The Twelve Days After Christmas

“What is that?”

Draco Malfoy stopped in the doorway, horrified. Peggy Middleton giggled from somewhere to his left, but Draco’s eyes never strayed from the monstrosity taking up most of the space near the reception desk of the Daily Prophet’s Quidditch department, blocking access to his cubicle.

“It’s a tree, Malfoy,” Ginny Weasley said dryly. “You know, the tall leafy things that grow in the forest?”

“I can see that it is a tree,” Draco said scathingly. It was a potted pear tree, in fact, with a partridge sitting precariously on one of the upper branches. “This, however, is not a forest, so what is it doing in the middle of the office?”

Peggy giggled again and said, “It’s Ginny’s. Harry Potter sent it! He is her true love, after all.” She sighed, a soppy grin on her face.

Draco groaned, and did a quick calculation in his head. Sure enough, it was twelve days before Christmas. “Don’t tell me the whole office is going to be subjected to gifts for every line of that stupid song!”

“Oh I hope so!” Peggy said, with another giggle.

The partridge cawed.

“And what about you, Weasley?” Draco asked, turning to look the redhead in the eye. “I suppose you think it’s romantic too, don’t you?”

“It is romantic!” Ginny answered fiercely.

“We’ll see if you think it’s so romantic when you have…,” Draco paused to mime counting on his fingers, “…twenty-three birds to care for, not to mention the maids a-milking and whatnot.” Draco shuddered at the idea; Potter had never been very good about thinking things through.

“Don’t be such a Scrooge, Malfoy!” Ginny said.

“I’m just being realistic,” Draco said with a shrug. He could see Ginny’s ears turning red, her eyes flashing, and her hands clenched in fists at her side. Making her angry was one of his favorite parts of his job, besides the Quidditch, of course. “There’s no way this is going to end well. Especially considering that there’s only one reason for a man to make such a grand gesture.”

Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Draco smiled to himself. She was trying to calm herself, trying not to give in to her curiosity, but it was only a matter of time before she caved. Sure enough, less than a minute later, Ginny opened her eyes and sighed. “And what would that reason be, Malfoy?”

“Why, he’s hiding something, of course!”

“That’s ridiculous!” Ginny said, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. “Harry doesn’t have anything to hide!”

“I bet he’s planning to propose!” Peggy said happily, apparently oblivious to the tension between her two colleagues. “On Christmas Eve! And maybe one of the drummers could carry the ring. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” She sighed dreamily.

“Peggy’s right,” Ginny snapped. “Harry’s much more likely to propose than to be hiding something terrible.”

Draco grinned and raised his hands in mock supplication. “You’re right,” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “What was I thinking? Potter is perfect, of course, and it’s me who’s always been too dense to see it. He certainly couldn’t be up to no good! No, not Potter!”

“That’s right,” Ginny said, turning on her heel. “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses, Malfoy!” Her exit was ruined, however, because she had to press herself against the wall to get past the tree.

“By the way,” Draco called after her, “you might want to move the poor partridge from that branch. It looks absolutely terrified. They nest on the ground, you know!”

Ginny made an obscene gesture with her hand, but rescued the partridge nonetheless.

Draco followed behind, whistling “The Twelve Days After Christmas”. He usually hated that particular carol, but he hadn’t had so much fun in ages, and thus he had gained a new appreciation for it that afternoon. He was in such a good mood that he barely even swore when his robes caught on one of the tree branches.

***

Over the next twelve days, the whole office was atwitter about the gifts Ginny received. If Potter had intended for Ginny to be the center of attention, he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Nobody could talk about anything else—before the daily gift arrived, everyone was caught up in anticipation, then afterwards, they discussed it in full detail. The five gold rings caused the biggest stir, as every woman on the Prophet staff had to examine all five in minute detail. And there had been great speculation about what Ginny might receive for the human gifts in the song. However could Harry give her eleven lords a-leaping? In the end, they turned out to be costumed dancers or musicians who performed then presented Ginny with a matching figurine as a momento. This led to a consensus among most of the staff that Potter was not only romantic, but clever too. It was sickening, really, Draco thought. But Ginny didn’t seem to think so. She grew visibly happier as the days passed. By Christmas Eve, she practically glowed.

Draco’s mood, in contrast, turned sour over the next twelve days. He wanted to taunt Ginny about her gifts again, but she hadn’t given him the opportunity. She had ignored him entirely, and resolutely refused to even look in his direction. She didn’t even spare him a glance when he got caught under the mistletoe with old Agnes Fairchild from accounting, who was a hundred years old if she was a day. It was maddening. He was used to being able to push Ginny’s buttons whenever he liked, but apparently he had gone too far this time.

Things turned from bad to miserable when Draco drew the short straw and had to cover the Falcons-Prides game on Christmas Day in Portree. He had only had time for an early breakfast with his mother, who then had to spend the rest of the holiday alone. Not only that, but he had had to spend a cold, wet day outdoors, when he could have been nice and warm at home with her. And the match had gone on until nearly one o’clock in the morning. By the time Draco made it back to the office to write his story, which had to be done by four o’clock to be included in that morning’s paper, Draco was in a foul mood. He wrote the shortest, tersest article of his life, and turned it in just before the deadline. Then, too tired to Apparate safely, Draco fell asleep in his chair, his face plastered to his desk.

***

Draco awoke a few hours later to the smell of smoke. Despite his lack of sleep, he was immediately alert, wand drawn, and on his way to find what was burning. The smell grew stronger as he moved towards the central part of the office. He turned a corner and stopped abruptly. As it had been less than two weeks earlier, Draco’s attention was drawn to the pear tree standing near the reception desk, and once again, Ginny Weasley was standing next to it. But this morning, her hair gleamed in the light of the flames streaming from the end of her wand, which were methodically burning the branches to ash.

“Weasley!” Draco said. “What are you doing?”

Ginny turned toward Draco, her wand still blazing, and her eyes bright with anger. “Take one step closer, and I’ll hex your bits into oblivion!”

Draco’s Aguamenti charm died on his lips as he froze. He had no doubt she meant every word she said. In a mostly calm voice, he asked, “What’s going on?”

“I’m burning this blasted tree, that’s what’s going on,” Ginny said angrily. “And when I find that stupid partridge, he’s next!”

The last time Draco had seen Ginny, she had been feeding the partridge crumbs out of her hand. Her attitude had changed dramatically. “Wait,” he said. “What did Potter do?”

At his question, all of the anger seemed to seep out of Ginny. She turned away from Draco, but from the way her shoulders were shaking, he knew she must be crying.

“What is it?” Draco asked quietly, daring to take a few steps closer.

“Please,” Ginny said, her voice shaky, “please just don’t say, ‘I told you so’.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll… I’ll make your life miserable if you do,” she added, but there was no strength behind her threat this time.

Draco’s mind was still fuzzy, but he managed to put the pieces together anyway. She didn’t want him to say ‘I told you so’, which meant that he had been right. And she was burning Potter’s tree, so that meant that Potter really had been hiding something. Merlin! Draco hadn’t meant it, not really—he had just been trying to make her angry. His heart wrenched in an unfamiliar way, and when he answered, his voice was much gentler than ever before. “What was he hiding?”

Ginny didn’t answer, only began crying in earnest. Draco reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What was it, Weasley?”

She turned to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Draco had never seen her so sad or so vulnerable. She looked away from him as she whispered, “Cho.”

“Cho?” Draco asked, trying to place the name. “Cho Chang?” He remembered her from Hogwarts—Ravenclaw Seeker and girlfriend to the stars. She was pretty enough, Draco allowed, but one of the most boring people he had ever met. Potter was stupider than he thought if he had given up Ginny for Cho Chang.

Ginny nodded. She looked back up at him again and took a deep breath. “He proposed yesterday, just like I thought he would,” Ginny said, her voice shaky. “I was so excited I could barely sleep, so I got up early and went out to buy every bridal magazine I could find. I went over to his flat to talk to him about the wedding plans, and he was still asleep—with her.”

Ginny started to sob, her face going all splotchy. Draco looked at her, and started to get angry. This wasn’t the Ginny he knew, the one who stood up to him every time he taunted her, who reveled in the fight. No, this was someone else entirely, someone he didn’t particularly like. “Snap out of it, Weasley!” he said rather harshly.

Her head snapped up to look at him incredulously, and for the moment at least, Ginny stopped crying. “You’re a bigger arse than I thought you were,” she said, sniffling.

“No, I’m exactly the same arse you thought I was,” Draco answered calmly. “But you really do need to stop the self-pity. It’s unattractive, and worse, it doesn’t help anything. You had the right idea to begin with. If Potter was idiot enough to cheat on you, he doesn’t deserve your tears. Don’t just sit here crying like a Hufflepuff. Get revenge. Throw his stupid gifts back in his face!”

Ginny stared at him blankly for a while, and for a moment, Draco thought she would start crying again, but then she smiled at him through her tears. “I guess that is more practical,” she said, wiping her face with her hands. She stood up and smoothed her wrinkled dress. She turned back to the pear tree, picked up her forgotten wand, and lit it once more. Looking back over her shoulder at Draco, she asked, “Would you like to help?”

Would he like to help put Potter in his place? There was only one proper answer to that question. Draco drew his wand and set the closest branch afire.

***

“No, don’t burn that one,” Draco said abruptly close to an hour later, when the pear tree was nearly gone. Before he stopped her, Ginny had been about to burn the last branch. She looked at him questioningly. “When you send Potter the ashes,” Draco explained, “you want to make sure he knows just where they came from.”

Ginny cocked her head, then removed the branch with a smile. “Hm,” she said. “I never would have thought of that. I guess having a Slytherin as a partner in my revenge really is a good idea.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Draco said, nodding sagely. “Every revenge plot needs a Slytherin to make it completely successful.”

“Have you got any other brilliant ideas?” Ginny asked as she began to help Draco burn the tree’s trunk.

“Loads,” Draco answered, “but most of them can wait. For the time being, I think that ring of yours would look lovely wrapped around the neck of that blasted partridge.”

Ginny grinned. “Yes, I can certainly see the appeal. Perhaps it would look even nicer if the partridge were clinging to the tree branch.”

“And lying on a bed of ashes, of course.”

“Of course,” Ginny agreed. “Why don’t you finish this while I go on a partridge hunt?”

“It would be my pleasure!” Draco said. And it was.

***

“What do you mean she’s not here? Where else would she be at eleven o’clock on a Thursday?” Draco could hear Harry Potter’s voice even from his cubicle. He stood and moved quickly towards reception, which was much easier now that the pear tree had been removed. As he turned the corner, he saw Harry, red-faced and with his hair even more mussed than usual, clutching the package Draco and Ginny had so carefully packed earlier that morning.

“Can I help you, Potter?” Draco asked in a bland voice. He nodded to the receptionist, who smiled gratefully at him and quickly escaped into the break room.

“That depends,” Harry said angrily. “I’m here to see Ginny Weasley, my fiancée, but that… that person says she isn’t here!”

“She isn’t here,” Draco answered evenly. “I believe she called in sick today.”

“Sick? I just saw her yesterday! How could she be sick?” Harry asked.

Draco merely raised his eyebrows in response. Harry turned about two shades darker red. Draco figured he understood the implication.

“So you really don’t know where she is?” Harry asked forlornly.

“I have no idea,” Draco lied. He knew exactly where Ginny was—crying on her mother’s shoulder. Draco had encouraged it, as a means of enlisting Molly Weasley’s help in their campaign for revenge.

“But I really need to know why she sent me this,” Harry said quietly, holding up the dead partridge.

“Perhaps you should check her flat,” Draco said, turning around to leave Harry standing alone in reception.

***

Ginny was scheduled to cover the Cannons-Wasps game the next day. Draco decided on the spur of the moment to interview the Wasps’ new Beater, so that he could be on the scene as well. They arrived earlier than was strictly necessary, when Chudley was still practicing on the pitch. There were already a good number of people in the stands—the fans always came out early to watch Harry Potter practice. And of course, Potter was happy to showboat for them, Draco thought uncharitably as Harry executed a particularly complicated roll.

Ginny pulled Draco into a secluded area near the base of the stands, where they could see the pitch, but it would be difficult for anyone on the pitch to see them. “Did you bring the potion?” she asked.

“Of course,” Draco said, pulling a small vial containing a vivid purple liquid from his pocket. “Do you have the hair?”

Ginny pulled a tiny bottle out of her pocket, and handed it to Draco. He opened both, and dropped the strand of Harry’s hair into the purple potion, causing it to froth for a moment before stilling once more. Meanwhile, Ginny had opened a small basket, revealing two turtle doves, who cooed softly at her.

“Is it ready?” Ginny asked.

“Yes,” Draco answered, “but be careful to use only two drops for each bird.”

“I know,” Ginny said, carefully feeding each of the birds two drops of potion from an eye dropper.

The change was immediate. Every muscle in the doves’ bodies tensed and then they took off as if on a mission. And in a way, they were. The doves made a bee-line for Harry, almost as if they were Bludgers charmed to attack only him. Except the doves were Bludgers with beaks and claws. They attacked him ruthlessly, causing him to fly as he had never flown before, diving and rolling in an attempt to dodge the birds. After a few minutes, Harry managed to land, and he used his arms to protect his head as the birds continued to attack.

Draco and Ginny were laughing so hard, they had to cling to each other in order to keep on their feet. They only stopped when some of Harry’s teammates managed to trap the vicious doves in conjured nets, but they couldn’t look directly at each other for fear of bursting into laughter once more. Once they composed themselves, they left to report on the game, which Wimbourne won by a margin of 310 to 90.

***

Over the weekend, Draco’s mind strayed continually to Ginny. He was secretly desperate to know how their plans against Harry had panned out, but he had no way to find out. Despite their cooperation over the past few days, they weren’t really friends. Indeed, until their recent truce, their relationship had consisted solely of antagonizing each other as often as they possibly could. Alas, antagonists do not casually Floo each other over the weekend. Draco had no choice but to wait until Monday to find out what had happened, and it was driving him absolutely mad. So on Monday morning, he arrived earlier than usual, hoping to corner Ginny as soon as she came in.

As it happened, Draco didn’t have to corner Ginny—she cornered him. He had just helped himself to a fresh cup of coffee when Ginny pulled him into her cubicle. “Oh, Malfoy!” she said excitedly. “It was wonderful!”

“Spill,” Draco said, settling himself in her spare chair.

“Well, you know Harry was pretty beat up after the match on Friday,” Ginny began. Draco nodded. “So my mum pretended to be worried about him, and on Saturday, she sent him a pot of chicken soup.”

Draco smirked. “Made from the three French hens, of course.”

“Of course!” Ginny said, grinning. “But it’s even better than that!”

“Better than having the chicken heads floating on top of the soup?” Draco asked. He was extremely proud of that idea.

“Even better than that,” Ginny confirmed. “Instead of the chicken heads, my mum added the business ends of several Puking Pastilles!”

“That’s brilliant!” Draco said, smiling broadly. He began to look at Molly Weasley in a new light, and vowed never to get on her bad side.

“After a few hours, she felt guilty, though, and sent him the other ends,” Ginny continued, “but I made sure to pack the chicken heads with them when she did.”

“Excellent,” Draco said. “That way he knows exactly what he was eating.” He paused. “And what about yesterday?”

“George and I spent all day Saturday with the four calling birds. We managed to teach one of them to say, ‘Sod off’, and a second to say, ‘Stupid git’ right after. The third learned five different curse words, which it would say over and over in an endless loop. We didn’t manage to teach the fourth one any words, but it did make a noise that sounded a little like a fart, so we figured that was good enough.”

Draco snorted, then asked, “What happened when he got them?”

“Well, I wasn’t there, of course, since I’ve been avoiding him like the plague, but Ron said he turned bright red and tried to cover their cage with a blanket. We’d charmed the cage against that, though, so it was futile, but he kept trying for a half hour before he figured that out.”

“He never was too bright,” Draco said.

“No, I guess not,” Ginny said sadly. “I guess I just never wanted to see it.”

“Yes, well,” Draco said awkwardly. He was disturbed by Ginny’s sadness, and in an attempt to cheer her up, he added, “That tends to happen when you’re besotted. I actually thought Pansy Parkinson’s nose was adorable for years.”

The attempt apparently worked because Ginny smiled brilliantly. “You really must have been besotted!” she said gleefully.

Draco cleared his throat, then changed the subject. “So what are you going to do today?”

“I’m not sure,” Ginny answered. “Today is the five gold rings, but I haven’t really had any good ideas.”

“Maybe we could discuss it over lunch,” Draco suggested. He held his breath, waiting for the answer. Antagonists did not eat lunch together, but friends did.

Ginny gave Draco a long appraising look, then nodded. “Yes, let’s,” she said. Then she smiled, and Draco breathed once more.

***

At one o’clock, Ginny and Draco joined the crowd of Daily Prophet staffers leaving the building for their lunch breaks. They had started walking down Diagon Alley towards a small café Ginny liked, when they heard a voice calling, “Ginny! Ginny, wait!”

Ginny froze, then slowly turned around. Draco, along with most of the rest of the crowd, also stopped once he realized that Harry Potter was the one shouting.

“Ginny,” Harry gasped, trying to catch his breath. “I’m so glad I caught you! I’ve been trying to see you for days!”

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and answered coldly, “Yes, I’m quite aware of that.”

“So you really have been avoiding me?” Harry asked. Draco marveled at his stupidity. Did Potter think someone else had been sending his gifts back?

“Yes, I’ve been avoiding you,” Ginny said, “and I would appreciate it if you allowed me to keep avoiding you.”

Ginny turned to leave, but Harry reached out a hand to stop her, and asked, “But why?”

Plucking his hand from her sleeve and dropping is as if it smelled rotten, Ginny said, “I think you know why, Harry.”

“But I don’t!” Harry insisted. “Everything was wonderful on Wednesday, and now you’re avoiding me and sending my gifts back!”

Draco wondered why Potter didn’t mention how viciously Ginny had been when returning his gifts, but then he realized that would be counterproductive if Potter was trying to reconcile with her. It was too bad he couldn’t refrain from showing his sheer idiocy as well.

“Maybe you should ask Cho, then,” Ginny said.

Harry turned pale. “Cho?” he asked in a voice he clearly hoped sounded innocent. “What does Cho have to do with it?”

“Cut the crap, Harry!” Ginny said, raising her voice for the first time. “I saw you! I went to your flat Thursday morning, and I saw you!

“B-but…” Harry sputtered.

“It was the day after we got engaged, and you were already cheating on me! How did you expect me to react?” Ginny reached into her handbag and pulled out the five gold rings Harry had sent. “Here,” she said, throwing them one by one at Harry. “Give these to Cho! Let them turn her fingers green!”

Draco had never seen Ginny so angry. Her eyes sparked brilliantly, her face was flushed, and her hair even seemed to be standing on end, much like a porcupine’s quills. She contrasted starkly with the falling snow, and in his opinion, she had never been more beautiful.

Ginny then turned to Herman Klein, the head of the Prophet’s News Department, who had been hovering nearby throughout the whole confrontation. “Print it.”

Draco whistled under his breath. Out of respect for their colleague’s privacy, the Prophet’s staff had always refrained from publishing articles about Ginny and Harry’s relationship. Now she was giving them permission to print the most explosive story yet. He wondered how it would affect Potter’s reputation, and more importantly, how it would affect Ginny’s.

Herman looked wide-eyed at Ginny and asked, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Ginny answered firmly. “He deserves whatever he gets.” And with that, Ginny stalked away down Diagon Alley, seemingly having forgotten her lunch plans with Draco.

Draco took a moment to smirk at Harry, who was standing open-mouthed, staring at Ginny’s retreating back, before turning to follow her. He caught up to her just as she stepped into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

“Dungbombs,” Ginny said as soon as George Weasley looked up from the magazine he was reading.

“Dungbombs?” George asked, stepping around the counter. He nodded to Draco, who nodded back.

“I need the biggest, stinkiest Dungbombs you have. All of them.”

“I can certainly help you with that,” George said, reaching for some boxes on a top shelf. “What do you need them for?”

“Tomorrow morning, the six geese a-laying will be laying Dungbombs. Lots and lots of Dungbombs.”

George asked, “What happened?”

Ginny was still fuming and didn’t seem to want to answer, so Draco said, “Potter finally caught up with her. He denied everything.”

“I see,” George said. “In that case, I’m even happier to help. I’ll even give you one that’s still in its experimental stages. I hope it will eventually be a sort of super bomb for really big spaces, like Hogwarts’ Great Hall.”

“Perfect,” Ginny said, smiling for the first time since her encounter with Harry. “I want him to still be able to smell it six months from now.”

***

Late the next afternoon, Draco looked up from the story he was finishing up to see Ginny in the doorway of his cubicle, tears streaming down her face. Without even thinking about it, he was on his feet, and had taken her into his arms. Ginny collapsed against his chest and began to sob.

“Shhh,” Draco said. “Don’t cry.” But Ginny did cry, for several minutes. Draco just held her, rubbing her back soothingly, and waited for her to compose herself.

When Ginny stopped crying, she looked up at Draco with big, watery eyes, and despite the tears, there was a warmth there he had never seen before. For a moment, Draco wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He almost did, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerable state. Instead, he took her hands and led her over to his chair, which was the most comfortable one in his cubicle.

“There,” Draco said gently as Ginny sat down. He took a seat next to her, and said, “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Ginny looked down at her hands, which were clutching a crumpled piece of parchment, and said, “I just heard from my mum. Harry’s in St. Mungo’s and it’s all my fault.”

“What happened?” Draco asked.

“You know about the Dungbombs?” Ginny asked. Draco nodded. She continued, speaking very quickly, as if trying to get it over with, “Well, as far as they can tell, the fumes were so overwhelming that Harry passed out. When he fell, he knocked over a candle, which caught the curtains on fire, and that may have ignited some of the gasses from the Dungbombs. Luckily, a neighbor smelled the smoke, so they got Harry out and managed to put out the fire before there was too much damage. They’re treating him for smoke inhalation and a knock on the head.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Draco said quietly.

“No, he’ll be fine,” Ginny said, “but he could have died!”

“He could have,” Draco confirmed, “but even if he had, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“Yes, it would have!” Ginny insisted. “None of that would have happened if I hadn’t sent those Dungbombs, or if I hadn’t sent so many of them.”

“True,” Draco said, “but that’s where your responsibility ends. The rest of it can be attributed to really bad luck.”

“I guess you’re right,” Ginny said reluctantly. “But nevertheless, it seems I have lost my thirst for revenge.”

“Yes, it’s probably best if you stop your efforts now,” Draco said, though he really didn’t want to. He had enjoyed plotting with Ginny, and was worried that their relationship would go back to normal now that they didn’t have plans for revenge to talk about.

Ginny looked up at Draco and smiled. “Thank you for your help, anyway. The whole plot was quite satisfying while it lasted, even if I never meant for it to go this far.”

Draco smiled back and said, “I certainly had fun. And I don’t mind in the least that Potter ended up in the hospital!”

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Ginny said, laughing.

“Now, can I Apparate you home?” Draco asked. “I’d hate for you to splinch yourself and end up in the hospital too.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said. “I’d appreciate that. With my luck, I’d end up in the same ward as Harry!”

***

Draco didn’t see Ginny again until Thursday, and when he did, she acted almost as if they had been friends all their lives. They had lunch together on both Thursday and Friday. The conversation flowed freely, and ranged from their opinions of the current Minister of Magic to their favorite places for take-out curry. Draco found himself more and more entranced by Ginny every minute. She was intelligent and witty and beautiful. He had seen these traits when they were plotting her revenge against Harry, but they were even more apparent now that she was happy and relaxed. Draco also discovered that Ginny was not at her most beautiful when she was angry, as he had thought, but when she laughed—her mirth seemed to light her from inside, and she was glorious. It was too soon, he knew, to ask her for a real date, but he was determined to do so as soon as reasonably possible.

Draco spent all day Saturday in France, covering a particularly intense game between the Bigonville Bombers and the Quiberon Quafflepunchers, which at least kept his mind off of Ginny. On Sunday morning, he attempted to distract himself further by treating his mother to brunch at a restaurant in Diagon Alley. It worked, at least until he was halfway through his eggs Benedict.

He heard her laughter first. Draco wasn’t sure if it truly rang out throughout the whole restaurant, or if he was just so attuned to it that he was bound to hear, one way or another. In any event, the sound of Ginny’s laughter was enough to make him turn around in his seat just to get a glimpse of her. But as soon as Draco turned, he wished he hadn’t. For Ginny was sitting across a table from Harry Potter, and they were laughing together as if neither one of them had a care in the world.

Draco could hardly believe his eyes. It had only been ten days since Ginny had caught Potter cheating on her, and she had already forgiven him. She had taken him back. His Ginny had taken the tosser back. Draco turned back to his breakfast, fuming.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Narcissa asked, nodding towards Ginny and Harry. “Especially considering the very public way in which they parted, and just this week, too.”

Draco made a noncommittal noise, and began pushing his eggs around on his plate. Suddenly, he wasn’t very hungry anymore.

Draco could think of nothing else for the rest of the day and most of the night. He was angry at Ginny, but also disappointed. When it came down to it, he could only think of two things that could have happened. First, Ginny might have used Draco’s revenge tactics to teach Potter a lesson, fully intending to forgive him eventually. Alternately, she could have believed Potter’s lies when he pleaded his case and changed her mind. Either way, she was not the person Draco had believed her to be. At three o’clock in the morning, he decided that Ginny’s reasons for getting back together with Potter didn’t really matter. She had, and that was that. And Draco would have nothing more to do with her ever again.

***

The next morning, Draco was exhausted; what little sleep he had gotten had been restless and fraught with troubling dreams. He dragged himself into the office nevertheless, in an attempt to reestablish some sense of normality in his life. He had just settled in when Ginny appeared in the doorway of his cubicle.

“Good morning, Draco,” she said cheerily. “Did you have a good weekend?”

Draco just looked up at Ginny briefly, giving her the coldest of his cold looks, then turned back to the parchment in front of him.

“Draco?” Ginny asked. “Is something wrong? The Bombers-Quafflepunchers game couldn’t have been that bad, could it?”

Draco just continued to pretend to work—until Ginny grabbed the quill right out of his hand.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Ginny said determinedly. “Something’s bothering you, and you’re going to tell me what it is right now.”

Draco scowled. “Give me my quill back and go annoy Potter, would you?”

“What does Harry have to do with the price of Floo powder?” Ginny asked, confused.

“I saw the two of you together yesterday, and you looked right cozy too,” Draco said petulantly. “What, did he feed you some line about how he’s a changed man and can’t live without you, and you fell for it?”

Ginny ignored Draco’s tone of voice and answered calmly. “Harry and I did have brunch together yesterday, but I wouldn’t call it cozy. It was probably one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to sit through, to be honest. But I decided it was necessary to make peace with him; he’s practically part of my family, after all. But I haven’t completely forgiven him yet, either.”

Draco was relieved, but still irritated. Even if she wasn’t dating Potter again, she still had forgiven him, at least a little. He wished she would refuse to see Potter ever again. Of course, he wished for a lot of things that would never happen. “You shouldn’t consider him part of your family, after what he did to you,” Draco said, nearly growling.

Ginny shrugged. “I’ll get over it,” she said. “Actually, I’ve already come a long way in the last twelve days, mostly thanks to you.”

“I’m happy to be of service,” Draco said sarcastically. “Please do call on me again when the next prat you date cheats on you and you need revenge.”

Ginny laughed.

Draco scowled even more deeply. “You find me funny?”

“It’s just…” Ginny laughed a little more, then managed to mostly compose herself, even though she still had a wide grin on her face. “It just might be a little awkward to call on you for that purpose.” She paused to take a few steps closer to Draco. “Especially considering that I hope you will be the next prat I date.”

Draco froze, then looked up at Ginny with wide eyes. Did she just say what he thought she said? “Me?” he asked.

“Yes, you,” Ginny said, smiling, “even though you can be a bit dense sometimes.”

Draco was on his feet in an instant, his arms wrapped firmly around Ginny. His heart pounded wildly as he looked down at her. “That may be,” he breathed out, “but I’m not so dense as to ever let you go.” Then he kissed her, and it felt like Christmas morning, only twelve times as wonderful.

“Aren’t they sweet?” Peggy Middleton cooed from the doorway of Draco’s cubicle, where a number of Daily Prophet staffers had gathered. “I always knew they were meant for each other!”

***

The next year, Draco proposed to Ginny on Boxing Day without any fanfare whatsoever. There were no pear trees or swans or drummers involved—just Draco on his knee, offering her himself and a beautiful ring made of five thin gold strands intertwined together—and Ginny didn’t need anything more.