Draco shifted in his chair uncomfortably, wondering for about the fifteenth time about why he'd allowed Weasley to drag him along with her to the Ministry. Yes, he'd counted.
However, the good news was that the mystery of his uncharacteristic cooperation gave him a reasonable mental puzzle to ponder while waiting for her.
He sat on one of the hard benches in the hallway, figeting like a small child. He was quite certain that, if his mother saw him at the moment, she'd scold him soundly, but he had a very valid reason. He well and truly did not want to be there. He never came to the Ministry unless absolutely necessary. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to have Edwina hire the best solicitors and marketing people for the ugly task of actually conducting business within the walls of the magical government building.
It hadn't always been that way, of course, but his family's recent history had changed many things, and the Ministry had become a place where he was both unwelcome and uncomfortable.
In short, Draco didn't like being there in the least.
To make matters worse, the little Weasley had parked him right outside Harry Potter's office, or rather, the office that was shared by Potter and little Weasley's brother, Ron, the git.
Irritated by the entire situation, Draco drummed his fingers on the arm of the bench that he was seated on, shifted in his seat and sulked while impatiently waiting for the outcome of the conversation.
The seat was vastly uncomfortable, and Draco pondered the thought that it seemed to be a requirement that all government furnishings be both impractical as well as ugly. He made a note to write a letter of complaint, as soon as he determined who should receive it.
Drumming his fingers again, he realized that he was overwhelmingly bored. He turned an ear toward the conversation inside the office, and determined that, in fact, they'd finally gotten through the usual saluatory conversation, including basic greetings, weather, and health questions.
In fact, the conversation had started to become quite interesting, if the few words he overheard were correct.
Curiosity eventually got the better of him, since the topic had turned toward his own situation, and he soon found himself sliding to the side of the bench nearest the doorway. Using a decorative plant for cover, he attempted to unobtrusively peer into the Auror's office, truly hoping that he wouldn't be seen.
Fortunately, the little Weasley had matters well in hand as she rattled on about the fact that the pair had obviously been remiss in their duties, and that corruption was running rampant within the Ministry. He found himself amused by her ranting. The wee Weasley was an irresistible force, and part of him rather enjoyed seeing her bully somebody else for a change.
“Come on, Ginny, you can't go about making wild accusations like that!” Ron, the great tosser, finally managed to say when she paused long enough to take a breath.
“I happen to know for a fact that one of my clients is being blackmailed right now. They've threatened to investigate him unless he signs into a bad contract. How are they going to do that without a corrupt official to sign the papers?”
Potter's voice broke in calmly. “If it's true Ginny, of course we'll look into it. But it's going to take time. We can't just open a full investigation on your word.”
“We don't have time, Harry,” she said, sternly. He caught sight of her, standing solidly in front of Potter's desk, her arms crossed in front of her, impatiently tapping her foot. “My client can only stall for a few days before they bring it to the papers and ruin his reputation.”
“It can't be all that bad, Ginny. If your friend is innocent, it will all work out all right,” Ron said, rather condescendingly. He moved around to the front of his desk, leaning against it casually, obviously not taking her seriously.
She glared at him, and Draco cowered behind his foliage, feeling intimidated despite the fact that her intense gaze was aimed at Ron, not him. She tapped her foot a little harder, and uncrossed her arms, her little hands balling into fists. Draco almost felt bad for her git of a brother. Almost.
“I wouldn't have come to you if this wasn't serious, Ron.”
“Oooo”, he thought. She gave him the “I'm very disappointed in you” look. Apparently, it worked just as effectively on her brother as it did on him, because he watched Ronald promptly look down at his feet, abashed.
“Maybe it would help if you told us who is going to be the intended victim of this crime, Ginny,” Potter said, also moving out of his seat to stand near Ronald and Ginny.
The snort she gave sounded indignant. “Why does it matter? You don't want to help now. What makes you think that knowing who is going to get hurt will make any difference in what you do?”
"Gosh, Ginny, put another 50 pounds on you and you'll sound just like Mum!"
She turned on her brother and literally snarled, causing him to cringe in obvious fear.
"What? What did I say?"
Draco held back a snort of laughter, knowing that being heard wouldn't help his situation. He was feeling a bit better about having been dragged here, if only for the privilege of watching Ginevra completely frighten her much larger brother.
Fortunately, Potter cleared his throat and looked sternly at Weasley, interrupting the siblings. He appeared to be more reasonable than his red headed git of a friend, as he was willing to listen. “I am taking you seriously, Ginny. It's just that we are going to need some facts to get started. I promise that we'll do everything we can to help your friend.”
“You promise?” she repeated.
“I promise,” he said, and Draco caught the idiot brother nodding his head in agreement.
She looked at them both sternly, holding them to their promise. “And you do mean you'll do everything in your power?”
Draco smiled at her emphasis on the word 'everything'.
“I promise, Ginny. We'll do everything we can to help your friend,” Potter replied.
She looked sternly at Ron, and verified his nod. “Don't worry, Gin. We'll help her.. umm...him. Who are we helping, by the way?”
She smiled superiorly, and Draco decided he never liked her so much as he did in that moment. “Draco Malfoy,” she replied.
“What?” Ron, shrieked. “No way! Sodding Draco Malfoy can go to the devil for all I care!”
In the blink of an eye, she raised her fist and punched him solidly in the upper arm.
“Ouch! Ginny! What the hell?” he shrieked, holding his arm, his eyes watering in pain. Potter was chuckling, obviously finding the exchange somewhat funny. For once, Draco actually found himself agreeing with Potter, although it was likely the strangest revelation of his entire life, and considering his history with Voldemort, that said something.
Draco had to admit, from the safety of his remote location, that he rather liked it when Ginevra was using all that energy to help him. It was much more fun to see her turn on someone else.
She began shouting. “How could you say such a thing! What does it matter who is the victim here? You're supposed to be working for justice! How dare you imply that justice is only for people you happen to like?”
Both Potter and Weasley immediately moved back a half step, their expressions showing no small amount of shame.
“He's my friend, and I happen to like him very much. And, besides, you already promised!” she said, now waving her finger vehemently at each of them. She turned, and started to storm out of the room, then she stopped, turning back to them.
In that moment, Draco was not only glad that he'd tagged along with the little fireball, but decided that he would happily pay for the opportunity, should it ever come about again.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed again, and tapping her foot impatiently. “Now, are you going to help, or not?” she demanded.
Both nodded, looking more than slightly guilty.
“Good.”
- - -
He marched past Edwina on the way to his office, collapsed into his cushy chair, leaned back and closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to determine if the morning spent actually talking with Potter in the Auror's office had been worth his time or not.
Shortly after shaming the Aurors into helping him, she'd practically dragged Draco into their office to speak with them directly about the situation. Then, the little minx had run off to meet up with another appointment, leaving him horribly alone with two of his least favorite people. He'd felt abandoned.
The worst part was that he had been forced to sit there and be civil to the two for most of the morning while they asked him about every possible piece of information he had regarding the case. It had been rather exhausting.
“'Dwina!” he called.
She was there in a moment, notebook in hand, and suddenly he realized something: In all the four years that he'd worked there, she'd never once been late or absent. It was rather frightening, actually.
“I need...”
“I've already contacted the Legal Department, Mr. Malfoy. They've been briefed. I have an initial report on Mr. Covingworth's latest activities on my desk. Would you like to look it over now?”
He blinked at her. Staring at his assistant for another moment, he wondered if, perhaps, she owned a time-turner in order to be so disturbingly efficient. If he managed to get the company through this crisis, he was going to look into getting the woman a raise and an assistant of her own.
“In a moment, 'Dwina. First, I need a...”
“I'll bring in your tea and the bakery should be delivering today's order in a few minutes.”
He loved that woman.
Sitting at his desk a few minutes later, he was just finishing a chocolate eclair and was about to start looking over the first of the documents that Edwina's investigators had produced. It was only preliminary, but gave him sufficient background on Covingworth's activities over the past few years to show that the man clearly wasn't bright enough to concoct this scheme on his own. Clearly he had an accomplice, and Draco was determined to find out who was helping him.
After narrowing his list to a handful of Ministry employees, Draco sent a memo to his investigators, and sat back to wait for more information, reaching once again to his pastry tray.
“Mr. Malfoy, you have a visitor.”
“'I thought I asked you to reschedule my meetings for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, Sir, but she says you'll want to see her.”
He looked up to see Weasley smiling and waving at him from behind Edwina's prim and proper form. The girl was irritatingly spunky. He resisted the urge to drop his head on his desk in defeat.
“Let her in...” he said, with a grimace.
She bounced in, looking extraordinarily pleased with herself, no doubt because she'd arranged to have her two pet Aurors take his case. Unfortunately, due to the fact that she'd left him alone with her brother and the boy-wonder all morning, he decided that he was the tiniest bit annoyed with her at the moment.
However... she was still wearing her rather snug workout attire, which worked in her favor. As his mind pursued that train of thought, he was briefly reminded that she did manage to see him clad in a towel that morning.
It made him rethink the idea that he also referred to her oaf of a brother by the same surname.
"So, Weasley...” he stopped himself, cleared his throat and restated carefully, “ahem, Ginevra."
She looked surprised and paused for a long moment before responding. "Calling me by my first name now? Where did that come from?"
He rather liked that his simple alteration had put her off so easily. It seemed to distract him from his current bout of irritation with her recent actions. Nevertheless, he did have to remind her. "Well, I just spent three hours this morning with your brother and Potter. I've discovered that calling you both 'Weasley' is a bit disturbing."
She was undisturbed by his comment. "I can understand that," she said, still smiling. He decided that he would definitely work to make her feel guilty again at the earliest possible opportunity.
She turned, noticing the half-empty tray of pastries on the side if his desk, and her smile quickly turned into a disappointed frown.
He followed her gaze, an inkling of fear rising in his chest as he asked, in his most innocent tone,"What?"
She moved to take the tray, and he instinctively pulled it protectively toward himself. He couldn't let her take away his main source of comfort, not when his world was balancing on a rather sharp precipice.
"Draco, that's not the way to deal with stress," she said, that terrible commanding tone and, worse, the look of disapproval coming to her features.
The situation was rapidly deteriorating.
He couldn't help himself. He got defensive. "It's gotten me through the last four years, Weas.., ummm, Ginevra. It will get me through a few more."
"It will kill you before your time," she replied evenly.
He tightened his grip on the tray.
Nodding her head calmly, she sat on the edge of his desk, looking at him almost with a disappointed sadness. Guilt started to creep into his emotions, and he bravely tried to fight the feeling, only to realize that he was failing miserably. If he didn't do anything, he was going to lose his pastries again.
He decided to change tactics.
He narrowed his gaze, still hovering protectively over the plate of sweets. "Not this time, Weasley, or I'll ask Potter why you were so sensitive about being compared to your mother.”
It was mean, and he knew it, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd resorted to something like that so he could get his way.
She froze, her eyes widening in horror at his statement. For a moment, he actually felt guilty. He hadn't intended for it to be more than an empty threat because, certainly, she was aware that Potter wouldn't have any inclination to share personal information with him.
But, then again, he had to congratulate himself, because she had rapidly pulled her fingers away from his tray. The hurt look on her face, unfortunately, made it an empty victory.
“You were listening,” she said softly.
“Of course I was listening," he replied. "You were discussing my livelihood.”
She still looked hurt, and it was his fault.
Unbidden, an image of his mother came to his mind and he inwardly cringed. It was a memory of when he was at his eighth birthday party and he'd teased Pansy about her dress until she cried. He vividly recalled his mother scolding him soundly on how to treat a young lady. It hadn't been pleasant.
The thought that his mother gave every indication that she liked Ginevra made him vividly aware of the fact that he'd likely be in for another reprimand if he didn't apologize.
He winced for two reasons: first, that he really, really hated apologies, and, second, that the desktop picture of his mother was once again looking sternly at him, warning him that, indeed, she would not look favorably on his actions.
He had to decide which choice was less painful.
After a very long moment of weighing his options, it appeared that an apology was in order.
He squinted, as if in a great deal of pain as he worked to formulate the words that might make the situation better. “I promise not to ask Potter. You must know I wasn't planning on asking him anyway. I just wanted to change the subject.”
She nodded, then looked at him quizzically. “Yet, you brought it up.”
Drat. Worse than apologizing, he was going to have to explain himself. Apparently, he had made the wrong choice. He began playing with a decorative paperweight on his desk to stall for time, and after a long moment of coming up with a list of horribly unbelievable fibs, he decided to just tell the truth. It was easier.
“It was a rare moment where I didn't see you completely in command of the situation. I must admit that I was intrigued.”
“Hmmph,” she replied, and she looked down at her feet, swinging them deliberately as she sat. Obviously, the topic was interesting, and he found himself truly wanting to know the answer. Perhaps the truth wasn't such a bad thing after all. He decided to seize the opportunity that had presented itself.
“I think you want to tell me.”
“I most certainly do not,” she said, looking up at him, the characteristic fire in her eye returning at his suggestion. He liked that.
It was time to become persuasive. It was part of the standard set of tactics learned by any student in the House of Slytherin. He decided to play on her guilt, which had been woefully overlooked.
"Look, I just spent most of the morning with your brother, and Potter for that matter, after you left. The least you can do is indulge me a bit," he said, rather smoothly. He rather liked being able to use the truth. It was so much more effective.
She looked at him for a long moment, as if contemplating whether or not to answer. Then, she took a deep breath, motioned toward the pastry tray again and said, "I will if you hand over the sweets."
He froze.
A brief, yet intense argument waged itself within the confines of his mind. It was horrible. He actually had to choose what he wanted more: information, or food. Being a rather intelligent sort, if he did say so himself, he decided that he could always revisit the bakery later, where Weasley... er...Ginevra might not give him another opportunity.
He gave a deep sigh, stared almost longingly at his tray, and relinquished it to the red head's waiting hands. Once it was vanished from his sight, he stared up at her expectantly, and watched her reluctantly will herself to share the information.
"I..."
He raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. The normally overconfident little witch clearly had a weakness about this particular topic. Getting up from his chair, he walked around to the other side of his desk, next to where she was currently perched. He leaned against the desk and looked down at her.
She was studying her hands.
He leaned closer toward her and nudged her with his shoulder. When she looked back up at him, almost shyly, he sensed victory was in his grasp.
"Yes, I'm a little sensitive about being compared to my mother."
"And...?"
"And that's about it."
He looked at her sternly. He most certainly did not forfeit his desserts for that pathetic piece of information. This called for serious negotiating tactics.
“Ginevra...” he said, trying to sound smooth.
She frowned, looked up at him with a mixture of amusement and irritation. “My name is Ginny,” she corrected.
He liked that look. It almost seemed as if she was fond of him. He took that as a positive indication. Nudging her again, he repeated, "C'mon, *Ginny*. I seem to recall that you said to your brother that we were friends."
She blushed. He was liking this game more by the moment, despite the fact that he really should be spending all of his time and energy on a backup plan, in case Potter's investigation failed. He realized that, in that particular moment, he really didn't care.
Pulling out her small handbag, she sifted through the contents for a few moments then, finding what she was looking for, she handed it to Draco.
He looked down at a picture of a middle-aged couple, smiling and waving at him.
"Your parents?"
She nodded.
"They seem...pleasant enough," he said, attempting to be diplomatic. He may have been raised to think less of Weasleys, but good business sense taught him to be professional in his remarks.
"My mother hates the idea of me working for myself. She's overprotective and wants me to be settled and married and overweight and having a dozen babies."
"Sounds evil to me," he said in mock agreement.
She slapped him, playfully, but with a bit of an edge.
"Don't laugh. I don't want to be like her. I don't want to be trapped in a house doing nothing but raising and worrying about children for the rest of my life."
"Then don't."
She looked at him carefully. "You say that so easily, yet, here you are, willing to trap yourself in this office, worrying about your family business for the rest of your life."
He didn't like the sudden turn this conversation was taking.
"We do what we have to do, Weasley."
"No, you don't! You don't have to do everything alone, and you don't have to let your work here consume you to the point that your only friend is a bakery item slathered in frosting."
Something about the words "friend" and "slathered in frosting" brought a very interesting image of the girl Weasley to his mind. He grimaced and rubbed his hand over his face in an attempt to hide his reaction.
When he looked back up, he saw her still staring at him, rather intently. She was quite pretty, although a bit on the skinny side. But, at least now he had an understanding of why she seemed so obsessed with her work. The fact that she had fears and flaws seemed to make her just a bit more attractive to him.
He studied her for several seconds, taking in the hazel green of her eyes, then almost automatically looking at her lips. He definitely liked her mouth when it wasn't in the process of barking orders at him. Unconsciously, he began to lean toward her...
"Mr. Malfoy," Edwina interrupted, knocking loudly on the door frame. He jumped back, the moment ruined.
"Yes, 'Dwina," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that was now rapidly forthcoming.
"I just received an owl from Mr. Potter..." she said, holding the item, looking somewhat concerned.
He walked forward to take the parchment from her hand, "Thank you, 'Dwina."
He quickly read the contents, then glanced hopefully between the two witches in his office. "Potter's found something. He wants to set up a way for me to help him gather evidence."
"That's wonderful!" Ginny said, jumping off her seat on the desk, looking genuinely happy.
"I don't understand, Mr. Malfoy..."
He raised his hand to silently halt his assistant from speaking further. It felt odd to actually know something that the witch didn't. He decided to enjoy that thought later, when he had a spare moment. “It's all right, 'Dwina. It will make sense in a moment.”
He turned back to Ginevra. "Are you sure I can trust Potter?" he asked, once again serious. He'd talked with his old adversary for most of the morning, giving as much information as he had available, but he remained doubtful.
Her eyes sparked with confidence, and she gave a smile that could only be described as gleefully evil. "He promised me, Draco. He knows full well that if he goes back on that promise, he'll likely never be able to father children, at the very least."
Draco smiled. He really, really enjoyed having the little spitfire on his team.
"You heard the girl, 'Dwina. Give Mr. Potter any information he needs."
What he saw next was memorable due to its rarity. Edwina Harris smiled.
However, the good news was that the mystery of his uncharacteristic cooperation gave him a reasonable mental puzzle to ponder while waiting for her.
He sat on one of the hard benches in the hallway, figeting like a small child. He was quite certain that, if his mother saw him at the moment, she'd scold him soundly, but he had a very valid reason. He well and truly did not want to be there. He never came to the Ministry unless absolutely necessary. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to have Edwina hire the best solicitors and marketing people for the ugly task of actually conducting business within the walls of the magical government building.
It hadn't always been that way, of course, but his family's recent history had changed many things, and the Ministry had become a place where he was both unwelcome and uncomfortable.
In short, Draco didn't like being there in the least.
To make matters worse, the little Weasley had parked him right outside Harry Potter's office, or rather, the office that was shared by Potter and little Weasley's brother, Ron, the git.
Irritated by the entire situation, Draco drummed his fingers on the arm of the bench that he was seated on, shifted in his seat and sulked while impatiently waiting for the outcome of the conversation.
The seat was vastly uncomfortable, and Draco pondered the thought that it seemed to be a requirement that all government furnishings be both impractical as well as ugly. He made a note to write a letter of complaint, as soon as he determined who should receive it.
Drumming his fingers again, he realized that he was overwhelmingly bored. He turned an ear toward the conversation inside the office, and determined that, in fact, they'd finally gotten through the usual saluatory conversation, including basic greetings, weather, and health questions.
In fact, the conversation had started to become quite interesting, if the few words he overheard were correct.
Curiosity eventually got the better of him, since the topic had turned toward his own situation, and he soon found himself sliding to the side of the bench nearest the doorway. Using a decorative plant for cover, he attempted to unobtrusively peer into the Auror's office, truly hoping that he wouldn't be seen.
Fortunately, the little Weasley had matters well in hand as she rattled on about the fact that the pair had obviously been remiss in their duties, and that corruption was running rampant within the Ministry. He found himself amused by her ranting. The wee Weasley was an irresistible force, and part of him rather enjoyed seeing her bully somebody else for a change.
“Come on, Ginny, you can't go about making wild accusations like that!” Ron, the great tosser, finally managed to say when she paused long enough to take a breath.
“I happen to know for a fact that one of my clients is being blackmailed right now. They've threatened to investigate him unless he signs into a bad contract. How are they going to do that without a corrupt official to sign the papers?”
Potter's voice broke in calmly. “If it's true Ginny, of course we'll look into it. But it's going to take time. We can't just open a full investigation on your word.”
“We don't have time, Harry,” she said, sternly. He caught sight of her, standing solidly in front of Potter's desk, her arms crossed in front of her, impatiently tapping her foot. “My client can only stall for a few days before they bring it to the papers and ruin his reputation.”
“It can't be all that bad, Ginny. If your friend is innocent, it will all work out all right,” Ron said, rather condescendingly. He moved around to the front of his desk, leaning against it casually, obviously not taking her seriously.
She glared at him, and Draco cowered behind his foliage, feeling intimidated despite the fact that her intense gaze was aimed at Ron, not him. She tapped her foot a little harder, and uncrossed her arms, her little hands balling into fists. Draco almost felt bad for her git of a brother. Almost.
“I wouldn't have come to you if this wasn't serious, Ron.”
“Oooo”, he thought. She gave him the “I'm very disappointed in you” look. Apparently, it worked just as effectively on her brother as it did on him, because he watched Ronald promptly look down at his feet, abashed.
“Maybe it would help if you told us who is going to be the intended victim of this crime, Ginny,” Potter said, also moving out of his seat to stand near Ronald and Ginny.
The snort she gave sounded indignant. “Why does it matter? You don't want to help now. What makes you think that knowing who is going to get hurt will make any difference in what you do?”
"Gosh, Ginny, put another 50 pounds on you and you'll sound just like Mum!"
She turned on her brother and literally snarled, causing him to cringe in obvious fear.
"What? What did I say?"
Draco held back a snort of laughter, knowing that being heard wouldn't help his situation. He was feeling a bit better about having been dragged here, if only for the privilege of watching Ginevra completely frighten her much larger brother.
Fortunately, Potter cleared his throat and looked sternly at Weasley, interrupting the siblings. He appeared to be more reasonable than his red headed git of a friend, as he was willing to listen. “I am taking you seriously, Ginny. It's just that we are going to need some facts to get started. I promise that we'll do everything we can to help your friend.”
“You promise?” she repeated.
“I promise,” he said, and Draco caught the idiot brother nodding his head in agreement.
She looked at them both sternly, holding them to their promise. “And you do mean you'll do everything in your power?”
Draco smiled at her emphasis on the word 'everything'.
“I promise, Ginny. We'll do everything we can to help your friend,” Potter replied.
She looked sternly at Ron, and verified his nod. “Don't worry, Gin. We'll help her.. umm...him. Who are we helping, by the way?”
She smiled superiorly, and Draco decided he never liked her so much as he did in that moment. “Draco Malfoy,” she replied.
“What?” Ron, shrieked. “No way! Sodding Draco Malfoy can go to the devil for all I care!”
In the blink of an eye, she raised her fist and punched him solidly in the upper arm.
“Ouch! Ginny! What the hell?” he shrieked, holding his arm, his eyes watering in pain. Potter was chuckling, obviously finding the exchange somewhat funny. For once, Draco actually found himself agreeing with Potter, although it was likely the strangest revelation of his entire life, and considering his history with Voldemort, that said something.
Draco had to admit, from the safety of his remote location, that he rather liked it when Ginevra was using all that energy to help him. It was much more fun to see her turn on someone else.
She began shouting. “How could you say such a thing! What does it matter who is the victim here? You're supposed to be working for justice! How dare you imply that justice is only for people you happen to like?”
Both Potter and Weasley immediately moved back a half step, their expressions showing no small amount of shame.
“He's my friend, and I happen to like him very much. And, besides, you already promised!” she said, now waving her finger vehemently at each of them. She turned, and started to storm out of the room, then she stopped, turning back to them.
In that moment, Draco was not only glad that he'd tagged along with the little fireball, but decided that he would happily pay for the opportunity, should it ever come about again.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed again, and tapping her foot impatiently. “Now, are you going to help, or not?” she demanded.
Both nodded, looking more than slightly guilty.
“Good.”
- - -
He marched past Edwina on the way to his office, collapsed into his cushy chair, leaned back and closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to determine if the morning spent actually talking with Potter in the Auror's office had been worth his time or not.
Shortly after shaming the Aurors into helping him, she'd practically dragged Draco into their office to speak with them directly about the situation. Then, the little minx had run off to meet up with another appointment, leaving him horribly alone with two of his least favorite people. He'd felt abandoned.
The worst part was that he had been forced to sit there and be civil to the two for most of the morning while they asked him about every possible piece of information he had regarding the case. It had been rather exhausting.
“'Dwina!” he called.
She was there in a moment, notebook in hand, and suddenly he realized something: In all the four years that he'd worked there, she'd never once been late or absent. It was rather frightening, actually.
“I need...”
“I've already contacted the Legal Department, Mr. Malfoy. They've been briefed. I have an initial report on Mr. Covingworth's latest activities on my desk. Would you like to look it over now?”
He blinked at her. Staring at his assistant for another moment, he wondered if, perhaps, she owned a time-turner in order to be so disturbingly efficient. If he managed to get the company through this crisis, he was going to look into getting the woman a raise and an assistant of her own.
“In a moment, 'Dwina. First, I need a...”
“I'll bring in your tea and the bakery should be delivering today's order in a few minutes.”
He loved that woman.
Sitting at his desk a few minutes later, he was just finishing a chocolate eclair and was about to start looking over the first of the documents that Edwina's investigators had produced. It was only preliminary, but gave him sufficient background on Covingworth's activities over the past few years to show that the man clearly wasn't bright enough to concoct this scheme on his own. Clearly he had an accomplice, and Draco was determined to find out who was helping him.
After narrowing his list to a handful of Ministry employees, Draco sent a memo to his investigators, and sat back to wait for more information, reaching once again to his pastry tray.
“Mr. Malfoy, you have a visitor.”
“'I thought I asked you to reschedule my meetings for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, Sir, but she says you'll want to see her.”
He looked up to see Weasley smiling and waving at him from behind Edwina's prim and proper form. The girl was irritatingly spunky. He resisted the urge to drop his head on his desk in defeat.
“Let her in...” he said, with a grimace.
She bounced in, looking extraordinarily pleased with herself, no doubt because she'd arranged to have her two pet Aurors take his case. Unfortunately, due to the fact that she'd left him alone with her brother and the boy-wonder all morning, he decided that he was the tiniest bit annoyed with her at the moment.
However... she was still wearing her rather snug workout attire, which worked in her favor. As his mind pursued that train of thought, he was briefly reminded that she did manage to see him clad in a towel that morning.
It made him rethink the idea that he also referred to her oaf of a brother by the same surname.
"So, Weasley...” he stopped himself, cleared his throat and restated carefully, “ahem, Ginevra."
She looked surprised and paused for a long moment before responding. "Calling me by my first name now? Where did that come from?"
He rather liked that his simple alteration had put her off so easily. It seemed to distract him from his current bout of irritation with her recent actions. Nevertheless, he did have to remind her. "Well, I just spent three hours this morning with your brother and Potter. I've discovered that calling you both 'Weasley' is a bit disturbing."
She was undisturbed by his comment. "I can understand that," she said, still smiling. He decided that he would definitely work to make her feel guilty again at the earliest possible opportunity.
She turned, noticing the half-empty tray of pastries on the side if his desk, and her smile quickly turned into a disappointed frown.
He followed her gaze, an inkling of fear rising in his chest as he asked, in his most innocent tone,"What?"
She moved to take the tray, and he instinctively pulled it protectively toward himself. He couldn't let her take away his main source of comfort, not when his world was balancing on a rather sharp precipice.
"Draco, that's not the way to deal with stress," she said, that terrible commanding tone and, worse, the look of disapproval coming to her features.
The situation was rapidly deteriorating.
He couldn't help himself. He got defensive. "It's gotten me through the last four years, Weas.., ummm, Ginevra. It will get me through a few more."
"It will kill you before your time," she replied evenly.
He tightened his grip on the tray.
Nodding her head calmly, she sat on the edge of his desk, looking at him almost with a disappointed sadness. Guilt started to creep into his emotions, and he bravely tried to fight the feeling, only to realize that he was failing miserably. If he didn't do anything, he was going to lose his pastries again.
He decided to change tactics.
He narrowed his gaze, still hovering protectively over the plate of sweets. "Not this time, Weasley, or I'll ask Potter why you were so sensitive about being compared to your mother.”
It was mean, and he knew it, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd resorted to something like that so he could get his way.
She froze, her eyes widening in horror at his statement. For a moment, he actually felt guilty. He hadn't intended for it to be more than an empty threat because, certainly, she was aware that Potter wouldn't have any inclination to share personal information with him.
But, then again, he had to congratulate himself, because she had rapidly pulled her fingers away from his tray. The hurt look on her face, unfortunately, made it an empty victory.
“You were listening,” she said softly.
“Of course I was listening," he replied. "You were discussing my livelihood.”
She still looked hurt, and it was his fault.
Unbidden, an image of his mother came to his mind and he inwardly cringed. It was a memory of when he was at his eighth birthday party and he'd teased Pansy about her dress until she cried. He vividly recalled his mother scolding him soundly on how to treat a young lady. It hadn't been pleasant.
The thought that his mother gave every indication that she liked Ginevra made him vividly aware of the fact that he'd likely be in for another reprimand if he didn't apologize.
He winced for two reasons: first, that he really, really hated apologies, and, second, that the desktop picture of his mother was once again looking sternly at him, warning him that, indeed, she would not look favorably on his actions.
He had to decide which choice was less painful.
After a very long moment of weighing his options, it appeared that an apology was in order.
He squinted, as if in a great deal of pain as he worked to formulate the words that might make the situation better. “I promise not to ask Potter. You must know I wasn't planning on asking him anyway. I just wanted to change the subject.”
She nodded, then looked at him quizzically. “Yet, you brought it up.”
Drat. Worse than apologizing, he was going to have to explain himself. Apparently, he had made the wrong choice. He began playing with a decorative paperweight on his desk to stall for time, and after a long moment of coming up with a list of horribly unbelievable fibs, he decided to just tell the truth. It was easier.
“It was a rare moment where I didn't see you completely in command of the situation. I must admit that I was intrigued.”
“Hmmph,” she replied, and she looked down at her feet, swinging them deliberately as she sat. Obviously, the topic was interesting, and he found himself truly wanting to know the answer. Perhaps the truth wasn't such a bad thing after all. He decided to seize the opportunity that had presented itself.
“I think you want to tell me.”
“I most certainly do not,” she said, looking up at him, the characteristic fire in her eye returning at his suggestion. He liked that.
It was time to become persuasive. It was part of the standard set of tactics learned by any student in the House of Slytherin. He decided to play on her guilt, which had been woefully overlooked.
"Look, I just spent most of the morning with your brother, and Potter for that matter, after you left. The least you can do is indulge me a bit," he said, rather smoothly. He rather liked being able to use the truth. It was so much more effective.
She looked at him for a long moment, as if contemplating whether or not to answer. Then, she took a deep breath, motioned toward the pastry tray again and said, "I will if you hand over the sweets."
He froze.
A brief, yet intense argument waged itself within the confines of his mind. It was horrible. He actually had to choose what he wanted more: information, or food. Being a rather intelligent sort, if he did say so himself, he decided that he could always revisit the bakery later, where Weasley... er...Ginevra might not give him another opportunity.
He gave a deep sigh, stared almost longingly at his tray, and relinquished it to the red head's waiting hands. Once it was vanished from his sight, he stared up at her expectantly, and watched her reluctantly will herself to share the information.
"I..."
He raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. The normally overconfident little witch clearly had a weakness about this particular topic. Getting up from his chair, he walked around to the other side of his desk, next to where she was currently perched. He leaned against the desk and looked down at her.
She was studying her hands.
He leaned closer toward her and nudged her with his shoulder. When she looked back up at him, almost shyly, he sensed victory was in his grasp.
"Yes, I'm a little sensitive about being compared to my mother."
"And...?"
"And that's about it."
He looked at her sternly. He most certainly did not forfeit his desserts for that pathetic piece of information. This called for serious negotiating tactics.
“Ginevra...” he said, trying to sound smooth.
She frowned, looked up at him with a mixture of amusement and irritation. “My name is Ginny,” she corrected.
He liked that look. It almost seemed as if she was fond of him. He took that as a positive indication. Nudging her again, he repeated, "C'mon, *Ginny*. I seem to recall that you said to your brother that we were friends."
She blushed. He was liking this game more by the moment, despite the fact that he really should be spending all of his time and energy on a backup plan, in case Potter's investigation failed. He realized that, in that particular moment, he really didn't care.
Pulling out her small handbag, she sifted through the contents for a few moments then, finding what she was looking for, she handed it to Draco.
He looked down at a picture of a middle-aged couple, smiling and waving at him.
"Your parents?"
She nodded.
"They seem...pleasant enough," he said, attempting to be diplomatic. He may have been raised to think less of Weasleys, but good business sense taught him to be professional in his remarks.
"My mother hates the idea of me working for myself. She's overprotective and wants me to be settled and married and overweight and having a dozen babies."
"Sounds evil to me," he said in mock agreement.
She slapped him, playfully, but with a bit of an edge.
"Don't laugh. I don't want to be like her. I don't want to be trapped in a house doing nothing but raising and worrying about children for the rest of my life."
"Then don't."
She looked at him carefully. "You say that so easily, yet, here you are, willing to trap yourself in this office, worrying about your family business for the rest of your life."
He didn't like the sudden turn this conversation was taking.
"We do what we have to do, Weasley."
"No, you don't! You don't have to do everything alone, and you don't have to let your work here consume you to the point that your only friend is a bakery item slathered in frosting."
Something about the words "friend" and "slathered in frosting" brought a very interesting image of the girl Weasley to his mind. He grimaced and rubbed his hand over his face in an attempt to hide his reaction.
When he looked back up, he saw her still staring at him, rather intently. She was quite pretty, although a bit on the skinny side. But, at least now he had an understanding of why she seemed so obsessed with her work. The fact that she had fears and flaws seemed to make her just a bit more attractive to him.
He studied her for several seconds, taking in the hazel green of her eyes, then almost automatically looking at her lips. He definitely liked her mouth when it wasn't in the process of barking orders at him. Unconsciously, he began to lean toward her...
"Mr. Malfoy," Edwina interrupted, knocking loudly on the door frame. He jumped back, the moment ruined.
"Yes, 'Dwina," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that was now rapidly forthcoming.
"I just received an owl from Mr. Potter..." she said, holding the item, looking somewhat concerned.
He walked forward to take the parchment from her hand, "Thank you, 'Dwina."
He quickly read the contents, then glanced hopefully between the two witches in his office. "Potter's found something. He wants to set up a way for me to help him gather evidence."
"That's wonderful!" Ginny said, jumping off her seat on the desk, looking genuinely happy.
"I don't understand, Mr. Malfoy..."
He raised his hand to silently halt his assistant from speaking further. It felt odd to actually know something that the witch didn't. He decided to enjoy that thought later, when he had a spare moment. “It's all right, 'Dwina. It will make sense in a moment.”
He turned back to Ginevra. "Are you sure I can trust Potter?" he asked, once again serious. He'd talked with his old adversary for most of the morning, giving as much information as he had available, but he remained doubtful.
Her eyes sparked with confidence, and she gave a smile that could only be described as gleefully evil. "He promised me, Draco. He knows full well that if he goes back on that promise, he'll likely never be able to father children, at the very least."
Draco smiled. He really, really enjoyed having the little spitfire on his team.
"You heard the girl, 'Dwina. Give Mr. Potter any information he needs."
What he saw next was memorable due to its rarity. Edwina Harris smiled.
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