Yours, Ginny

"So," Daphne began, casually skimming her luxurious surrounding, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I suppose I might have gone a bit too far," said Astoria, contemplating the restaurant. She paused to nod at the maître'd. "But what's done is done, so there's no use whining about it."

"Hardly," snorted the brunette, her eyes sparkling as red wine was poured into her goblet. Her fingers toyed with the glass stem. "If anything, I only wanted–" she held up her glass, "–to wine about it, if you please."

Astoria made a face. "That was truly horrible." She held up her own glass, and proposed, "A toast?"

Daphne nodded. "To us," she said, and they drank.

There was a brief silence where each scrutinized their cutlery, but the elder Greengrass broke it. "Really, Astoria," she drawled. "Subtlety was never quite your specialty. What was so important that you had to bribe me with wine?"

Astoria looked at Daphne. "Your business partner," she stated quietly. "And… Draco."

Something pulled at her sister's lips. "Ah, yes," Daphne remarked. "I was wondering, myself."

"Daphne?" Astoria prompted, and the woman addressed felt uncertain.

"I'm not sure," she began slowly. "She slapped him that night–"

"She slapped Draco?" Astoria had to gasp. As much as she loved her husband, he was a very intimidating man when he wished to be, and she couldn't imagine anyone having the sheer foolishness to even raise their voice at him, let alone slap him.

"'Seven years overdue'," Daphne repeated. Astoria narrowed her eyes, and her dainty fingers clenched the bag on her lap.

"I see," she managed after a while. "I suppose that explains quite a lot."

Explain what? Daphne wanted to ask, but just then their maître'd approached their table, and she wisely chose to hold back.

"Would you like a refill, Mesdemoiselles?"

Daphne wordlessly held out her goblet, watching her sister trying to pull herself together.

Dear Draco,

I'm allowed to worry about you whenever I please, thank you very much, but I'll promise not to bother you about it anymore if you promise me you won't do anything I wouldn't like.

Thanks for the help you sent me for Potions. Slughorn was impressed at 'my initiative'. I didn't know slicing the foxglove with a silver-plated knife would strengthen the effects of a Draught of Living Death. Blaise Zabini lent me his knife. Did you know he stayed behind for another year? He also seems to be a bit too cuddly with Luna, if you ask me, but she denies anything.

I still think the Falcons aren't going to win this year. The Arrows seem to have upgraded their defense exponentially.

I saw Romilda Vane trying to bewitch her hair blonde the other day, and I thought of you.

Yours,
Ginny

Ginny was starting to regret agreeing to cover for Daphne. She tried not to groan when she heard the bells on the door for the countless time that evening. The 'Closed' sign was big enough, surely?

"I'm sorry," she said curtly, not bothering to look up from wiping a table. "We're closed–"

"I know that," someone interrupted, sounding annoyed.

She had to do a double take. "Dr– Malfoy?"

"Spare me the act, Ginny." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

Ginny crossed her arms, huffing. "You Weasley-ed me first."

Draco looked at her oddly, and she felt the atmosphere grow serious.

"Seven years, Draco," she murmured, looking defiantly at whatever happened to be straight ahead. "I haven't heard from you for seven years. What did you expect me to do?"

His hand flew to his cheek and he winced involuntarily. "I'm… not here about that," he admitted.

Ginny realised she had been staring at his chin, and swiftly redirected her gaze upwards – a bad mistake, as his eyes had locked onto hers.

Dear Draco,

I don't know what's happening, but Pig arrived this morning shivering something awful. He nearly froze his poor feathers off bringing back your (really short) reply.

Where are you, Draco? I haven't seen you in months and the last proper letter you sent me was forever ago. Yes, I'm worried – Ron says neo-Death Eaters have been spotted in Toulouse. I remember you once told me you had a cottage there. Is that where you are?

Nothing here. School's the same as ever, except it's just sunk in that Hogwarts really is empty this year. I think that most people are reluctant to send their kids here after what happened two years ago, but—

(The previous line was crossed out rather vehemently.)

Mrs. Tonks would like to give her regards to your mother.

Stay safe.

Ginny

Daphne mused at Astoria's apparent lack of appetite – she had always loved her éclair – but she was even more surprised when her sister actually folded the napkin back and stood up to leave.

"Astoria?" she asked.

"I've… I've just remembered something, Daph," Astoria answered absently, and Daphne felt a brief jolt of happiness at the childhood nickname. Astoria's sudden cessation of the Narcissa Malfoy imitation was not lost on her, however. "I think I've got to go."

Daphne watched as her sister fret with something in her mind for another second, before actually Flooing out of the restaurant using one of its provided stations.

She signaled at the maître'd, asked for the whole bottle, and told him to put everything on the Malfoys' tab.

Dear Draco,

I haven't heard from you in a while. I know I promised, but is everything all right?

Don't forget what you promised me, too, or I'll skip the hexing altogether.

Honestly, you're such a git sometimes.

Sincerely,
Ginny

Her eyes flashed when he reached out to push a stray lock of auburn back into place.

"You can't apologize after seven fucking years and expect me to welcome you back with open arms, if that's what you're here for."

Draco shot her a look as if to say, Do you mind?

"And don't give me that crap about not apologizing for something you did right, either," she snapped before he could properly reply. "How do you think I felt, Draco?"

Silence ensued, and Draco broke eye contact.

"Those cowards at Toulouse burned down our cottage three days after we left," he said offhandedly, and Ginny balked at the sudden change of topic. She was about to ask what the hell he was trying to do when the full implication of what he had just told her sunk in.

I saved his life.

Ginny looked away, allowing herself a small, "Oh." She saw Draco's hand slip into his coat pocket and tighten into a fist.

"I—I hesitated," he muttered. He was still facing away from her. "About coming back. To England, I mean. Mostly because of you."

Ginny hadn't felt so miserable since she'd given up looking for hints of an eagle owl in the sky, years ago. "Because I remind you," she stated grimly, "of everything you were trying to leave behind."

"You do," was his simple reply, and she had to sit down and tried not to look like she was about to cry.

"You kept me from returning for a very long time," he continued, and for a while all Ginny could think of was damnyoudamnyoudamnyou. "Even after Mother begged me to go back; she loves the Manor too much. I think it reminds her of Father."

She toyed with the rag she was still holding, got sick of it and promptly Banished it to a drawer in the kitchen.

"I couldn't forget," he told her quietly. "I can't. But you remind me of everything too much, and not thinking of you…" He looked away again. "It also hurts. And, five years ago… I met Astoria."

Ginny blinked. What?

"I don't know if I love her," he said, after a long pause. "I certainly care about her deeply, but… I don't know." Then he turned to look at her squarely, and several things happened in quick succession.

Several tears escaped as she tried to look at Draco.

Still standing, he leaned down, and gently held her face.

Her pulse raced, and he kissed her.

Dear Draco,

This— (This was scratched out.)

I was talking to Zabini the other day— (This was also scratched out.)

You insufferable, little bast— (Ink was everywhere.)

Please write back. I miss you.

Ginny

Astoria shakily murmured, "Incendio," and watched the letters fall to the ground and burn.

Author notes: My betas, as usual, deserve the world on a silver platter.

Or not, but, you know.