Part Four - Truce
March 3, 2003
Astoria Greengrass had been a friend to Draco for a very long time, long before the war, before he had even started school. The friendship would have surprised many people because she was several years younger than he was, and it wasn’t common knowledge that they were friends. Her older sister, Daphne, had been a Slytherin in the same year as Draco, but they hadn’t gotten along well since they were children.
They were good enough friends that when Astoria had left Hogwarts and needed a job, Draco had been kind enough to give her one. Granted, it wasn’t the best job in the world, but he paid very well for her trouble, since trouble her he did.
For the last eighteen months, Astoria had been his personal assistant. She scheduled his life and his work for him, made him tea when he wanted it, checked his post for Howlers and curses people still sent five years after the war, and generally made him a functioning human being. It was natural for her to wake up in the morning and follow him around all day, sometimes sharing dinner at a restaurant before he allowed her to go home. Not that she worked all the time. Draco gave her days off—he could function without her.
Despite their friendship, she and Draco just didn’t talk about some things. It had never been a problem for either of them, simply a lesson that they had learned when they were young. Never share your secrets with anyone, but most especially your friends. Astoria had never in her life been so curious about the things Draco didn’t tell her as to make her sick, but it was evident when they walked into the Office for National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues in the Department of Magical Games and Sports that he did have secrets about which she was curious.
The secretary sitting behind the desk had long red hair that waved just slightly in a way that made Astoria, with all her delicate looks and glossy, straight hair, envious. While Astoria had never known or interacted with any Weasleys personally, she knew their reputation well enough to know that this woman was one of them. She only faintly remembered her from school, and only then as Harry Potter’s girlfriend.
When they walked into the office, Draco froze and his face contorted into a strange expression. It happened for a second before he relaxed and pretended that nothing had happened, while Astoria pretended she hadn’t seen it. It occurred to her then that he had just balked. Balked! She hadn’t seen Draco so frightened since the height of the war, during his last two years of school.
The Weasley woman reacted almost identically, though she had a harder time trying to control her expression after the initial shock wore off. Astoria smiled at the sight of her wide eyes staring at Draco, her mouth partially open, her expression one of dread. The quill she had been holding fell out of her numb fingers.
“Uh… Malfoy?” she finally said with a little shake of her head.
“Ginny…” Draco responded, as if reluctant to say her name.
Astoria watched with interest. She hadn’t known of the two being well acquainted, but their reactions to seeing each other now seemed to signify that they were, or at least had been once.
“What are you doing here?” Ginny asked, unable to get rid of the disbelief in her voice.
“I have a meeting with Mr. Fieldman today at two.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shot to her hairline with surprise, and then she started lifting pieces of parchment off her desk, searching frantically beneath them and in drawers for something.
“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap… And he left me to deal with this… Not him! Anyone but him!”
Draco interrupted her mumbling, too impatient to be ignored. Not that he ever liked to be ignored. “Weasley, we just want to see Mr. Fieldman.”
Ginny closed the desk drawer she had been ruffling through and turned to face them, slapping a big, though tremulous, smile on her face.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Fieldman is out for today. He’s asked me to handle this meeting instead, but if you would rather reschedule—”
“It’s fine,” said Draco, inviting himself to sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Sit, Astoria.” Astoria did as she was told.
The smile slithered off Ginny’s face like melting candle wax. Evidently, she had hoped that they would reschedule the meeting rather than stay.
“Right… uh, so what can I help you with?” Her hands shook as she pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and picked up her quill again, but Draco didn’t notice because his eyes were too busy staring at her face. Ginny’s head lifted, but upon meeting his intense gaze, she looked at Astoria and then at a painting on the wall behind their heads.
“I would like to put together an amateur Quidditch tournament, the proceeds of which would go to St. Mungo’s.”
“Charity. Really,” Ginny commented sardonically as she jotted down a note on her parchment.
“Come now, Weasley. That’s not very professional, is it?”
Her expression turned to one of disappointment before resignation settled on her features.
“Of course. I’m sorry, sir.” Her face flushed scarlet and she couldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. Astoria peeked at Draco to see him smirking quite happily. He seemed to rather enjoy her calling him sir.
Throughout the meeting, Astoria took notes about his charity Quidditch tournament while watching the two interact. They had history and such amazing chemistry it was a wonder it had stayed secret for so long. Ginny was clearly uncomfortable. Her shoulders were tense, her voice overly polite, and she did not seem to want to look at Draco or Astoria for any length of time. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to take strength from her discomfort and tried to tease her further by “accidentally” brushing her hand when reaching for a piece of parchment on her desk and deliberately staring at her for extended periods of time—or maybe he didn’t realize that he was doing it at all.
“Astoria, will you wait for me in the hall?” Draco asked at the conclusion of the meeting. She stepped outside the door, but only just. Her curiosity was too much for her in this instance. He had never before dangled such a juicy secret as Ginny Weasley in front of her, and Astoria wasn’t going to be satisfied until she got the whole story. Not that she could ask Draco for it—that was a strict breach of the rules—but she could get the information she wanted other ways.
“Ginny.”
“That’s all for today, Mr. Malfoy. You may leave now.”
“You don’t have anything to say?” Draco asked, a hint of anger in his voice.
She dismissed him as if she hadn’t heard it. “No. Please leave.”
“I have something to say.”
“You always have something to say, but I’m at work right now, and I don’t have to hear it! I don't like you, remember?”
“It’s my turn to try to convince you that you do like me. You do. You didn't marry Potter.”
“I didn't love Harry!”
“So, what?” Draco hissed sarcastically. “You don’t love me either?”
The laughter that bubbled up from Ginny’s throat was cold and cruel. “I could never love you! I dated Harry because of you, to try to forget you.”
“To make me jealous!”
“Well…that’s in the past!”
“But you actually liked me! You told me that!”
"Just leave! Take your girlfriend and go!” Ginny hissed, shoving him straight out the door. Both were surprised to see the girlfriend in question, as if they’d forgotten she would be there.
Draco stared at Ginny and she stared back stubbornly. They ignored the people who had come out of their cubicles to stare at the commotion they had created.
“The war ended years ago,” he said.
“Not ours. Ours will never end. This,” she made a gesture with her hand, signaling the both of them, “never had anything to do with that war. It only served as ammunition!”
With nothing else to say, Draco, his face livid, called, “Let’s go, Astoria!” and stalked down the hall without even waiting for her.
Ginny’s eyes watched him go, and only the look on her face could have convinced Astoria to say what she did. Otherwise, she would have enjoyed misleading the woman a little—it would have been the Slytherin thing to do.
“I’m not his girlfriend, Ms. Weasley. Draco Malfoy never has girlfriends.”
She could take that to mean two things. If she was smart, she’d understand the true meaning, but she was a Weasley, and Astoria knew it was inevitable for a Weasley to misunderstand.
* * * * *
July 1, 2003
Hogarth Fieldman took great pride in his job despite the fact that its existence was about as obscure as the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He and his trusty secretary were the only employees in the National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office, but they worked hard and put their all into every client they received, infrequent as they were.
Surveying the turnout to the Malfoy Charity Amateur-League Quidditch Tournament, Hogarth felt that this project was another success, his best yet. He knew he couldn’t have done it on his own, which he would have had to do four years ago, before Ginny Weasley turned the one-man team into two. Hogarth had never known a harder worker, a more loyal employee, or a prettier girl than her. Even with a thirteen year age difference between them, he had tried every way he knew how to convince her to let him take her to dinner, but she always refused. He couldn’t possibly harbor any hard feelings against her because of her rejection. The joking manner in which he had asked her out had made it easy for her to decline, probably because she never took him seriously.
It was no matter. Their time working together had formed a great friendship between them. Besides, Ginny was still young, and while the difference in their ages was practically meaningless compared to the span of their lives, right now, to her, it made all the difference in the world. Such a pretty girl couldn’t possibly see something in a man such as him, whose width might have been three times her own, whose dark hair never seemed to meet a comb, and whose unruly beard always obscured his face. She would want someone closer to her own age, someone attractive, someone who could at least ride a broomstick without causing it to lag under his massive weight.
He amused himself by teasing her about her lack of a love life instead.
Something about the way she and the younger Mr. Malfoy interacted during the charity tournament planning meetings seemed to hint that he had been mistaken about her love life. Ginny sat in on all the meetings to take notes and serve tea when necessary, but she did so being very careful not to look at Mr. Malfoy or his assistant. This was such a significant change in her demeanor that Hogarth took notice immediately; Ginny was always very friendly and lively when they met with clients, but she had suddenly turned cold and unwelcoming. At least, it appeared that way at first, until he recognized her expression to be one of discomfort rather than dislike.
Mr. Malfoy’s behavior was wholly different from Ginny’s. He asked her what her thoughts were on some issue in the planning, what she would suggest to fix it, and never showed a sign of discouragement when she was less than forthcoming. He seemed to take amusement in annoying her.
Surprising him the night before the charity tournament was to take place, Ginny had asked Hogarth to be excused from attending. He had refused. They were the planners of the event, the only two representatives of the office, and they always attended the events they planned. She was good for business. People were more likely to approach the National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office for business if they knew that such a pretty girl was representing it, as well. Hogarth's elephantine appearance scared more customers away than it attracted.
Sitting next to her as they watched the first match of the tournament begin, Hogarth knew he had made the correct decision. Ginny smiled and cheered along with other fans in attendance and seemed to be enjoying herself well enough. He smiled to himself, happy to see her happy.
The game really didn’t warrant much attention, though. The players were all amateurs who had signed up to play and were randomly placed on teams. They had been given a month to practice with their teams before the tournament began, but it was clear that a month had not nearly been enough time. Some of the players were stronger than others. The best player was Draco Malfoy himself.
Hogarth had to hand it to him, not only for sponsoring a charity event open to anyone who could pay the cheap entrance fee, but for participating in it as well. The Malfoys had fought for years against the reputation they had obtained during the war; Draco seemed to work the hardest to earn back wizarding Britain’s respect.
One person who seemed wholly unimpressed by him was Ginny.
“Flashy show-off,” he heard her mutter under her breath as Mr. Malfoy pulled out of a steep dive just centimeters from the ground, to the gasps and applause of the drawn-in audience.
“You really don’t like him, do you?” asked Hogarth in amusement.
“Not at all. What is there to like?” she replied moodily.
“Some would say his wealth, his good looks, his charm—”
“Charm! Who thinks he’s charming? He’s not charming at all! He’s the complete opposite of it!” she scoffed.
“Some would beg to differ,” he said through his smile, trying not to laugh. “You talk as if you know him very well,” he continued, hoping to draw out any nugget of information about their relationship that she would give.
“I’ve known him since childhood. He’s nasty and arrogant and… and … indecisive!”
“Really! That’s interesting.” Hogarth hadn’t realized they’d known each other for so long, and he wouldn’t have pegged Draco Malfoy as indecisive based on Hogarth’s impression of him during their meetings. Mr. Malfoy had always made his decisions quickly and with finality.
“I absolutely, one hundred percent—”
“Loathe me?”
Draco Malfoy sat on his broomstick in midair before them, smirking very widely indeed.
“What are you doing? The game is still going!” Ginny cried in outrage.
“I’m aware. I just came to see how you’ve been since I saw you last week.” Hogarth’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“I—you… Get back in the game!” she yelled in response. “You’re letting your team down, terrible though it is!”
“We’ll win,” he said simply.
“Not if you’re hanging there talking to me rather than looking for the Snitch, you won’t!”
He smirked at her as if he knew more than she did.
Crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at one of the goal posts at the end of the pitch, she said, “I don’t care if you win anyway, but your teammates certainly will!”
“Well, how about I give you a reason to care?” he asked. “I’ll win this tournament for you.”
Hogarth studied Ginny’s reaction. Uncertainty, disbelief, agitation, even fear showed up clearly on her flushed face.
“What?”
“I will win this whole tournament for you.”
“You mean St. Mungo’s, of course,” she contradicted, looking slightly relieved as she said it.
“No,” he disagreed, leaning closer to her until their faces were centimeters apart. “I mean you.”
As Draco dashed away on his broomstick, back into the game to continue the search for the Golden Snitch, two things happened at once: Ginny began to laugh hysterically and derisively, and a Bludger pounded her in the face.
* * * * *
The Healer attending to the Weasley girl smiled at her kindly, hoping that by being easy going she would calm the redhead down. Hogarth, who was familiar with Ginny’s temperament, did not have a hope that that would work.
“Where is that bloody bastard! I'm going to hex—no, murder him! I don’t have time for a wand!”
“Please calm down, Ms. Weasley, or I won’t be able to heal your nose,” the Healer said soothingly. Ginny continued to thrash around and tried to get out of bed, but Hogarth shoved her back down.
“Where’s his pale neck? I want to wring it!” she screamed.
“Come on, Ginny, let the nice lady fix your broken nose,” he pleaded as if trying to convince a stubborn child to eat her vegetables.
Ginny huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing herself back against the fluffy pillows of the hospital bed. Yes, he thought, very childish.
“Fine! Fix my bloody nose!”
“It is rather bloody,” Mr. Malfoy said from the door.
“You!” growled Ginny. Hogarth kept his hand on her shoulder to restrain her, ignoring the glare she shot him as he did so. If looks could kill, he would have been dead ten times over.
“Don’t ‘you’ me. It’s not my fault you got hit with a Bludger.”
“It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t flown away, that Bludger would have hit you instead! OW!” Ginny’s restlessness had caused the Healer to accidentally hit her nose with her wand in the process of trying to clean the blood off her face.
“Well, if you would just sit still!”
Ginny slouched in the bed, finally defeated.
“How long was I out for?” she asked with resignation.
“Long enough for my team to win,” replied Mr. Malfoy smugly.
“Who asked you?” she snarled.
Hogarth interrupted before Mr. Malfoy could reply. Ginny winced as the Healer tapped her nose—on purpose this time—and the cartilage re-aligned itself.
“Less than half an hour. There was so much blood everywhere… I thought you were dead.”
“But don’t worry,” Draco butted in, smirking widely. “The game didn’t stop. I caught the Snitch for you.”
The Healer scanned her wand along each side of Ginny’s head, while Ginny muttered something about annoying rich people.
“If you want to do something for me, Malfoy, you’ll leave. Seriously. Leave.”
The smirk on Draco’s face turned into a scowl. “Fine, Ginny,” he said heatedly, his eyes hard. “I’m glad you were not hurt.”
“I was hurt,” she grumbled as he left, and then she sighed in relief that he was gone.
“Is that any way to treat that poor man?” the Healer berated her stiffly.
“What?” said Ginny, confused.
“After that boy carried you here? You could have at least thanked him first!”
“Mr. Fieldman, what is she talking about?” she turned to Hogarth and asked.
He looked faintly uncomfortable to be put on the spot, but Mr. Malfoy had his sympathy, and as such, Hogarth felt obligated to set the record straight.
“Ah, well, Mr. Malfoy had actually already caught the Snitch when he stopped to talk to you; the referee hadn’t even noticed. He’s actually a rather good Seeker. Don’t know why he didn’t go professional….” At Ginny’s warning glare, he got back on topic. “Right. When the Bludger hit you, it made this terrible, loud cracking kind of sound, which he heard, then immediately announced he had the Snitch and flew back—jumped into the stands from midair, he did—grabbed you, and then Apparated here. The Healers had already taken you from him by the time I realized what had happened and got here. He hasn’t left your side except to go contact your family.”
“M-my family?” Ginny stammered, looking a bit dazed.
Maybe it was his imagination, but Hogarth thought she looked regretful. It was painfully obvious that Draco Malfoy loved her a great deal, though his behavior around her might have suggested otherwise. He didn’t seem to know how to act while he was with her, how to talk to her in a way that didn’t raise her cackles. He thought Draco’s loving Ginny was unfortunate because it was obvious that she did not love him back. From the first moment he had witnessed their interactions together, Draco had been the one trying to pursue her, while she had ignored his advances and constantly argued with him. She was clearly uncomfortable in his presence. Hogarth felt he and Draco were brethren in that regard. Ginny Weasley had rejected them both.
As Mrs. Weasley burst into the room with a worried, wailing sob, Hogarth let himself out.
* * * * *
July 8, 2003
“Master? A lady is here to be seeing you!” the young house-elf cried timidly as she poked her head inside the door of Draco’s study.
Draco looked up from the paperwork on his desk. “Thank you, Misty. Ah, show her in.”
“Who could it possibly be?” asked Astoria sardonically. “I thought I was the only lady in your life?”
Draco scowled at her over the desk and would have said something to her if the door hadn’t opened to reveal Ginny standing tentatively at the entrance. Shocked, he shot out of his chair and didn’t even realize that her name had been torn from his lips involuntarily. He had never expected to see her so soon—not after she had kicked him out of her hospital room a week ago.
“Astoria, you may leave,” Draco said, his eyes never once leaving Ginny’s nervous face. She rolled her eyes in response as she left, closing the door behind her, and even though Draco wouldn’t know it until he viewed the memory again, she kept her ear pressed tightly to the keyhole on the other side.
Ginny walked toward the desk and stood in front of it, glancing around Draco’s office as if afraid to look at the man himself.
Draco did not ask her to sit. As glad as he was to see her—astonished, really—he still could not forgive her for dismissing him as she had. Since that day, he had obsessed over it, wondering if she didn’t have something going on with her obese employer. He had spent a week in anger over this thought—that she had forgotten him for that man—and his anger returned now, when the shock of seeing her had worn off.
The return of anger soothed him as nothing else could. It didn’t act as a balm, cooling the hurt and healing the uncertainty that had grown inside him. It was acid, burning both away until they became festering wounds. Not healed. Not covered up. Obliterated, until nothing remained. He felt calmer destroying his pain with anger than he did acknowledging his weakness.
“What do you want?” he asked coldly. He wondered how uncomfortable she felt standing there while he sat, and a bit of a satisfied smirk tugged at a corner of his lips. He hoped she was very uncomfortable.
“It seems I… Hogarth told me what happened,” she replied quietly.
“Really? Is that so? Hogarth told you what happened?”
He could tell that his tone angered her, because her ears turned an alarming shade of red as she finally looked him dead in the eye and snapped, “I’ve got something to say and I’m not leaving until I say it! You are going to shut your bloody mouth and listen to me!”
Her outburst surprised him—in a good way. She had always had a spark, a feistiness that he had loved. He wasn’t ready to deal with her if she wasn’t going to fight with him. He gestured with a hand for her to continue while he sat back in his chair and watched in amusement.
“Do you remember how we fought at the Ministry of Magic picnics, when we were little?” she asked hotly.
“Yes,” he replied simply. He wanted to elaborate, to say that of course he remembered, to tell her how he still thought of it frequently, how he thought of her frequently. He refrained from making a fool of himself.
“I promised myself once that I would hate you until the day I died. I thought I had kept that promise pretty well.”
He waited, but she didn’t speak. “But?” he prompted her.
“I’ve been lying to myself.”
Draco stood up, not quite certain why he did, just that it seemed to be the right thing to do. Her eyes watched him as he slowly circled the desk. Those brown eyes he loved glittered with several emotions he didn’t feel comfortable naming because it meant acknowledging the truth. He couldn’t know that his eyes glittered with the same emotions.
“I see.”
“No, you don’t,” she murmured, turning to face him now that he stood beside her. “I… thought to hate you meant that we had to fight. That this war could only exist as long as we hated each other. And… and I didn’t want the war to end.”
“That is so convoluted,” he said softly.
“Yes, it is.” She laughed slightly, just as softly. His hand swept up to her hair, pushing it off her forehead, out of her face. Her eyes fluttered closed. He hadn’t touched her hair since he had kissed her in his sixth year. It was as silky as he remembered it. The flames in the fireplace set it alight so that it sparkled and danced. He’d thought her splendid once. He still did.
“I’ve realized something since you got me beat up by a Bludger,” she continued. Draco, outraged, started to set her straight, but then he saw the smirk on her face, which calmed him down.
“What did you realize?” Their faces were centimeters apart. He stared at her lips wondering how different it would be to kiss her again—or maybe it would be just the same, just as confused, just as uncertain as their first.
“We can call a truce. We can put an end to this fighting. Stop the battles. We don’t even have to like each other. Just… stop.”
Draco couldn’t resist a taste, just one. His lips met hers gently, softly. Too softly. The kiss was teasing, tickling, electrifying, and promised so much more for both of them, if only they’d give in to each other. They wanted to, but they didn’t know how to let go. They could have, but they were afraid that they were dreaming, and to deepen the kiss, to change it in anyway, would shatter the dream.
Draco reluctantly pulled away first and waited to hear the sound of something breaking, lost forever.
“I only have one problem with that plan,” he whispered against her lips before giving in to temptation and desperation and stealing another quick kiss. One more out of the thousands he wanted to steal from her.
“What’s that?” she asked breathlessly. He could tell she was barely paying attention to what he said, and a smug smile lit his face at the thought of his effect on her.
“I do like you. Quite a lot.”
“Oh, good,” she said, her smile a bright sunbeam, not only blinding to his eyes but also able to defeat the darkness that still lingered in his soul. “I like you quite a lot, too.”
Ginny threw her arms around Draco’s neck, and their lips met once again in a frantic dance of love that conquered the hate they had stubbornly held onto for fifteen endless years. In her kiss, Draco found the balm that soothed his soul, healed his wounds, cooled his anger, and made him whole.
Ginny tore her face away from him—how could she possibly be strong enough to pull away? he wondered—and glared at him weakly. “But I still hate you!” she retorted unconvincingly before he silenced her with his lips once again.
On the other side of the door, Astoria stood up and rolled her eyes as she dusted off her robes. She walked away, muttering under her breath, "Idiots…”
* * * * *
May 12, 2007
A storm rolled through the Ministry of Magic in the form of Draco Malfoy, barreling down innocent bystanders like hurricane winds, hair glinting like the flash of lightning, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.
Astoria tried to keep up with him, tried to slow him down, but she could do neither. He was determined and that determination made him unstoppable.
“Draco, listen to me! You can’t do this to her. She will hate you. Did you hear me? Hate you! Do you know what that means?”
“Shut it, Astoria. She could never hate me. She never has and she never will.”
Groaning, Astoria finally gave up. She’d been at it all day, but if he was just going to ignore her, then so be it. She had tried to warn him.
“Fine! But if you lose her, I will not let you cry on my shoulder!”
He ignored her, but, being a good assistant, she continued to follow him. No one stopped him as he slammed open the door adorned with a gold plaque that read “National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office.”
Ginny, startled, jumped out of the chair behind her desk, crying, “What is going on?”
“What are you doing on July 17th?” Draco asked as he leaned against her desk so nonchalantly it would seem he hadn't just stormed through the Ministry and barged into her office.
Staring at him as if he’d just sprouted an extra eyeball in the middle of his forehead, she said, “What?”
He replied, “Check your calendar, check your schedule, check your biological clock for Slytherin’s sake, and tell me: do you have July 17th free?”
Her face expressed her doubt that he was either thinking clearly or sober, but she flipped through a calendar on her desk as he requested.
“I’m free that day,” she said.
Draco snapped his fingers at Astoria, who stood near the door in the small ante-office.
“Did you hear that? Book it. Write it down.”
Astoria sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, but she did as she was told, scribbling in his day planner with a quill.
“Now,” he said, turning back to his confused girlfriend of four years and pointing to the blank box on her open calendar that represented the date 17 July. “I would like you to write Malfoy-Weasley wedding, one o’clock.”
“Excuse me?” Ginny retorted. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“You did hear me. Write it down,” he commanded, his voice rising with his temper.
Ginny stared at him in disbelief. “Why? Who decided this?”
He leaned over her desk, his face deadly serious. “I did, because I’ve been asking you to marry me for the last three years and you keep refusing. I don’t know why you do it, but if you don’t want to marry me, then we have no reason to see each other anymore. I think I’ve been patient, but my patience has just about run out.”
Ginny didn’t say anything for several moments. Her eyes lowered, looked at Astoria, and returned to Draco’s serious face, all as if waiting for him to say, “Surprise! May Fools!”
“But, Draco, that’s… that’s only two months away!”
He straightened his back and crossed his arms, trying to look imposing even though Ginny never backed down from him. They always met head-to-head, and he was ready to do the same in this instance.
“I have a lot of money. We can get everything ready.”
“But… my family!”
“They’re free that day, too. They can’t wait to see you in white,” he replied sarcastically.
Ginny gasped. “You told them already?”
“Of course. I asked for your father’s permission three years ago, and your mum’s exact words were, ‘It’s about time!’” His impression of Mrs. Weasley was uncannily accurate.
“And they didn’t threaten to murder you?”
“If you have no real objection….”
“What about my job? I have to work, you know!”
“You already said you were free that day!” His patience had indeed run thin. He didn’t understand why she was still objecting, but her waffling made him angrier and angrier. Had he wasted all this time on her? Would she really refuse him once and for all?
“Mr. Fieldman might need me!”
“No I won’t!” Hogarth Fieldman’s muffled voice called from the door behind Ginny’s desk. “Send me an invitation, will ya?”
Ginny shook her head.
“If that’s your final answer, I’ll be leaving then,” Draco said, his body shaking with rage borne from his hurt. The only person he had ever loved, ever acknowledged loving, was turning him down. She’d strung him along for the past twenty years, but he was tired of it now. All he had ever wanted was her. Maybe she hadn’t felt the same.
A hand on his shoulder stopped Draco. He turned, and she stood there smiling at him, a small, uncertain smile that he recognized because he was feeling exactly what her smile expressed.
“Two months isn’t long at all. How will we possibly get everything done?”
A small piece of him deflated like a balloon, releasing an internal sigh of happiness. A grin graced his lips, revealing his relief. These days, his smiles came much easier than they had in the past, thanks to her. What would he have done if he had lost his reason for smiling? For happiness? For living? Because he did live for her, to make her happy, to make her angry, to fight with her, to comfort her. She was his everything, even if she was a Weasley.
“When you’ve got money, everything is possible,” he replied, his grin turning into his more natural arrogant smirk.
“You mean anything is possible,” she corrected him.
“No,” he disagreed. “I’m pretty sure I mean everything.” She shook her head, marveling at the logic of the rich. In the past, he would have made some crack at her own family’s financial situation—or lack thereof—and Ginny waited for it to come, though she waited in vain. Something dawned within her, a revelation of sorts, as she realized what marrying Draco would mean.
“Are you ready to finally put an end to this war?” she asked, taking his hand in hers.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles. “You said it before,” he replied. “Our war will never end.” That didn’t sound like such a bad thing to either one of them.
From the door, Astoria called, “I’m enjoying all this mushiness immensely, really, but I think I’m going to have to resign my position, now.”
“What?” Draco said, looking away from Ginny to stare incomprehensibly at his assistant of nearly six years.
“Yes, just think of it as my wedding gift to you,” she replied as she set Draco’s day planner down in the chair that sat next to the door. “And to me,” she continued with a very satisfied smirk, indeed. “You’re not worth all the trouble I’ve been put through. Weasley can have you now.”
“It’ll be Malfoy to you, come July,” Ginny responded, though her eyes remained fixed on Draco.
“I think I might puke,” a two months older Astoria Greengrass said as her memory-self rolled her eyes and shuddered in horror. “This really is too sickeningly sweet.” No one batted an eyelash at her words except Luna Lovegood, who suddenly began to applaud the engaged couple before her.
“Must you do that?” Astoria asked.
“But they’ve come so far!” Luna said. Astoria stared at Luna in disbelief as she noticed the tears running down her face.
A moment later, both women were standing around the Pensieve in the Greengrass’s parlor.
“Thank you for the memory,” said Luna as she wiped her eyes and then proceeded to copy the memory.
“It was nothing. I needed a break anyway,” Astoria replied while pouring a cup of tea for herself. “Between Draco’s mum and Ginny’s, I haven’t had a moment’s rest since I began planning this cursed wedding.”
“It’s not cursed. It’s beautiful!” Luna said blithely, taking the teacup from Astoria’s hand. The Slytherin woman glared at the oblivious Ravenclaw in annoyance.
“You’re not the one planning it!” Fixing herself another cup, she sat back in her armchair and sighed. “I’m looking forward to their honeymoon. Then I can get some decent sleep for the first time in two months.”
Luna’s blue eyes lit up with excitement. “I bet their honeymoon will be just as lovely! Relaxing… and peaceful…”
Choking on her tea, Astoria scoffed, “Relaxing! Peaceful! Who are you talking about? Those two can never be at peace! They’re always yelling at each other and arguing, and spend as much time hating each other as they do snogging. Take my word for it—that’s a lot!”
“They don’t hate each other,” Luna replied dreamily, as she stared at the fire roaring in the fireplace. The sound of the wood burning and cracking filled the room, as did its ambient glow.
“Fire is underestimated, in my opinion,” she continued a moment later, earning Astoria’s dubious attention. “It’s feared because of how destructive it can be and how hard it is to control. I don’t think it means to be either one. It does provide warmth, doesn’t it? It hugs and protects the wood, gives it warmth, but it doesn’t know its own strength. It doesn’t realize that the closer it gets to what it loves, the more it hurts it.”
A piece of wood snapped in half, and a shower of embers flew up into the chimney.
“But the wood doesn’t run away, does it? It likes the fire’s warm embrace too much to care that it is being burned. I think Draco and Ginny are like that. They know that their love isn’t the most beneficial for their well-being, but they love each other too much to care if they burn. I think their passion for one another gets mistaken for hate, just as fire’s love for wood is mistaken for destruction.”
Astoria stared at Luna’s preoccupied face for several moments, her hand limp around her teacup.
“You are… unbelievable,” she said with disbelief. “It’s just wood. It can’t run away if it’s getting burned!” Then she adopted a slow tone as if speaking to a child. “Weasley is human. She can get away or fight back if someone hurts her, Lovegood.”
Luna turned to Astoria, whose hand still hung in the air, miming a person running away.
“Who said Draco was the fire?”
“If he’s not, then which one is?”
She turned her attention back to the fire, watching as the black wood gave all of its life to it until there was nothing else to give. It wouldn't be long before the fire starved and eventually died along with it.
“Exactly.”
March 3, 2003
Astoria Greengrass had been a friend to Draco for a very long time, long before the war, before he had even started school. The friendship would have surprised many people because she was several years younger than he was, and it wasn’t common knowledge that they were friends. Her older sister, Daphne, had been a Slytherin in the same year as Draco, but they hadn’t gotten along well since they were children.
They were good enough friends that when Astoria had left Hogwarts and needed a job, Draco had been kind enough to give her one. Granted, it wasn’t the best job in the world, but he paid very well for her trouble, since trouble her he did.
For the last eighteen months, Astoria had been his personal assistant. She scheduled his life and his work for him, made him tea when he wanted it, checked his post for Howlers and curses people still sent five years after the war, and generally made him a functioning human being. It was natural for her to wake up in the morning and follow him around all day, sometimes sharing dinner at a restaurant before he allowed her to go home. Not that she worked all the time. Draco gave her days off—he could function without her.
Despite their friendship, she and Draco just didn’t talk about some things. It had never been a problem for either of them, simply a lesson that they had learned when they were young. Never share your secrets with anyone, but most especially your friends. Astoria had never in her life been so curious about the things Draco didn’t tell her as to make her sick, but it was evident when they walked into the Office for National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues in the Department of Magical Games and Sports that he did have secrets about which she was curious.
The secretary sitting behind the desk had long red hair that waved just slightly in a way that made Astoria, with all her delicate looks and glossy, straight hair, envious. While Astoria had never known or interacted with any Weasleys personally, she knew their reputation well enough to know that this woman was one of them. She only faintly remembered her from school, and only then as Harry Potter’s girlfriend.
When they walked into the office, Draco froze and his face contorted into a strange expression. It happened for a second before he relaxed and pretended that nothing had happened, while Astoria pretended she hadn’t seen it. It occurred to her then that he had just balked. Balked! She hadn’t seen Draco so frightened since the height of the war, during his last two years of school.
The Weasley woman reacted almost identically, though she had a harder time trying to control her expression after the initial shock wore off. Astoria smiled at the sight of her wide eyes staring at Draco, her mouth partially open, her expression one of dread. The quill she had been holding fell out of her numb fingers.
“Uh… Malfoy?” she finally said with a little shake of her head.
“Ginny…” Draco responded, as if reluctant to say her name.
Astoria watched with interest. She hadn’t known of the two being well acquainted, but their reactions to seeing each other now seemed to signify that they were, or at least had been once.
“What are you doing here?” Ginny asked, unable to get rid of the disbelief in her voice.
“I have a meeting with Mr. Fieldman today at two.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shot to her hairline with surprise, and then she started lifting pieces of parchment off her desk, searching frantically beneath them and in drawers for something.
“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap… And he left me to deal with this… Not him! Anyone but him!”
Draco interrupted her mumbling, too impatient to be ignored. Not that he ever liked to be ignored. “Weasley, we just want to see Mr. Fieldman.”
Ginny closed the desk drawer she had been ruffling through and turned to face them, slapping a big, though tremulous, smile on her face.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Fieldman is out for today. He’s asked me to handle this meeting instead, but if you would rather reschedule—”
“It’s fine,” said Draco, inviting himself to sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Sit, Astoria.” Astoria did as she was told.
The smile slithered off Ginny’s face like melting candle wax. Evidently, she had hoped that they would reschedule the meeting rather than stay.
“Right… uh, so what can I help you with?” Her hands shook as she pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and picked up her quill again, but Draco didn’t notice because his eyes were too busy staring at her face. Ginny’s head lifted, but upon meeting his intense gaze, she looked at Astoria and then at a painting on the wall behind their heads.
“I would like to put together an amateur Quidditch tournament, the proceeds of which would go to St. Mungo’s.”
“Charity. Really,” Ginny commented sardonically as she jotted down a note on her parchment.
“Come now, Weasley. That’s not very professional, is it?”
Her expression turned to one of disappointment before resignation settled on her features.
“Of course. I’m sorry, sir.” Her face flushed scarlet and she couldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. Astoria peeked at Draco to see him smirking quite happily. He seemed to rather enjoy her calling him sir.
Throughout the meeting, Astoria took notes about his charity Quidditch tournament while watching the two interact. They had history and such amazing chemistry it was a wonder it had stayed secret for so long. Ginny was clearly uncomfortable. Her shoulders were tense, her voice overly polite, and she did not seem to want to look at Draco or Astoria for any length of time. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to take strength from her discomfort and tried to tease her further by “accidentally” brushing her hand when reaching for a piece of parchment on her desk and deliberately staring at her for extended periods of time—or maybe he didn’t realize that he was doing it at all.
“Astoria, will you wait for me in the hall?” Draco asked at the conclusion of the meeting. She stepped outside the door, but only just. Her curiosity was too much for her in this instance. He had never before dangled such a juicy secret as Ginny Weasley in front of her, and Astoria wasn’t going to be satisfied until she got the whole story. Not that she could ask Draco for it—that was a strict breach of the rules—but she could get the information she wanted other ways.
“Ginny.”
“That’s all for today, Mr. Malfoy. You may leave now.”
“You don’t have anything to say?” Draco asked, a hint of anger in his voice.
She dismissed him as if she hadn’t heard it. “No. Please leave.”
“I have something to say.”
“You always have something to say, but I’m at work right now, and I don’t have to hear it! I don't like you, remember?”
“It’s my turn to try to convince you that you do like me. You do. You didn't marry Potter.”
“I didn't love Harry!”
“So, what?” Draco hissed sarcastically. “You don’t love me either?”
The laughter that bubbled up from Ginny’s throat was cold and cruel. “I could never love you! I dated Harry because of you, to try to forget you.”
“To make me jealous!”
“Well…that’s in the past!”
“But you actually liked me! You told me that!”
"Just leave! Take your girlfriend and go!” Ginny hissed, shoving him straight out the door. Both were surprised to see the girlfriend in question, as if they’d forgotten she would be there.
Draco stared at Ginny and she stared back stubbornly. They ignored the people who had come out of their cubicles to stare at the commotion they had created.
“The war ended years ago,” he said.
“Not ours. Ours will never end. This,” she made a gesture with her hand, signaling the both of them, “never had anything to do with that war. It only served as ammunition!”
With nothing else to say, Draco, his face livid, called, “Let’s go, Astoria!” and stalked down the hall without even waiting for her.
Ginny’s eyes watched him go, and only the look on her face could have convinced Astoria to say what she did. Otherwise, she would have enjoyed misleading the woman a little—it would have been the Slytherin thing to do.
“I’m not his girlfriend, Ms. Weasley. Draco Malfoy never has girlfriends.”
She could take that to mean two things. If she was smart, she’d understand the true meaning, but she was a Weasley, and Astoria knew it was inevitable for a Weasley to misunderstand.
* * * * *
July 1, 2003
Hogarth Fieldman took great pride in his job despite the fact that its existence was about as obscure as the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He and his trusty secretary were the only employees in the National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office, but they worked hard and put their all into every client they received, infrequent as they were.
Surveying the turnout to the Malfoy Charity Amateur-League Quidditch Tournament, Hogarth felt that this project was another success, his best yet. He knew he couldn’t have done it on his own, which he would have had to do four years ago, before Ginny Weasley turned the one-man team into two. Hogarth had never known a harder worker, a more loyal employee, or a prettier girl than her. Even with a thirteen year age difference between them, he had tried every way he knew how to convince her to let him take her to dinner, but she always refused. He couldn’t possibly harbor any hard feelings against her because of her rejection. The joking manner in which he had asked her out had made it easy for her to decline, probably because she never took him seriously.
It was no matter. Their time working together had formed a great friendship between them. Besides, Ginny was still young, and while the difference in their ages was practically meaningless compared to the span of their lives, right now, to her, it made all the difference in the world. Such a pretty girl couldn’t possibly see something in a man such as him, whose width might have been three times her own, whose dark hair never seemed to meet a comb, and whose unruly beard always obscured his face. She would want someone closer to her own age, someone attractive, someone who could at least ride a broomstick without causing it to lag under his massive weight.
He amused himself by teasing her about her lack of a love life instead.
Something about the way she and the younger Mr. Malfoy interacted during the charity tournament planning meetings seemed to hint that he had been mistaken about her love life. Ginny sat in on all the meetings to take notes and serve tea when necessary, but she did so being very careful not to look at Mr. Malfoy or his assistant. This was such a significant change in her demeanor that Hogarth took notice immediately; Ginny was always very friendly and lively when they met with clients, but she had suddenly turned cold and unwelcoming. At least, it appeared that way at first, until he recognized her expression to be one of discomfort rather than dislike.
Mr. Malfoy’s behavior was wholly different from Ginny’s. He asked her what her thoughts were on some issue in the planning, what she would suggest to fix it, and never showed a sign of discouragement when she was less than forthcoming. He seemed to take amusement in annoying her.
Surprising him the night before the charity tournament was to take place, Ginny had asked Hogarth to be excused from attending. He had refused. They were the planners of the event, the only two representatives of the office, and they always attended the events they planned. She was good for business. People were more likely to approach the National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office for business if they knew that such a pretty girl was representing it, as well. Hogarth's elephantine appearance scared more customers away than it attracted.
Sitting next to her as they watched the first match of the tournament begin, Hogarth knew he had made the correct decision. Ginny smiled and cheered along with other fans in attendance and seemed to be enjoying herself well enough. He smiled to himself, happy to see her happy.
The game really didn’t warrant much attention, though. The players were all amateurs who had signed up to play and were randomly placed on teams. They had been given a month to practice with their teams before the tournament began, but it was clear that a month had not nearly been enough time. Some of the players were stronger than others. The best player was Draco Malfoy himself.
Hogarth had to hand it to him, not only for sponsoring a charity event open to anyone who could pay the cheap entrance fee, but for participating in it as well. The Malfoys had fought for years against the reputation they had obtained during the war; Draco seemed to work the hardest to earn back wizarding Britain’s respect.
One person who seemed wholly unimpressed by him was Ginny.
“Flashy show-off,” he heard her mutter under her breath as Mr. Malfoy pulled out of a steep dive just centimeters from the ground, to the gasps and applause of the drawn-in audience.
“You really don’t like him, do you?” asked Hogarth in amusement.
“Not at all. What is there to like?” she replied moodily.
“Some would say his wealth, his good looks, his charm—”
“Charm! Who thinks he’s charming? He’s not charming at all! He’s the complete opposite of it!” she scoffed.
“Some would beg to differ,” he said through his smile, trying not to laugh. “You talk as if you know him very well,” he continued, hoping to draw out any nugget of information about their relationship that she would give.
“I’ve known him since childhood. He’s nasty and arrogant and… and … indecisive!”
“Really! That’s interesting.” Hogarth hadn’t realized they’d known each other for so long, and he wouldn’t have pegged Draco Malfoy as indecisive based on Hogarth’s impression of him during their meetings. Mr. Malfoy had always made his decisions quickly and with finality.
“I absolutely, one hundred percent—”
“Loathe me?”
Draco Malfoy sat on his broomstick in midair before them, smirking very widely indeed.
“What are you doing? The game is still going!” Ginny cried in outrage.
“I’m aware. I just came to see how you’ve been since I saw you last week.” Hogarth’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“I—you… Get back in the game!” she yelled in response. “You’re letting your team down, terrible though it is!”
“We’ll win,” he said simply.
“Not if you’re hanging there talking to me rather than looking for the Snitch, you won’t!”
He smirked at her as if he knew more than she did.
Crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at one of the goal posts at the end of the pitch, she said, “I don’t care if you win anyway, but your teammates certainly will!”
“Well, how about I give you a reason to care?” he asked. “I’ll win this tournament for you.”
Hogarth studied Ginny’s reaction. Uncertainty, disbelief, agitation, even fear showed up clearly on her flushed face.
“What?”
“I will win this whole tournament for you.”
“You mean St. Mungo’s, of course,” she contradicted, looking slightly relieved as she said it.
“No,” he disagreed, leaning closer to her until their faces were centimeters apart. “I mean you.”
As Draco dashed away on his broomstick, back into the game to continue the search for the Golden Snitch, two things happened at once: Ginny began to laugh hysterically and derisively, and a Bludger pounded her in the face.
* * * * *
The Healer attending to the Weasley girl smiled at her kindly, hoping that by being easy going she would calm the redhead down. Hogarth, who was familiar with Ginny’s temperament, did not have a hope that that would work.
“Where is that bloody bastard! I'm going to hex—no, murder him! I don’t have time for a wand!”
“Please calm down, Ms. Weasley, or I won’t be able to heal your nose,” the Healer said soothingly. Ginny continued to thrash around and tried to get out of bed, but Hogarth shoved her back down.
“Where’s his pale neck? I want to wring it!” she screamed.
“Come on, Ginny, let the nice lady fix your broken nose,” he pleaded as if trying to convince a stubborn child to eat her vegetables.
Ginny huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing herself back against the fluffy pillows of the hospital bed. Yes, he thought, very childish.
“Fine! Fix my bloody nose!”
“It is rather bloody,” Mr. Malfoy said from the door.
“You!” growled Ginny. Hogarth kept his hand on her shoulder to restrain her, ignoring the glare she shot him as he did so. If looks could kill, he would have been dead ten times over.
“Don’t ‘you’ me. It’s not my fault you got hit with a Bludger.”
“It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t flown away, that Bludger would have hit you instead! OW!” Ginny’s restlessness had caused the Healer to accidentally hit her nose with her wand in the process of trying to clean the blood off her face.
“Well, if you would just sit still!”
Ginny slouched in the bed, finally defeated.
“How long was I out for?” she asked with resignation.
“Long enough for my team to win,” replied Mr. Malfoy smugly.
“Who asked you?” she snarled.
Hogarth interrupted before Mr. Malfoy could reply. Ginny winced as the Healer tapped her nose—on purpose this time—and the cartilage re-aligned itself.
“Less than half an hour. There was so much blood everywhere… I thought you were dead.”
“But don’t worry,” Draco butted in, smirking widely. “The game didn’t stop. I caught the Snitch for you.”
The Healer scanned her wand along each side of Ginny’s head, while Ginny muttered something about annoying rich people.
“If you want to do something for me, Malfoy, you’ll leave. Seriously. Leave.”
The smirk on Draco’s face turned into a scowl. “Fine, Ginny,” he said heatedly, his eyes hard. “I’m glad you were not hurt.”
“I was hurt,” she grumbled as he left, and then she sighed in relief that he was gone.
“Is that any way to treat that poor man?” the Healer berated her stiffly.
“What?” said Ginny, confused.
“After that boy carried you here? You could have at least thanked him first!”
“Mr. Fieldman, what is she talking about?” she turned to Hogarth and asked.
He looked faintly uncomfortable to be put on the spot, but Mr. Malfoy had his sympathy, and as such, Hogarth felt obligated to set the record straight.
“Ah, well, Mr. Malfoy had actually already caught the Snitch when he stopped to talk to you; the referee hadn’t even noticed. He’s actually a rather good Seeker. Don’t know why he didn’t go professional….” At Ginny’s warning glare, he got back on topic. “Right. When the Bludger hit you, it made this terrible, loud cracking kind of sound, which he heard, then immediately announced he had the Snitch and flew back—jumped into the stands from midair, he did—grabbed you, and then Apparated here. The Healers had already taken you from him by the time I realized what had happened and got here. He hasn’t left your side except to go contact your family.”
“M-my family?” Ginny stammered, looking a bit dazed.
Maybe it was his imagination, but Hogarth thought she looked regretful. It was painfully obvious that Draco Malfoy loved her a great deal, though his behavior around her might have suggested otherwise. He didn’t seem to know how to act while he was with her, how to talk to her in a way that didn’t raise her cackles. He thought Draco’s loving Ginny was unfortunate because it was obvious that she did not love him back. From the first moment he had witnessed their interactions together, Draco had been the one trying to pursue her, while she had ignored his advances and constantly argued with him. She was clearly uncomfortable in his presence. Hogarth felt he and Draco were brethren in that regard. Ginny Weasley had rejected them both.
As Mrs. Weasley burst into the room with a worried, wailing sob, Hogarth let himself out.
* * * * *
July 8, 2003
“Master? A lady is here to be seeing you!” the young house-elf cried timidly as she poked her head inside the door of Draco’s study.
Draco looked up from the paperwork on his desk. “Thank you, Misty. Ah, show her in.”
“Who could it possibly be?” asked Astoria sardonically. “I thought I was the only lady in your life?”
Draco scowled at her over the desk and would have said something to her if the door hadn’t opened to reveal Ginny standing tentatively at the entrance. Shocked, he shot out of his chair and didn’t even realize that her name had been torn from his lips involuntarily. He had never expected to see her so soon—not after she had kicked him out of her hospital room a week ago.
“Astoria, you may leave,” Draco said, his eyes never once leaving Ginny’s nervous face. She rolled her eyes in response as she left, closing the door behind her, and even though Draco wouldn’t know it until he viewed the memory again, she kept her ear pressed tightly to the keyhole on the other side.
Ginny walked toward the desk and stood in front of it, glancing around Draco’s office as if afraid to look at the man himself.
Draco did not ask her to sit. As glad as he was to see her—astonished, really—he still could not forgive her for dismissing him as she had. Since that day, he had obsessed over it, wondering if she didn’t have something going on with her obese employer. He had spent a week in anger over this thought—that she had forgotten him for that man—and his anger returned now, when the shock of seeing her had worn off.
The return of anger soothed him as nothing else could. It didn’t act as a balm, cooling the hurt and healing the uncertainty that had grown inside him. It was acid, burning both away until they became festering wounds. Not healed. Not covered up. Obliterated, until nothing remained. He felt calmer destroying his pain with anger than he did acknowledging his weakness.
“What do you want?” he asked coldly. He wondered how uncomfortable she felt standing there while he sat, and a bit of a satisfied smirk tugged at a corner of his lips. He hoped she was very uncomfortable.
“It seems I… Hogarth told me what happened,” she replied quietly.
“Really? Is that so? Hogarth told you what happened?”
He could tell that his tone angered her, because her ears turned an alarming shade of red as she finally looked him dead in the eye and snapped, “I’ve got something to say and I’m not leaving until I say it! You are going to shut your bloody mouth and listen to me!”
Her outburst surprised him—in a good way. She had always had a spark, a feistiness that he had loved. He wasn’t ready to deal with her if she wasn’t going to fight with him. He gestured with a hand for her to continue while he sat back in his chair and watched in amusement.
“Do you remember how we fought at the Ministry of Magic picnics, when we were little?” she asked hotly.
“Yes,” he replied simply. He wanted to elaborate, to say that of course he remembered, to tell her how he still thought of it frequently, how he thought of her frequently. He refrained from making a fool of himself.
“I promised myself once that I would hate you until the day I died. I thought I had kept that promise pretty well.”
He waited, but she didn’t speak. “But?” he prompted her.
“I’ve been lying to myself.”
Draco stood up, not quite certain why he did, just that it seemed to be the right thing to do. Her eyes watched him as he slowly circled the desk. Those brown eyes he loved glittered with several emotions he didn’t feel comfortable naming because it meant acknowledging the truth. He couldn’t know that his eyes glittered with the same emotions.
“I see.”
“No, you don’t,” she murmured, turning to face him now that he stood beside her. “I… thought to hate you meant that we had to fight. That this war could only exist as long as we hated each other. And… and I didn’t want the war to end.”
“That is so convoluted,” he said softly.
“Yes, it is.” She laughed slightly, just as softly. His hand swept up to her hair, pushing it off her forehead, out of her face. Her eyes fluttered closed. He hadn’t touched her hair since he had kissed her in his sixth year. It was as silky as he remembered it. The flames in the fireplace set it alight so that it sparkled and danced. He’d thought her splendid once. He still did.
“I’ve realized something since you got me beat up by a Bludger,” she continued. Draco, outraged, started to set her straight, but then he saw the smirk on her face, which calmed him down.
“What did you realize?” Their faces were centimeters apart. He stared at her lips wondering how different it would be to kiss her again—or maybe it would be just the same, just as confused, just as uncertain as their first.
“We can call a truce. We can put an end to this fighting. Stop the battles. We don’t even have to like each other. Just… stop.”
Draco couldn’t resist a taste, just one. His lips met hers gently, softly. Too softly. The kiss was teasing, tickling, electrifying, and promised so much more for both of them, if only they’d give in to each other. They wanted to, but they didn’t know how to let go. They could have, but they were afraid that they were dreaming, and to deepen the kiss, to change it in anyway, would shatter the dream.
Draco reluctantly pulled away first and waited to hear the sound of something breaking, lost forever.
“I only have one problem with that plan,” he whispered against her lips before giving in to temptation and desperation and stealing another quick kiss. One more out of the thousands he wanted to steal from her.
“What’s that?” she asked breathlessly. He could tell she was barely paying attention to what he said, and a smug smile lit his face at the thought of his effect on her.
“I do like you. Quite a lot.”
“Oh, good,” she said, her smile a bright sunbeam, not only blinding to his eyes but also able to defeat the darkness that still lingered in his soul. “I like you quite a lot, too.”
Ginny threw her arms around Draco’s neck, and their lips met once again in a frantic dance of love that conquered the hate they had stubbornly held onto for fifteen endless years. In her kiss, Draco found the balm that soothed his soul, healed his wounds, cooled his anger, and made him whole.
Ginny tore her face away from him—how could she possibly be strong enough to pull away? he wondered—and glared at him weakly. “But I still hate you!” she retorted unconvincingly before he silenced her with his lips once again.
On the other side of the door, Astoria stood up and rolled her eyes as she dusted off her robes. She walked away, muttering under her breath, "Idiots…”
* * * * *
May 12, 2007
A storm rolled through the Ministry of Magic in the form of Draco Malfoy, barreling down innocent bystanders like hurricane winds, hair glinting like the flash of lightning, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.
Astoria tried to keep up with him, tried to slow him down, but she could do neither. He was determined and that determination made him unstoppable.
“Draco, listen to me! You can’t do this to her. She will hate you. Did you hear me? Hate you! Do you know what that means?”
“Shut it, Astoria. She could never hate me. She never has and she never will.”
Groaning, Astoria finally gave up. She’d been at it all day, but if he was just going to ignore her, then so be it. She had tried to warn him.
“Fine! But if you lose her, I will not let you cry on my shoulder!”
He ignored her, but, being a good assistant, she continued to follow him. No one stopped him as he slammed open the door adorned with a gold plaque that read “National Non-Professional Quidditch Leagues Office.”
Ginny, startled, jumped out of the chair behind her desk, crying, “What is going on?”
“What are you doing on July 17th?” Draco asked as he leaned against her desk so nonchalantly it would seem he hadn't just stormed through the Ministry and barged into her office.
Staring at him as if he’d just sprouted an extra eyeball in the middle of his forehead, she said, “What?”
He replied, “Check your calendar, check your schedule, check your biological clock for Slytherin’s sake, and tell me: do you have July 17th free?”
Her face expressed her doubt that he was either thinking clearly or sober, but she flipped through a calendar on her desk as he requested.
“I’m free that day,” she said.
Draco snapped his fingers at Astoria, who stood near the door in the small ante-office.
“Did you hear that? Book it. Write it down.”
Astoria sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, but she did as she was told, scribbling in his day planner with a quill.
“Now,” he said, turning back to his confused girlfriend of four years and pointing to the blank box on her open calendar that represented the date 17 July. “I would like you to write Malfoy-Weasley wedding, one o’clock.”
“Excuse me?” Ginny retorted. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“You did hear me. Write it down,” he commanded, his voice rising with his temper.
Ginny stared at him in disbelief. “Why? Who decided this?”
He leaned over her desk, his face deadly serious. “I did, because I’ve been asking you to marry me for the last three years and you keep refusing. I don’t know why you do it, but if you don’t want to marry me, then we have no reason to see each other anymore. I think I’ve been patient, but my patience has just about run out.”
Ginny didn’t say anything for several moments. Her eyes lowered, looked at Astoria, and returned to Draco’s serious face, all as if waiting for him to say, “Surprise! May Fools!”
“But, Draco, that’s… that’s only two months away!”
He straightened his back and crossed his arms, trying to look imposing even though Ginny never backed down from him. They always met head-to-head, and he was ready to do the same in this instance.
“I have a lot of money. We can get everything ready.”
“But… my family!”
“They’re free that day, too. They can’t wait to see you in white,” he replied sarcastically.
Ginny gasped. “You told them already?”
“Of course. I asked for your father’s permission three years ago, and your mum’s exact words were, ‘It’s about time!’” His impression of Mrs. Weasley was uncannily accurate.
“And they didn’t threaten to murder you?”
“If you have no real objection….”
“What about my job? I have to work, you know!”
“You already said you were free that day!” His patience had indeed run thin. He didn’t understand why she was still objecting, but her waffling made him angrier and angrier. Had he wasted all this time on her? Would she really refuse him once and for all?
“Mr. Fieldman might need me!”
“No I won’t!” Hogarth Fieldman’s muffled voice called from the door behind Ginny’s desk. “Send me an invitation, will ya?”
Ginny shook her head.
“If that’s your final answer, I’ll be leaving then,” Draco said, his body shaking with rage borne from his hurt. The only person he had ever loved, ever acknowledged loving, was turning him down. She’d strung him along for the past twenty years, but he was tired of it now. All he had ever wanted was her. Maybe she hadn’t felt the same.
A hand on his shoulder stopped Draco. He turned, and she stood there smiling at him, a small, uncertain smile that he recognized because he was feeling exactly what her smile expressed.
“Two months isn’t long at all. How will we possibly get everything done?”
A small piece of him deflated like a balloon, releasing an internal sigh of happiness. A grin graced his lips, revealing his relief. These days, his smiles came much easier than they had in the past, thanks to her. What would he have done if he had lost his reason for smiling? For happiness? For living? Because he did live for her, to make her happy, to make her angry, to fight with her, to comfort her. She was his everything, even if she was a Weasley.
“When you’ve got money, everything is possible,” he replied, his grin turning into his more natural arrogant smirk.
“You mean anything is possible,” she corrected him.
“No,” he disagreed. “I’m pretty sure I mean everything.” She shook her head, marveling at the logic of the rich. In the past, he would have made some crack at her own family’s financial situation—or lack thereof—and Ginny waited for it to come, though she waited in vain. Something dawned within her, a revelation of sorts, as she realized what marrying Draco would mean.
“Are you ready to finally put an end to this war?” she asked, taking his hand in hers.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles. “You said it before,” he replied. “Our war will never end.” That didn’t sound like such a bad thing to either one of them.
From the door, Astoria called, “I’m enjoying all this mushiness immensely, really, but I think I’m going to have to resign my position, now.”
“What?” Draco said, looking away from Ginny to stare incomprehensibly at his assistant of nearly six years.
“Yes, just think of it as my wedding gift to you,” she replied as she set Draco’s day planner down in the chair that sat next to the door. “And to me,” she continued with a very satisfied smirk, indeed. “You’re not worth all the trouble I’ve been put through. Weasley can have you now.”
“It’ll be Malfoy to you, come July,” Ginny responded, though her eyes remained fixed on Draco.
“I think I might puke,” a two months older Astoria Greengrass said as her memory-self rolled her eyes and shuddered in horror. “This really is too sickeningly sweet.” No one batted an eyelash at her words except Luna Lovegood, who suddenly began to applaud the engaged couple before her.
“Must you do that?” Astoria asked.
“But they’ve come so far!” Luna said. Astoria stared at Luna in disbelief as she noticed the tears running down her face.
A moment later, both women were standing around the Pensieve in the Greengrass’s parlor.
“Thank you for the memory,” said Luna as she wiped her eyes and then proceeded to copy the memory.
“It was nothing. I needed a break anyway,” Astoria replied while pouring a cup of tea for herself. “Between Draco’s mum and Ginny’s, I haven’t had a moment’s rest since I began planning this cursed wedding.”
“It’s not cursed. It’s beautiful!” Luna said blithely, taking the teacup from Astoria’s hand. The Slytherin woman glared at the oblivious Ravenclaw in annoyance.
“You’re not the one planning it!” Fixing herself another cup, she sat back in her armchair and sighed. “I’m looking forward to their honeymoon. Then I can get some decent sleep for the first time in two months.”
Luna’s blue eyes lit up with excitement. “I bet their honeymoon will be just as lovely! Relaxing… and peaceful…”
Choking on her tea, Astoria scoffed, “Relaxing! Peaceful! Who are you talking about? Those two can never be at peace! They’re always yelling at each other and arguing, and spend as much time hating each other as they do snogging. Take my word for it—that’s a lot!”
“They don’t hate each other,” Luna replied dreamily, as she stared at the fire roaring in the fireplace. The sound of the wood burning and cracking filled the room, as did its ambient glow.
“Fire is underestimated, in my opinion,” she continued a moment later, earning Astoria’s dubious attention. “It’s feared because of how destructive it can be and how hard it is to control. I don’t think it means to be either one. It does provide warmth, doesn’t it? It hugs and protects the wood, gives it warmth, but it doesn’t know its own strength. It doesn’t realize that the closer it gets to what it loves, the more it hurts it.”
A piece of wood snapped in half, and a shower of embers flew up into the chimney.
“But the wood doesn’t run away, does it? It likes the fire’s warm embrace too much to care that it is being burned. I think Draco and Ginny are like that. They know that their love isn’t the most beneficial for their well-being, but they love each other too much to care if they burn. I think their passion for one another gets mistaken for hate, just as fire’s love for wood is mistaken for destruction.”
Astoria stared at Luna’s preoccupied face for several moments, her hand limp around her teacup.
“You are… unbelievable,” she said with disbelief. “It’s just wood. It can’t run away if it’s getting burned!” Then she adopted a slow tone as if speaking to a child. “Weasley is human. She can get away or fight back if someone hurts her, Lovegood.”
Luna turned to Astoria, whose hand still hung in the air, miming a person running away.
“Who said Draco was the fire?”
“If he’s not, then which one is?”
She turned her attention back to the fire, watching as the black wood gave all of its life to it until there was nothing else to give. It wouldn't be long before the fire starved and eventually died along with it.
“Exactly.”
Author notes: The epilogue should be up this weekend. Maybe sooner!
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