surprised to find that it was hard to speak through the sudden flurry of tears and raw emotion that was clawing its way up her throat.
But it wasn’t Hermione or Ron, who she’d left behind, puzzled and very much crestfallen in the tiny coffee shop. It was Draco Malfoy, who might have actually looked concerned had she not known any better.
“Well, I guess that couldn't have gone any worse,” he stated, looking so sincere she found herself, for a moment, rendered speechless.
Then the Weasley temper, which was intensified with the fuel of the remaining caffeine, kicked in. “You have no idea,” she spat, jerking her arm away, “do you?” She sniffed and grudgingly accepted the handkerchief he seemed to have summoned out of thin air.
“Well, a week ago you were dumped at your wedding and now your best friend and dear brother dump the news of their wedding,” he said gravely, offering a sympathetic grin. “And then that clueless oaf,” he started again, rolling his eyes in the direction of the coffee shop and said oaf, “with the emotional capacity of a flobberworm so wisely chose to bring up the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Fear-Commitment.” He took a deep breath. And I take it that probably didn't help the situation any further." With an air of finality he continued. "...So I guess I do have at least the tiniest bit of an idea of what you’re going through, eh?” Damn that charming smile of his, she mentally cursed before reluctantly relenting to it.
“So you know what I’m going through,” she amended, blowing her nose loudly, which caused him to wince slightly and wrinkle his perfect nose in disgust. “But have you ever been so disappointed—no!—have you ever not gotten what you’ve wanted in your life?!” She narrowed her red, swollen eyes at him.
“Of course I don't always get what I want,” he scoffed, then added hastily, as if rethinking his answer, “but I know that what I want more than anything right now is to help you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed again in skepticism. “Alright, Malfoy,” she began disbelievingly. “What are you up to?”
He gasped as if in shock and pretended to look hurt. “Me?” he sputtered. “Up to something?” he asked, as if the idea would never in his wildest imaginings have occurred to him. “I only want to be your friend, Virginia.”
“Ginevra,” she corrected, handing him the snotty handkerchief, and he sniffed disgustedly before vanishing the horrid, soggy thing with his wand. Then he pulled a new, clean handkerchief out and wiped his hand. “You don’t need to play games with me. I already know what you want, so let’s just cut to the chase.” He arched a pale, blonde eyebrow and looked for a moment as if he found her highly amusing before managing to appear composed and serious, which was even worse, since he had such gorgeous, gray eyes and at the moment they seemed so open and sincere...She snorted in disdain. Get ahold of your thoughts, Ginevra, she commanded herself. Time to switch to offense.
“You’re somehow going to try and use me to get to Harry,” she accused, jabbing him hard in the chest with her finger. Then she crossed her arms and stuck her chin out as if daring him to contradict her, sending his trademark smirk right back at him.
Now he really did seem amused. “So you caught me,” he drawled, taking a step closer to her. She drew in a sharp breath. It really wasn't fair that he should be so evil and sinister and yet so tragically good-looking. “You saw through to my motives,” he admitted,
leaning in so that his face was barely millimeters away from her own, his words just breezing across her lips so that she trembled slightly. “So now the question is," he began, closing his eyes so that his unbelievably pale lashes gently brushed hers, "what do you want to do about it?”
She blinked, for a moment dazed and confused, intoxicated by the closeness of his presence. She opened her mouth to make some sarcastic, rude remark, but suddenly his mouth closed the remaining distance between them and collided with hers, and his arms encircled her to wrap her in a passionate kiss. Her mind went numb and in a total out-of-body experience she saw herself from a distance bring her own arms up to sift through his silky, blonde locks, her slender fingers tossing through his white-blonde hair as the kiss deepened and intensified.
She also noted with horror that out of nowhere had come a sea of reporters, and they circled around the pair, their shutters clicking away with a sudden speed and intensity as they rushed to capture the scandal of the century.
It seemed to occur to her in that moment that nothing good ever came from a situation whenever a Malfoy was involved.
SPECIAL EDITION DAILY PROPHET RE-PRINT! : POTTER’S ABANDONED BRIDE—WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY THE MOUSE WILL PLAY!
Mrs. Weasley slapped the paper down, turning it so that the headline, beneath which there was a moving photo of Ginny and Draco snogging madly on some street corner, was facing Ginny across the dining room table. Ginny’s eyes were almost bugging out of her head as she bent over the photograph to better examine it, her hair falling in front of her face so that her expression was impossible to read. Draco had somehow managed to pull her ponytail loose--whether with his fingers or by magic she was uncertain--during the kiss that was undoubtedly on the cover of every major wizarding newspaper and magazine in Britain. Ginny gulped.
“Mind explaining this to me, dear?” her Mum asked in a sickly sweet voice that was laced with poison as she cleared away the empty soup bowl and spoon, and, to Ginny's dismay, the warm, fleecy half-eaten roll she had been about to finish. Mrs. Weasley's eyes radiated the worry and disappointment she had felt since Errol had arrived clutching the latest edition of the Daily Prophet with her own daughter on the cover—again—in the arms of none other than Draco Malfoy, less than a week after her (sort-of-)wedding.
“Um, actually, I have to run…” Ginny quickly bypassed her father as he entered the room and spotted the picture, and headed for the fireplace to quickly Floo back to her apartment.
“Ginevra,” she heard her father begin, a note of warning in his voice. She sighed resignedly and marched back into the dining room before lowering herself back into her chair.
“Ginny, that wouldn’t be Lucius’ son?” he asked in a strangled sort of voice as he began to closely examine the photo.
“You mean as in Lucius Malfoy?” Ginny asked sweetly, stalling for time, as she artfully avoided meeting her father’s gaze.
“Yes, of course,” he hastily agreed, his voice dangerously low as the hand of the man in the picture drew closer and closer to his daughter’s bum. His face began to redden considerably with rage and the corner of his mouth twitched dangerously.
“Then…I guess that’s a...‘yes’,” Ginny said, the last word an almost inaudible squeak, and she winced slightly as her father growled, his mouth twisting into a disapproving frown. Her mother put an arm around him and squeezed his shoulder soothingly.
“We’re not mad, Ginny. It’s just that—“ She began, but Mr. Weasley had thrown up his arms in outrage.
“Not mad!! Oh, of course we’re not mad our only daughter was caught in the arms of none other than Lucius’ son, a bloody Malfoy for Merlin’s sake!" he cried, flailing his arms madly about his balding head to emphasize his point. He kicked a leg of the table and then grimaced in pain as he hopped on the other foot. "Mad? MAD?!" He leaned against the wall and tenderly rubbed his sore toe." Don’t be absurd, why would I ever get mad about it?!” He was full out roaring as he rose to pace around the room, his face growing an even deeper shade of red with each word he spoke.
“No, we’re not,” Mrs. Weasley agreed sternly, narrowing her eyes at her husband, who then sighed and crossed his arms over his scruffy, green sweater, looking deflated but still quite upset. “We’re just worried, Gin,” she said to Ginny, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s been only a week and you’re still not quite healed. And it’s going to take time before you’re ready to get out there completely again.” She smiled sadly.
But Ginny surprised herself by rising angrily from the table. “It’s been long enough and I’m not just some fragile, helpless, old-fashioned maiden! I can take care of myself! And if Harry can choose to check out of our relationship in search of greener pastures, well, so can I!” The words came pouring like the biblical flood from her mouth and for some reason the talk of maidens and pastures made her think of fluffy sheep as well. Words that made little or no sense and were spoken merely out of spite, some juvenile impulse to prove her parents wrong, were crawling up her throat like an angry swarm of insects. That was when she surprised herself by inventing a little white lie just to spite everyone who’d trampled her nerves on this tragically epic day.
“In fact, it just so happens that Draco and I are dating!” she announced, and a beautiful, stunned silence filled the room. Her parents’ mouths had fallen open in shock, her father’s face went from crimson to deathly pale.
Okay, so maybe the lie wasn’t so little. Ginny got the feeling she had just set into motion a disastrous chain of events that could only end in either complete misery or very big trouble…
Draco entered the Hog's Head wearing a light green shirt and a light, casual gray jacket over it. Faded blue jeans, almost to the point of being white, fit snugly against his hips and once again he was wearing his signature Doc Martins. His eyes soon adjusted to the dim lighting in the pub and he quickly glanced around for signs of anyone who might recognize him. Thankfully, the place was mostly empty. He sat down at a table with a heavily veiled stranger and ordered a small Firewhiskey. Then he turned to the stranger and smirked.
“Hello, Weasley. You sounded pretty eager to see me over the Floo,” he drawled sarcastically.
“Shhh,” she whispered from beneath the veil. “I don’t want anyone I know to recognize us together.” Not yet, anyway…”I don’t want to make the front page for the third time this week.”
“Don’t want to be seen with me? I’m deeply hurt,Weasel. Truly,” he stated blandly before taking a sip from the whiskey the waitress had placed in front of him. “Nice veil,” he remarked, and grinned as he took an even longer sip.
She pulled the veil off and gave him the full force of her glare. “Do you have a problem with getting to the point or something?” she asked, setting the veil down carefully beside her. Then she unfastened the cloak she wore and folded it neatly over her chair.
“I’m sensitive, Weasel,” he snapped, pretending to look hurt. “And you keep saying nasty things and wounding my proud, male ego.”
“Shut up and get to the point, Malfoy,” she sighed, stirring her own glass of iced tea.
“I’m not the one who called this meeting,” he observed, draining the last of his whiskey. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain why we’re here.” And he had the nerve to give her that damned sexy smirk again. Her glare intensified.
“Actually, I’m here because you made me an offer earlier today,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder before she folded her hands neatly on the table in front of her. “You agreed to help me piss off Harry.”
He merely nodded, giving her his full attention as he pushed the empty whiskey glass to the side and mirrored her sincerely professional manner by sitting up straight and overlapping her folded hands with his. She barely managed to conceal her distaste and drew her hands back to place them in her lap. Then she leaned in, copying his action from earlier that morning, so that her face was barely a breath away from his.
“Well I accept your offer. As of now,” she began, “we are officially dating.”
And she closed the remaining distance between them with a kiss to seal the deal.
“Do you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, take Harry James Potter to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health…” The vows were drowned out by the disarming sight of Harry, smiling warmly down at her, his eyes glowing with happiness, looking nothing short of dashing in a set of handsome new black-and-white dress robes. And he was hers…
“I do,” she answered breathlessly, beaming fondly up at Harry as Minister Shacklebolt himself nodded and handed her the ring, which she slipped onto Harry’s finger, marveling at its perfect fit. It was a simple, white gold band, but it symbolized for her the pure simplicity of their love. Or at least that was what the jeweler witch had assured her. It wasn’t exactly natural for Ginny to come up with something so sappy as that on her own.
“And do you, Harry James Potter, take Ginevra Molly Weasley to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish so long as you both shall live?” Lupin asked intently, peering over the old, leather bound book of vows he was holding to regard Harry with a patient smile. Ginny looked up at him, too, her brown eyes filled with utmost adoration and joy, willing him to gaze back down at her and to mirror her affections.
But Harry wasn’t looking at her. He was gazing down at the band on his ring finger as if it had suddenly turned into a menacing shackle and had sprouted chains. He glanced back and forth from the ring to Lupin, whose expression was clouding over with what was unmistakably doubt. Harry looked for all the world frightened out of his mind, as if the full seriousness and finality of what he was about to do was only just setting in.
“I…I…” He stammered, looking tongue-tied, confused, and very lost. His dazzling smile had vanished and now he just looked like a scared, little puppy. Ginny’s eyes bugged out of her head. She gave him a meaningful look that urged him to say ‘I do’ and get it over with, but he missed it completely and turned to stare out at their audience in the many white garden chairs. More than half of Britain had shown up, it seemed, to see the Boy-Who-Lived finally hitched to his sweetheart, Ginny Weasley, and they hadn’t been let down by the glorious scene of their outdoor springtime wedding. Flowers bloomed and dripped from every surface and covered everything in their bright hues and intoxicating, captivating fragrances. Ginny’s own bouquet was a simple arrangement of white lilies, and tiny, white rosebuds had been woven into the elegant twist she wore beneath her veil.
Ginny fought back the panic that was threatening to break her patience. “Say ‘I do’, Harry,” she hissed under her breath, straining to reach him through the veil (hey, pun!) of uncertainty that was beginning to choke him and still appear fairly pleasant and unheard by the rest of the crowd. “Say it, dammit,” she finally snapped just loudly enough to cause Lupin to arch an eyebrow in surprise. Ron, who she could see just over Harry’s shoulder, was beginning to look anxious. She could hear Hermione coughing lightly behind her.
“Vat is going on now?” she heard Fleur complain, and heard the sound of Fleur give a small shriek as Hermione accidentally ground her heel into Fleur's toe. If Ginny hadn’t been suffering what was beginning to be one of the most humiliating moments of her life on what should have been the happiest day of her life, she might have turned to thank Hermione, but at the moment a drop of sweat had rolled off the tip of Harry’s nose to land softly in Ginny’s bouquet of lilies.
There was a surreal moment of complete silence in which everything seemed to freeze and then begin again in exaggeratedly slow motion, before Harry suddenly turned to bolt from the altar, sprinting madly back towards the Burrow, where the private reception was due to be held for family members and close friends of the bride and groom. There was a slam as the kitchen door shut behind him.
“Harry!” Ginny shrieked after him, tossing her bouquet into the air as she prepared to pursue him, but the crowd of paparazzi who had gathered to record the momentous occasion began to swarm around her. She turned to shout for help but was shocked to discover that everyone was scrambling not after her but for the stupid bouquet. Hermione caught it, and blushed sheepishly as her eyes met Ron’s through the crowd of people. At any other moment in her life, this would have made Ginny hopeful, but right now it grated on her every nerve.
Surrendering to the sea of obnoxious, camera-wielding hornets, she let them all wash over her until her beloved wedding dress, which had been her Mum’s, was trampled in the mad rush. Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as she heard the delicate ivory fabric make an all-too-severe ripping noise above the buzz of chatter and cameras flashing. Blinded by the flashes going off around her, her eyes teared up, her throat burned, and she realized that Harry had abandoned her yet again at the most inconvenient, unbefitting time.
She threw her head back and yelled so loudly it almost shook the very ground she stood on.
“SHIT!”
Beep! Hey, Ginny…It’s Hermione. Are you alright? Haven’t seen you in a week since…erm—Do you think we could meet up this morning for coffee or something? We could go to that cute, little coffee shop you like, the one that’s on your way to work…I really need to tell you something important. Please try to come…See you soon…Beep!
Beep! Hey, Gin. S’Ron. Erm…you okay? Sorry I didn’t call sooner—had to track down Harry first. He sort of took off after…Yeah. Well, I promised I’d meet up with Hermione. Call me if you need anything, and be sure to call Mum and Dad, ‘cause Mum’s been pestering us all and Dad won’t get off my back about being a poor excuse for a big brother or something like that…and because they’re really worried. Well, um…bye. Beep!
Beep! It’s Mum, dear. Please call me back. We’re all worried about you and you haven’t returned any of our calls. I hope you’re well. We all get our hearts broken sometime, dearest, and you can’t exactly blame Harry for backing out so suddenly. I’m sure he loves you more than anything, but—really—he never really knows just what he wants. And you were only his second girlfriend, remember, and I guess the pressure only just got to him when he saw you up on that altar. I suppose it was all just too much for him, poor dear…Well, try to drop by the Burrow sometime for lunch. How about this afternoon? Take care. Love, Mum—oh, and Da sends his love, too!…Yes, Arthur, you can say something too…It’s a telephone, dear. Okay, Here’s your father: ‘Ello, Gin-bug. Cheer up, sweetheart. Harry was lucky you ever gave him the time of day. Stop by around noon and Mum’ll try to have all of your favorite things to eat ready. See you then, dear. Beep!
Beep! --And you might consider spending your last week of vacation here at the Burrow! It’ll do you good to be around your family just now instead of cooped up, alone at your flat. Just consider it! Arthur! Of course it’s what she needs! No, I don’t care if she’s grown up…Oh, Arthur!—Ginny, see you around noon then, and don’t worry about making up your mind until then, eh? Love, Mum. Beep!
Beep! Gin…It’s me…I hope you’re not still mad with me, but I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into until…well, until I realized what I was getting myself into. It wasn’t you, it was me. Gin, please pick up the phone…Gin. Ginny. Please?…Fine. I’ll call back later sometime. Beep!
“No more new Floo messages. To replay messages—“
With a quick flick of her wand the flames in the grate were suddenly extinguished. Ginny crawled out of bed, stumbling through the piles of dirty laundry, empty cartons of ice-cream, and a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey, all of which had been slowly piling up over the last week on her bedroom floor. Sunlight fought to get through the edges of the tightly closed blinds and once she pried her eyes apart she quickly shut them again to the harsh intensity of the light. She entered the bathroom at roughly a snail's pace and nearly screamed in horror at the state of her hair, which was a tangled mess nested in a precariously piled heap atop her head.
She made her way over to the shower and turned the knob, releasing a steamy jet of drizzle. She stepped out of her pajamas that were beginning to smell slightly and had several sticky, dark stains on them--procured, she guessed, from the chocolates and ice-cream she’d been living off of for the past week--and stepped into the cleansing rain of the shower head.
After fifteen minutes of revitalizing shampooing and scrubbing, she emerged smelling of peppermint, her hair combed into a neat, wavy curtain of shoulder length red hair. She took a deep, refreshing breath and smiled wanly. Her skin had been so thoroughly scrubbed that it was now pink and she was still tingling from scalp to toe from the crisp, refreshing peppermint oil. She wrapped a towel around herself and made her way over to the vanity to comb her hair and brush it quickly back into a ponytail. Then she made her way through the mess of her bedroom again, navigating around the mess to work her way over to her closet, where she selected a dark blue shirt with three-quarter length sleeves and a pair of snug, comfortable pair jeans with a pair of practical brown flats. She wouldn’t even bother with her Ministry regulation robes today, as she wasn’t planning on returning to work until she had used every last second of her vacation time, the time she might have spent on a secluded beach somewhere on her honeymoon.
She dug through her drawers for underwear and then went back into the bathroom to change. She emerged from the bathroom looking fresh and casual and decidedly normal; not at all as if the one person she’d loved unflinchingly for fifteen years had dumped her at the altar less than a week ago. She was twenty-five and already the stupid prat had managed to break her heart no less than three times, beginning in her fifth year when he’d dumped her at a funeral for Merlin’s sake, supposedly for her own good.
”And I almost married that conceited, self-centered ass!” she seethed aloud to herself as she reached for her bag and slid it up her arm to rest on her shoulder. She tucked her wand into the front compartment, snatched up her house-keys, and exited her tiny flat trying to keep from exploding with the sudden wave of bitter, angry emotions she was feeling towards a certain Scar-faced hero.
“You showed up!” Hermione cried, surprised, encircling the red-head in a bone-crushing hug that smothered her almost to the point of suffocation. Really, it almost made her nostalgic for her own mother’s hugs. Almost.
“Oh, we were so worried about you,” Hermione gushed, almost to the point of tears, looking so relieved and ecstatic Ginny couldn’t help but smile herself. Then she noticed the ‘we’ Hermione had been referring to occupying the other side of the booth. Nestled against the window, one arm slung casually over his seat while the other rested on the table-top, light illuminating his violently red hair, Ron smiled and gave a small wave but wisely chose to remain in his seat, eating one of several apple Danishes piled high on a napkin before him. Ginny rolled her eyes at him as he bit into a loaded Danish and the filling promptly exploded onto his face.
“I’m fine now,” she affirmed, pulling away from Hermione to take a seat. Hermione grinned and sat down beside Ron, who was attempting in vain to wipe the apple from his eyes. Finally the bushy-haired brunette sighed and rolled her own brown eyes before vanishing the mess from his face with a flick of her wand. She chuckled lightly as his eyebrows rose in amazement and he grinned at her, thankful and considerably impressed as well as totally embarrassed. His ears began to color madly.
“I’ve got to go get some coffee,” Ginny said hastily, attempting to slide away before she had to witness a mushy moment from the sappy, love-story-like drama that was Hermione and Ronald. Hermione nodded absently before Ron pulled her into a passionate kiss and they both began snogging as if for dear life in the front window of the cozy coffee shop.
Ginny sighed. “You ordered a caramel frappe with a shot of espresso, right?” the girl behind the counter asked, tapping a few keys on the register.
Glancing back at the snogging scene behind her, Ginny felt her insides crawl. “Make that a double shot of espresso, please,” she grumbled, shaking her head slightly as if to will the disturbing images now congesting her mind to just magically disappear.
“Coffee, black. A medium,” came a suave, commanding tone from just over her shoulder. She sheepishly realized she had been leaning against the counter for more than a full minute now while the line of impatient customers grew behind her. “With a travel lid,” the man added, and she could guess without looking behind her that he had noticed Hermione and Ron practically eating each other’s faces off.
Her face flushed a deep crimson and she moved over to where the straws and napkins were in order to be as far away from the crazy couple as possible. To her utter horror she heard Hermione begin to giggle as Ron nibbled away at her ear. When the server announced that her order was ready she hurriedly snatched it up and proceeded to gather a straw and napkin as quickly as possible in order to make a hasty escape.
“Excuse me,” came the handsome voice again, and she realized that yet again she had become the obstacle in the way of the customers and their orders. Or, at least, the customers and the napkin-and-straw bar. She backed away quickly, but stopped suddenly as she noticed a rack of newspapers with her photo on them. The Daily Prophet’s front page contained a large, moving photograph of Harry dashing from the altar and her, standing there alone, looking horrified and deeply perplexed. It wasn't a very flattering look for her at all.
“It seems ‘unphotogenic’ would be the understatement of the century,” she heard the stranger drawl, reading her thoughts exactly, and she angrily wheeled around to give a piece of her mind to whoever it was who felt they had the right to grill her nerves to hell before she had even gotten properly caffeinated.
That is, until the suave stranger, upon recognition, turned out not to be a stranger at all, and she quickly turned back around and tried to flee. She still wasn't awake enough to sit awkwardly through Hermione and Ron's impassioned make-out session, and a curious sensation had seemed to creep up her legs and through her body the moment she recognized Malfoy, hindering any possible movement. She had simply gone numb, and now the only means of escape would be either getting him to leave or the rare miracle of Hermione and Ron coming up for air sometime this century. For now she could only try to avoid eye contact and keep from saying anything remotely stupid.
Cross that. She wasn't even going to attempt to say anything at all.
“Nice to see you, too, Weaslette,” Draco Malfoy remarked casually, smirking that profoundly annoying little smirk of his that somehow, on his older and more mature face, just managed to look sexy instead of menacing and sinister. He was wearing a soft, gray polo shirt that seemed to fit his toned upper torso quite nicely and a pair of casual, deep green slacks that ended in a pair of his uniform black Doc Martins—Of all things! she remarked silently while mentally rolling her eyes. His white-blonde hair, as usual, was slicked back against his scalp, his gray eyes gleaming with mischief beneath light, slightly arched brows as he took a moment to look her over. "It certainly has been a while," he grinned, never once glancing away from her as he sipped his black coffee. She blanched, staring down into her frappe as if it had suddenly occurred to her that the meaning of life was floating somewhere among the ice cubes. She took a breath and dared the impossible: speech.
“’Unphotogenic’ is not a word,” was all she could manage to choke out, and prepared to leave before he could laugh and ridicule her or worse, continue to look unbelievably sexy and tempting—which defied all logic and reason, as far as Ginny was concerned—but Hermione and Ron had just looked up from their canoodling to hinder her exit. Figures now would be the time, she thought, wincing, as Hermione turned to spot her but somehow missed the very amused-looking Malfoy screwing the plastic lid onto his cup. Ginny inched over to where the rather disheveled-looking pair sat glancing eagerly at her, Hermione beckoning her and looking slightly apologetic for having gotten so distracted.
“Ginny, wait! We haven’t gotten a chance to tell you something important,” Hermione said breathlessly, straightening her outfit while Ron took the sudden opportunity to shove another Danish into his mouth. Ginny sat, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Malfoy snatch up a copy of the Prophet as he sat the coffee cup down, and snigger to himself as he thumbed through the pages to locate the story on her disaster of a wedding. Perfect.
“Ginny, we wanted to tell you as soon as it happened, but we decided to wait until the last possible moment…” There were actual tears welling up in Hermione’s eyes.
She had become a total mess of unrestrained emotion since she’d started dating Ron. It was as if some hopeless romantic had suddenly abducted her soul and inhabited her body—Ginny mentally smacked herself. She was beginning to sound like Luna. She sat up and offered her full attention.
“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione began, smiling so hard it seemed her face might just split down the middle. “Ron proposed!” Ginny froze. “We’re getting married!” Ginny’s jaw fell onto the table and then into her lap. “And we don’t want to wait any longer! Most of your family is still here! We’re getting married at the Burrow next weekend, during your vacation time, so you can spend the week helping my mum and I plan and get ready!” Ginny’s jaw fell from her lap onto the floor, and her eyes bugged out of her head as Ron smiled to confirm that what Hermione said was true before swallowing his mouthful of Danish and kissing Hermione sloppily on the cheek.
"I guess you could say what happened with you and Harry wasn't all that bad, since it helped 'Mione and I decide to take the big plunge," Ron added blatantly, attracting a few stares from a few of the customers.
Ginny didn't dare attempt a glance in Malfoy's direction. She could feel his eyes resting on her, could sense the sinister smirk working its way across his face. Hermione turned and gave Ron a stern look that buttoned his lips instantly. Ginny prayed that the ground might open and swallow her half of the booth whole.
“So what do you think?” Hermione whispered enthusiastically, suddenly conscious of the attention they were attracting as she leaned across the table to take Ginny's hand in her own. Ron was staring expectantly at her, too, his arm draped around Hermione's shoulder as they regarded her with the same pleading, hopeful expression.
Ginny responded by downing her frappe, for which she was rewarded with a head-splitting brain freeze, and yanking her purse off of the table before bolting from the restaurant with all the force and energy of the double shot of espresso that was now burning through her system.
She blindly turned a corner and felt someone roughly grab her arm. Fearing it was Hermione or Ron, she turned to plead with them to let her go, surprised to find that it was hard to speak through the sudden flurry of tears and raw emotion that was clawing its way up her throat.
But it wasn’t Hermione or Ron, who she’d left behind, puzzled and very much crestfallen in the tiny coffee shop. It was Draco Malfoy, who might have actually looked concerned had she not known any better.
“Well, I guess that couldn't have gone any worse,” he stated, looking so sincere she found herself, for a moment, rendered speechless.
Then the Weasley temper, which was intensified with the fuel of the remaining caffeine, kicked in. “You have no idea,” she spat, jerking her arm away, “do you?” She sniffed and grudgingly accepted the handkerchief he seemed to have summoned out of thin air.
“Well, a week ago you were dumped at your wedding and now your best friend and dear brother dump the news of their wedding,” he said gravely, offering a sympathetic grin. “And then that clueless oaf,” he started again, rolling his eyes in the direction of the coffee shop and said oaf, “with the emotional capacity of a flobberworm so wisely chose to bring up the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Fear-Commitment.” He took a deep breath. And I take it that probably didn't help the situation any further." With an air of finality he continued. "...So I guess I do have at least the tiniest bit of an idea of what you’re going through, eh?” Damn that charming smile of his, she mentally cursed before reluctantly relenting to it.
“So you know what I’m going through,” she amended, blowing her nose loudly, which caused him to wince slightly and wrinkle his perfect nose in disgust. “But have you ever been so disappointed—no!—have you ever not gotten what you’ve wanted in your life?!” She narrowed her red, swollen eyes at him.
“Of course I don't always get what I want,” he scoffed, then added hastily, as if rethinking his answer, “but I know that what I want more than anything right now is to help you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed again in skepticism. “Alright, Malfoy,” she began disbelievingly. “What are you up to?”
He gasped as if in shock and pretended to look hurt. “Me?” he sputtered. “Up to something?” he asked, as if the idea would never in his wildest imaginings have occurred to him. “I only want to be your friend, Virginia.”
“Ginevra,” she corrected, handing him the snotty handkerchief, and he sniffed disgustedly before vanishing the horrid, soggy thing with his wand. Then he pulled a new, clean handkerchief out and wiped his hand. “You don’t need to play games with me. I already know what you want, so let’s just cut to the chase.” He arched a pale, blonde eyebrow and looked for a moment as if he found her highly amusing before managing to appear composed and serious, which was even worse, since he had such gorgeous, gray eyes and at the moment they seemed so open and sincere...She snorted in disdain. Get ahold of your thoughts, Ginevra, she commanded herself. Time to switch to offense.
“You’re somehow going to try and use me to get to Harry,” she accused, jabbing him hard in the chest with her finger. Then she crossed her arms and stuck her chin out as if daring him to contradict her, sending his trademark smirk right back at him.
Now he really did seem amused. “So you caught me,” he drawled, taking a step closer to her. She drew in a sharp breath. It really wasn't fair that he should be so evil and sinister and yet so tragically good-looking. “You saw through to my motives,” he admitted,
leaning in so that his face was barely millimeters away from her own, his words just breezing across her lips so that she trembled slightly. “So now the question is," he began, closing his eyes so that his unbelievably pale lashes gently brushed hers, "what do you want to do about it?”
She blinked, for a moment dazed and confused, intoxicated by the closeness of his presence. She opened her mouth to make some sarcastic, rude remark, but suddenly his mouth closed the remaining distance between them and collided with hers, and his arms encircled her to wrap her in a passionate kiss. Her mind went numb and in a total out-of-body experience she saw herself from a distance bring her own arms up to sift through his silky, blonde locks, her slender fingers tossing through his white-blonde hair as the kiss deepened and intensified.
She also noted with horror that out of nowhere had come a sea of reporters, and they circled around the pair, their shutters clicking away with a sudden speed and intensity as they rushed to capture the scandal of the century.
It seemed to occur to her in that moment that nothing good ever came from a situation whenever a Malfoy was involved.
SPECIAL EDITION DAILY PROPHET RE-PRINT! : POTTER’S ABANDONED BRIDE—WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY THE MOUSE WILL PLAY!
Mrs. Weasley slapped the paper down, turning it so that the headline, beneath which there was a moving photo of Ginny and Draco snogging madly on some street corner, was facing Ginny across the dining room table. Ginny’s eyes were almost bugging out of her head as she bent over the photograph to better examine it, her hair falling in front of her face so that her expression was impossible to read. Draco had somehow managed to pull her ponytail loose--whether with his fingers or by magic she was uncertain--during the kiss that was undoubtedly on the cover of every major wizarding newspaper and magazine in Britain. Ginny gulped.
“Mind explaining this to me, dear?” her Mum asked in a sickly sweet voice that was laced with poison as she cleared away the empty soup bowl and spoon, and, to Ginny's dismay, the warm, fleecy half-eaten roll she had been about to finish. Mrs. Weasley's eyes radiated the worry and disappointment she had felt since Errol had arrived clutching the latest edition of the Daily Prophet with her own daughter on the cover—again—in the arms of none other than Draco Malfoy, less than a week after her (sort-of-)wedding.
“Um, actually, I have to run…” Ginny quickly bypassed her father as he entered the room and spotted the picture, and headed for the fireplace to quickly Floo back to her apartment.
“Ginevra,” she heard her father begin, a note of warning in his voice. She sighed resignedly and marched back into the dining room before lowering herself back into her chair.
“Ginny, that wouldn’t be Lucius’ son?” he asked in a strangled sort of voice as he began to closely examine the photo.
“You mean as in Lucius Malfoy?” Ginny asked sweetly, stalling for time, as she artfully avoided meeting her father’s gaze.
“Yes, of course,” he hastily agreed, his voice dangerously low as the hand of the man in the picture drew closer and closer to his daughter’s bum. His face began to redden considerably with rage and the corner of his mouth twitched dangerously.
“Then…I guess that’s a...‘yes’,” Ginny said, the last word an almost inaudible squeak, and she winced slightly as her father growled, his mouth twisting into a disapproving frown. Her mother put an arm around him and squeezed his shoulder soothingly.
“We’re not mad, Ginny. It’s just that—“ She began, but Mr. Weasley had thrown up his arms in outrage.
“Not mad!! Oh, of course we’re not mad our only daughter was caught in the arms of none other than Lucius’ son, a bloody Malfoy for Merlin’s sake!" he cried, flailing his arms madly about his balding head to emphasize his point. He kicked a leg of the table and then grimaced in pain as he hopped on the other foot. "Mad? MAD?!" He leaned against the wall and tenderly rubbed his sore toe." Don’t be absurd, why would I ever get mad about it?!” He was full out roaring as he rose to pace around the room, his face growing an even deeper shade of red with each word he spoke.
“No, we’re not,” Mrs. Weasley agreed sternly, narrowing her eyes at her husband, who then sighed and crossed his arms over his scruffy, green sweater, looking deflated but still quite upset. “We’re just worried, Gin,” she said to Ginny, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s been only a week and you’re still not quite healed. And it’s going to take time before you’re ready to get out there completely again.” She smiled sadly.
But Ginny surprised herself by rising angrily from the table. “It’s been long enough and I’m not just some fragile, helpless, old-fashioned maiden! I can take care of myself! And if Harry can choose to check out of our relationship in search of greener pastures, well, so can I!” The words came pouring like the biblical flood from her mouth and for some reason the talk of maidens and pastures made her think of fluffy sheep as well. Words that made little or no sense and were spoken merely out of spite, some juvenile impulse to prove her parents wrong, were crawling up her throat like an angry swarm of insects. That was when she surprised herself by inventing a little white lie just to spite everyone who’d trampled her nerves on this tragically epic day.
“In fact, it just so happens that Draco and I are dating!” she announced, and a beautiful, stunned silence filled the room. Her parents’ mouths had fallen open in shock, her father’s face went from crimson to deathly pale.
Okay, so maybe the lie wasn’t so little. Ginny got the feeling she had just set into motion a disastrous chain of events that could only end in either complete misery or very big trouble…
Draco entered the Hog's Head wearing a light green shirt and a light, casual gray jacket over it. Faded blue jeans, almost to the point of being white, fit snugly against his hips and once again he was wearing his signature Doc Martins. His eyes soon adjusted to the dim lighting in the pub and he quickly glanced around for signs of anyone who might recognize him. Thankfully, the place was mostly empty. He sat down at a table with a heavily veiled stranger and ordered a small Firewhiskey. Then he turned to the stranger and smirked.
“Hello, Weasley. You sounded pretty eager to see me over the Floo,” he drawled sarcastically.
“Shhh,” she whispered from beneath the veil. “I don’t want anyone I know to recognize us together.” Not yet, anyway…”I don’t want to make the front page for the third time this week.”
“Don’t want to be seen with me? I’m deeply hurt,Weasel. Truly,” he stated blandly before taking a sip from the whiskey the waitress had placed in front of him. “Nice veil,” he remarked, and grinned as he took an even longer sip.
She pulled the veil off and gave him the full force of her glare. “Do you have a problem with getting to the point or something?” she asked, setting the veil down carefully beside her. Then she unfastened the cloak she wore and folded it neatly over her chair.
“I’m sensitive, Weasel,” he snapped, pretending to look hurt. “And you keep saying nasty things and wounding my proud, male ego.”
“Shut up and get to the point, Malfoy,” she sighed, stirring her own glass of iced tea.
“I’m not the one who called this meeting,” he observed, draining the last of his whiskey. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain why we’re here.” And he had the nerve to give her that damned sexy smirk again. Her glare intensified.
“Actually, I’m here because you made me an offer earlier today,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder before she folded her hands neatly on the table in front of her. “You agreed to help me piss off Harry.”
He merely nodded, giving her his full attention as he pushed the empty whiskey glass to the side and mirrored her sincerely professional manner by sitting up straight and overlapping her folded hands with his. She barely managed to conceal her distaste and drew her hands back to place them in her lap. Then she leaned in, copying his action from earlier that morning, so that her face was barely a breath away from his.
“Well I accept your offer. As of now,” she began, “we are officially dating.”
And she closed the remaining distance between them with a kiss to seal the deal.
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