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The annual Ministry of Magic New Year’s Eve Countdown was a shabby affair, involving a large but run-down hall on the top floor of the Ministry often used for seminars and the like. Food and drinks were provided, and there were indoor fireworks, but on the whole the event was no big deal. Still, the Minister insisted that all Ministry employees attend, and Ginny Weasley was no exception.
Returning from a trip to the bathroom, Ginny cast her eyes about for the man who had increasingly been occupying her waking (and non-waking too, come to think of it) thoughts. He wasn’t her date by any means, but her eye always seemed drawn to him and he was definitely infinitely more interesting than her colleagues from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.
Her eyes alighted on him standing near the drinks table. With his white blond hair, Draco Malfoy easily stood out from the crowd.
Before Ginny could think up an excuse to go over and talk to him, to her surprise, his eyes caught hers. He lithely wove through the crowd towards her, holding two cups of bright red liquid.
“Spiked punch?” he offered.
“Thanks,” Ginny said, taking one cup. “Though you’re losing your touch; if you intended for me to get drunk and embarrass myself in front of my bosses, you probably shouldn’t have told me it was spiked,” Ginny joked, in reference to last year’s countdown.
“Darn. I knew there was a reason they revoked my Evil Slytherin membership.”
They chatted for a bit before Ginny noticed the group of Heads of Department gathered near the stage.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asked reluctantly.
“Probably, but I can’t stand those old codgers.”
“Go on,” she urged. “The Ministry will fall to ruin if they don’t have their Head of International Magical Co-operation.” It was a running joke between them that Ginny thought his position utterly useless. All he did was bring beautiful foreign dignitaries around when they came to England, and enjoy fully-paid tours of other cities whenever he went overseas. Like that was difficult, Ginny thought a bit resentfully, thinking of the beautiful foreign dignitaries always on his arm at Important Events.
“Hey, you try being fluent in seven languages. It’s no joke.”
As Draco made his way to the front of the room, Ginny scanned the room for her colleagues. She found them parked beside the dessert table, eating éclairs straight from the tray.
Her boss was telling a story about how his fiancée had forced him to spend the entire weekend choosing tablecloths for their upcoming wedding. “I said to her, you ain’t making me miss Quidditch for the world, but waddaya know, come Saturday night and I’m listing the pros and cons of flowered versus non-flowered.” He was complaining, but his tone was affectionate, and Ginny had to repress a sigh.
She had always enjoyed the holiday season but lately, she had started feeling depressed every time one came around. There were just too many couples in love. Perhaps they were always around, but the holiday season reminded her that she didn’t have anyone. She hated being a downer, and being down consequently made her feel worse. She understood that she was very fortunate, being always surrounded by family and friends, but sometimes self-pity took over and then it was time to head for the chocolate.
She politely excused herself, requisitioned another glass of spiked punch and ventured to a large window at a corner, contemplating the fake outdoor scenery which consisted of lightly falling snow. Nearly thirty and no prospects, she could almost hear her mother saying. Why, at your age I already had Bill and Charlie, and was expecting Percy! What are you waiting for, dear?
It’s a who, and his name is Draco Malfoy, Ginny thought bitterly. There really couldn’t have been anyone worse or more inappropriate for her to fall in love with. In the six months since she’d realised to her horror that she was in love with Draco Malfoy, she had dated other men, but to no avail. She could never get him out of her mind, and always mentally compared her dates to him. They were invariably nicer and more suitable, but the sad thing was that at the end of the day, she still liked him better, snarky comments and all. Could she really help it if she happened to like arrogant, self-absorbed men? No, it wasn’t her fault by any means. Stupid charming git. And Draco would never look at her twice. Sure, they were friends now, and sure, he sometimes came over to talk to her although their paths didn’t have to cross, but there was no way he could ever fancy her. Perhaps her New Year’s Resolution could be to forget him.
Ginny’s thoughts were on this when a sudden voice made her nearly choke on her punch. “Drowning your sorrows?”
Sputtering, she turned to see none other than Draco, with one brow raised.
She took the napkin he proffered and glared at him. “If I’d choked to death, I’d come back and haunt you.”
He shrugged. “I take full responsibility.”
“And please, drown my sorrows in spiked punch?” She made a sound of derision. “Fred and George have trained me better than that. I get drunk on nothing but hard liquor on the rocks.”
“So, you’re not drunk in the least?”
“Nope.”
“You’re sure you can’t be taken advantage of?”
“Please. I could Apparate to Hawaii and back without splinching myself.”
“I see.” Draco seemed to be contemplating something. He seemed a little restless, which was a first. She’d never seen him look other than utterly composed.
“Aren’t you supposed to be up there counting down with the rest of the Heads?”
“I palmed it off to my assistant; he was only too happy to oblige.”
“Well, what are you doing here?” It was kind of a strange question to ask, but then there really was no explanation for it.
“I don’t care much for countdowns,” he said offhandedly, fiddling with the drink in his hand.
“Is something wrong? You seem kind of… on edge.”
“Look, Weasel, I…” he began, but he was interrupted by the sudden cheer that had erupted from the crowd.
“TEN! NINE!”
The countdown had started, but Ginny was trying to figure out why Draco suddenly looked panicked. “You aren’t afraid of fireworks, are you?” she asked, peering at him closely.
“What? No.”
“EIGHT! SEVEN!”
She glanced at Draco, but he was refusing to look at her. He seemed to be bracing himself for something. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets (which he’d once told her was ‘entirely unbecoming, not to mention sloppy’). “Draco?”
“SIX!”
Draco was suddenly very close. “You know, it’s tradition to kiss whomever you’re with when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s,” he said, in a voice so low Ginny had to strain to hear it.
“Is that so?” Ginny said, trying to not sound breathless. Merlin, had his eyes always been this intense? They had always been a beautiful icy grey, but now they were dark and she could see that they were flecked with gold. “Is that why you’re here?” she ventured. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
“FIVE! FOUR!”
“Yes,” Draco said, entirely honest for once. “Bugger the last three seconds,” he added, before tipping her chin up and kissing her.
That new year turned out to be a very good one for all indeed.
~
Returning from a trip to the bathroom, Ginny cast her eyes about for the man who had increasingly been occupying her waking (and non-waking too, come to think of it) thoughts. He wasn’t her date by any means, but her eye always seemed drawn to him and he was definitely infinitely more interesting than her colleagues from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.
Her eyes alighted on him standing near the drinks table. With his white blond hair, Draco Malfoy easily stood out from the crowd.
Before Ginny could think up an excuse to go over and talk to him, to her surprise, his eyes caught hers. He lithely wove through the crowd towards her, holding two cups of bright red liquid.
“Spiked punch?” he offered.
“Thanks,” Ginny said, taking one cup. “Though you’re losing your touch; if you intended for me to get drunk and embarrass myself in front of my bosses, you probably shouldn’t have told me it was spiked,” Ginny joked, in reference to last year’s countdown.
“Darn. I knew there was a reason they revoked my Evil Slytherin membership.”
They chatted for a bit before Ginny noticed the group of Heads of Department gathered near the stage.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asked reluctantly.
“Probably, but I can’t stand those old codgers.”
“Go on,” she urged. “The Ministry will fall to ruin if they don’t have their Head of International Magical Co-operation.” It was a running joke between them that Ginny thought his position utterly useless. All he did was bring beautiful foreign dignitaries around when they came to England, and enjoy fully-paid tours of other cities whenever he went overseas. Like that was difficult, Ginny thought a bit resentfully, thinking of the beautiful foreign dignitaries always on his arm at Important Events.
“Hey, you try being fluent in seven languages. It’s no joke.”
As Draco made his way to the front of the room, Ginny scanned the room for her colleagues. She found them parked beside the dessert table, eating éclairs straight from the tray.
Her boss was telling a story about how his fiancée had forced him to spend the entire weekend choosing tablecloths for their upcoming wedding. “I said to her, you ain’t making me miss Quidditch for the world, but waddaya know, come Saturday night and I’m listing the pros and cons of flowered versus non-flowered.” He was complaining, but his tone was affectionate, and Ginny had to repress a sigh.
She had always enjoyed the holiday season but lately, she had started feeling depressed every time one came around. There were just too many couples in love. Perhaps they were always around, but the holiday season reminded her that she didn’t have anyone. She hated being a downer, and being down consequently made her feel worse. She understood that she was very fortunate, being always surrounded by family and friends, but sometimes self-pity took over and then it was time to head for the chocolate.
She politely excused herself, requisitioned another glass of spiked punch and ventured to a large window at a corner, contemplating the fake outdoor scenery which consisted of lightly falling snow. Nearly thirty and no prospects, she could almost hear her mother saying. Why, at your age I already had Bill and Charlie, and was expecting Percy! What are you waiting for, dear?
It’s a who, and his name is Draco Malfoy, Ginny thought bitterly. There really couldn’t have been anyone worse or more inappropriate for her to fall in love with. In the six months since she’d realised to her horror that she was in love with Draco Malfoy, she had dated other men, but to no avail. She could never get him out of her mind, and always mentally compared her dates to him. They were invariably nicer and more suitable, but the sad thing was that at the end of the day, she still liked him better, snarky comments and all. Could she really help it if she happened to like arrogant, self-absorbed men? No, it wasn’t her fault by any means. Stupid charming git. And Draco would never look at her twice. Sure, they were friends now, and sure, he sometimes came over to talk to her although their paths didn’t have to cross, but there was no way he could ever fancy her. Perhaps her New Year’s Resolution could be to forget him.
Ginny’s thoughts were on this when a sudden voice made her nearly choke on her punch. “Drowning your sorrows?”
Sputtering, she turned to see none other than Draco, with one brow raised.
She took the napkin he proffered and glared at him. “If I’d choked to death, I’d come back and haunt you.”
He shrugged. “I take full responsibility.”
“And please, drown my sorrows in spiked punch?” She made a sound of derision. “Fred and George have trained me better than that. I get drunk on nothing but hard liquor on the rocks.”
“So, you’re not drunk in the least?”
“Nope.”
“You’re sure you can’t be taken advantage of?”
“Please. I could Apparate to Hawaii and back without splinching myself.”
“I see.” Draco seemed to be contemplating something. He seemed a little restless, which was a first. She’d never seen him look other than utterly composed.
“Aren’t you supposed to be up there counting down with the rest of the Heads?”
“I palmed it off to my assistant; he was only too happy to oblige.”
“Well, what are you doing here?” It was kind of a strange question to ask, but then there really was no explanation for it.
“I don’t care much for countdowns,” he said offhandedly, fiddling with the drink in his hand.
“Is something wrong? You seem kind of… on edge.”
“Look, Weasel, I…” he began, but he was interrupted by the sudden cheer that had erupted from the crowd.
“TEN! NINE!”
The countdown had started, but Ginny was trying to figure out why Draco suddenly looked panicked. “You aren’t afraid of fireworks, are you?” she asked, peering at him closely.
“What? No.”
“EIGHT! SEVEN!”
She glanced at Draco, but he was refusing to look at her. He seemed to be bracing himself for something. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets (which he’d once told her was ‘entirely unbecoming, not to mention sloppy’). “Draco?”
“SIX!”
Draco was suddenly very close. “You know, it’s tradition to kiss whomever you’re with when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s,” he said, in a voice so low Ginny had to strain to hear it.
“Is that so?” Ginny said, trying to not sound breathless. Merlin, had his eyes always been this intense? They had always been a beautiful icy grey, but now they were dark and she could see that they were flecked with gold. “Is that why you’re here?” she ventured. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
“FIVE! FOUR!”
“Yes,” Draco said, entirely honest for once. “Bugger the last three seconds,” he added, before tipping her chin up and kissing her.
That new year turned out to be a very good one for all indeed.
~
To Be Continued.
like a falling star is the author of 6 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 4 members. Members who liked Counting Down also liked 1031 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 4 members. Members who liked Counting Down also liked 1031 other stories.
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