Chapter 9
Uncertainty
Everything had been a dream.
Ginny blinked rapidly, sitting up in bed. A second rush of panic quickly followed the first.
Hermione’s voice had mentioned a quidditch match today? The Quidditch match wasn’t until Saturday! Surely Hermione didn’t mean…
“So,” Hermione perched on the edge of her bed, “How did it go last night?”
“Last night?” Ginny shook her head, still refusing to believe that it was Saturday morning. “Last night? It can’t be morning already.” She rooted frantically on her bedside table for a watch. “It can’t.”
“What are you getting at, Gin?” Hermione asked, and when the panic on Ginny’s features continued to build- and she got an eyeful of Ginny’s outfit- the same shirt and trousers she had worn the night before- understanding dawned at last.“You didn’t go?”
“No.” Ginny finally found the watch, swore at it, and bounded out of bed, raking her fingers through her wavy hair in an attempt to make it presentable. “I didn’t go at all. I fell asleep a little bit after I left the room. Oh, Merlin!” Ginny hopped on one foot as she struggled into her shoes, and then bounded for the door. “I’ve still got time for breakfast.” She called over her shoulder in explanation. “Maybe I can reach him there.”
~*~*~*~*~
Breakfast in the great hall was nearly over, but Ginny still had hopes of finding Malfoy. She had started watching him during meals- nothing obvious, but enough casual glances to check his position and catch a smile or a wink in the long drought of contact between the weekends and his Wednesday owl. She had noticed that Draco and his crew always drifted in late, and liked to linger when the others were gone. As she entered the vast room, she was relieved to find that he was still seated at the centre of the Slytherin table, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle (both reaching forward almost constantly to refill their plates).
She couldn’t see his face, but the flash of platinum hair signified that she hadn’t missed her chance to speak with him before she left to prepare for Gryffindor’s match against Ravenclaw.
Ginny started to move forward, but then stopped. What was she planning to do? Was she simply going to march up to Draco Malfoy in front of the entire school? On the few occasions that she had visited the Slytherin table during the week, she had done so under the pretense of visiting Pansy. Parkinson was gone for the weekend, however- something to do with preparations for her party- and with her, Ginny’s excuse was also absent.
Ginny decided to bide her time, hovering behind the doorway until Draco pushed away from the table and stood to leave. She was finally able to see his eyes- unreadable from a distance, except to make out that he had stared at the Gryffindor table for a long time. Ginny’s heart fluttered. He was looking for her! Perhaps it would be easier than she had feared.
Happily Crabbe and Goyle remained at their seats, and so Draco was alone as he passed by Ginny’s doorway. She grabbed the corner of his sleeve as he walked by.
“What the-?” Draco spun around, drawing his wand too quickly for Ginny to even blink. She gasped and stared at it until, looking embarrassed, he let it lower.
“You should be careful.” He warned as he tucked it back into his pocket. Then, all of the warmth in his voice was gone as he growled. “I got the impression that you didn’t want to see me.”
“Are you talking about last night?” Ginny snapped, and then instantly regretted it. Of course he was talking about last night- what else could he mean? She forcibly switched to a lighter tone, trying to inject her voice with a laugh. “Well, there wasn’t anything for you to feel.” She tried to tease, the tension in her smile almost painful. “I figured you wouldn’t have any reason to see me.”
Something in Draco’s face changed- something that Ginny could barely express. It was as though it had hardened, and as if the eyes that had seemed as deep and alive as the summer sea had suddenly frozen into flecks of silver ice. “I see.”
Ginny didn’t know what she had done wrong, but she sensed that she had made a miscalculation. She backpedaled. “I’m sorry.” She said, “I fell asleep.”
“That excited to come and see me, eh?”
“No…I mean yes, I mean…Oh, Draco. Let’s not fight.” On an impulse, she leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his lips, astonished when they remained firmly shut.
With a sigh, she drew away. “I said I was sorry. It’s the best I can do. Are you going to quit pouting? I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About…”
About the real reason that I didn’t show up. About how frightened I am. About the fact that I kind of, sort of, think that I might possibly be in love with you. She thought, but didn’t say anything except: “Pansy’s party.”
“Pansy’s party?”
“Yes. The party. It’s next week. Are we going together? I thought that we would.” She tried to smile again. “It would feel very nice if you would…”
“I’ll think about it Weaslette.” He snapped, and started to walk away again.
“You’re leaving?” Ginny asked, both hurt and amazed, “Well, are you coming to the game?”
“No,” Draco said in a lofty tone. “I think I’m going to skip it. I’m feeling tired. Maybe I’ll sleep.”
Without a backwards glance, he was gone.
Gryffindor lost.
Ginny was glad that she no longer played seeker, as a more obvious share of the blame would have hung on her head. As it was, her ball handling had been less than stellar, but the rest of the team was off too. Ravenclaw’s new seeker had caught the snitch.
Ginny hurried back to Gryffindor tower, changed, and then spent the rest of the afternoon roaming the halls and grounds, trying to find out where Draco was hiding. The answer must have been the Slytherin Common room, because her search was fruitless. He didn’t appear for lunch or dinner that night.
Sunday was more of the same. Ginny spent hours on a five inch scroll about the popular uses of unicorn droppings. She kept losing her focus on the project, and ended up writing the same sentence “Unicorn droppings are the sourest substance in the world.” over again.
Monday was equally miserable. She had Herbology in the greenhouses before lunch, followed by Arithmancy, and then Divination- meaning she didn’t even pass Draco in the halls. She saw him at lunch, but whenever she looked up, he resolutely ignored her gaze.
Tuesday offered no change.
Then Wednesday arrived, with the post.
Ginny’s eyes widened at the size of the package dropped beside her chair.
Three full-grown owls struggled to carry it to her seat, and then hooted and flapped in annoyance as she cut the strings binding the parcel to their legs.
“What is it, Ginny?” Lavender Brown asked, looking excited.
“Nothing.” Ginny answered carefully, but her heart was pounding in her chest. She glanced at the Slytherin table. Draco was already gone.
Abandoning her breakfast, and ignoring the fact that she had Healing Lessons in less than an hour, Ginny raced back to Gryffindor tower. She cast a locking charm on the door and crawled into her bed, closing the curtains around her.
The plain brown paper on the package gave no indication of its contents, other than what could be gleaned from the fact that the paper was thick, the twine was a shimmery silver, and the address had been penned in silver ink to:
Miss Ginevra Weasley,
Great Hall
Hogwarts Castle, Scotland.
With shaking fingers, Ginny peeled away the paper. A golden box was tucked inside, and after its lid was lifted away, there were several sheets of tissue paper. She peeled them away carefully, and then her breath caught in a delighted cry.
To say that the dress robes inside the box were exquisite would be an understatement in the extreme. They were perfection, fashioned of cool, watery green silk that had been perfectly cut to form a deep V neckline, tight bodice, and slightly flared skirt. Tiny leaves and flowers had been embroidered at the neck and hem.
Ginny sprang from the bed, holding it up to her collarbone. On an impulse, she shimmied out of her school uniform and drew it over her head. She started when the fabric suddenly became warm and seemed to mold itself to her body.
A tailoring charm, her brain supplied, and then her heart raced even faster. Although she’d never experienced one before, she was well aware of how difficult and expensive they were to cast. This had, apparently, been one of the best. The dress fit perfectly now, skimming her body like a second skin.
Ginny couldn’t resist the girlish urge to spin around, watching the folds of the skirt flutter and fan around her. Draco had sent this to her. She knew it!
She returned to the bed, rooting around in the tissue paper of the box until she found a small card which must have been tucked inside the dress:
You win. We can go.
I’ll meet you in the great hall on Saturday. Five o’clock.
Get your sleep the night before.
-D.B.M.
~*~*~*~*~*
Two years later, Draco stood at the drawing room window and watched Ginny Weasley disappear down the garden path. He narrowed his eyes to watch the sway of her hips as she moved, and to pick up the glints of sunlight in her hair as the copper curls slowly blended into the leaves and flowers of the hedge.
“Busy at the office, were you?” Narcissa Malfoy asked, forcing her son to break his concentration as he spun around to the sound of her voice.
Draco glanced at his mother, noted the stacked of scrolls in her hands- the same scrolls that he was meant to have taken to his father in London- then shrugged.
He turned back toward the window and frowned.
She was gone.
Narcissa watched her son’s eyes carefully, and he didn’t bother to hide the succession of emotions on his face: hope, frustration, and finally pain. She settled onto the edge of the sofa, observing him in silence.
When it became clear that she wasn’t going to go away, he turned.
“So, what did you think?” he asked at last.
“I thought that it was a very interesting lunch.”
“Interesting?” Draco frowned.
Narcissa pursed her lips, appearing to deliberate before her next statement. “I think that she has potential.”
Draco dipped his head, looking relieved. “You’ll help her then?” He said more quickly than he meant. “I mean...”
“I’ve asked her to go with me to the Garden Party next week.”
“With your friends?”
Narcissa’s lips twisted into a smile, as if she were bemused by the horror in his tone. “Of course. You want her to have a proper introduction into society, don’t you?”
Draco sidestepped his mother’s question. “Those old vipers will eat her alive.”
“Well if they do, than its all the better for her.” She answered cooly,
“It’s sink or swim, sweeting. If she isn’t cut out for this sort of life, then its better she know it now. How do you think she’s going to fare as a society wife if she can’t-”
“I haven’t said anything about marrying her!”
There was a beat of silence.
Narcissa arched an eyebrow and gave her son a significant look. “No. You haven’t.” She let him squirm for a moment on her hook. “But you do Understand that’s the point of the Debutante Ball- to arrange acceptable Pureblood marriages?”
Draco shrugged miserably, uncomfortably aware of his mother’s continued stare, and of the look behind her eyes.
She knew. Should he even be surprised? She was, after all, the woman who had always caught him when he tried reading in bed, whose sixth sense alerted her if he was sneaking into the dungeons, or taunting house-elves, or flying his broom beyond the Manor grounds. Reluctantly, he met her gaze. He was surprised by the compassion he found there.
“Mother, I-”
“I know.”
Wordlessly, she communicated her understanding, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing the ringless finger.
Draco clenched his eyes, silently digesting this information. “What will father think?”
“He’ll think...” Narcissa took a breath. “He’ll think that she’s a Weasley.”
“And you?”
Narcissa rose from the couch, drawing her son into her arms. She guided his head onto her shoulder, and then stroked the downy hair, just as she had when he was a child. “I think that you’re a Malfoy- and a Black.” She said in a determined tone. “I think that if you want her badly enough, you’ll find a way.”
Did he want her badly enough?
Did he want her at all?
He wasn’t sure that he knew, or, perhaps, he knew that he shouldn’t, but he did. Somehow, in the cold winter months of his final year the fire of Ginny Weasley had burned a brand into his soul, and no amount of hoping, or praying or any kind of magic save love could ever wash it away.
He loved her. In spite of every impulse, in spite of conscious will, it had happened. Somehow, being with Ginny had stopped being a novel distraction or a compulsive habit and become something vital to his very soul.
It had started innocently. He had been nice to her. He still wasn’t certain why. In retrospect, it might have been a sort of experiment, a test of what would happen if he stepped entirely out of the role that fate had assigned. Draco Malfoy wasn’t nice. He didn’t have to be. People liked him anyway- or at least they pretended to. Who could ever tell? He could be hateful, or petty, or mean, but he was still a Malfoy. It wasn’t the sort of thing that people could afford to disregard.
For a time, his name had been a comfort, an impermeable wall that protected him from harm, but in the summer after fifth year, everything had changed. Draco saw, for the first time, that a name could be torn down, just like anything else and he wondered- if his father hadn’t been cleared, if things hadn’t turned out-what would he have had left?
He would always have money, of course. The ministry could tout the seizure of assets and freeze the vaults, but the Blacks and Malfoys had been amassing riches longer than the Ministry had been in existence, and they knew how to keep what they got. Money could buy security and (regardless of what people said) money could buy friends, but not the sort that mattered. It wasn’t enough.
Draco had his mind- he had always prided himself in excellence in his studies, at first to prove his superiority of mind, but eventually as a matter of pride. He had his mother’s love. Still, he wondered if there was something else.
Ginny Weasley was the answer, a girl who wouldn’t love him for his name. If anything, she tolerated him in spite of it. He had sent the first owl with little hope of a reply- but she had come. She had come, and she had kissed him, and suddenly, the world had changed.
It had cut like a knife.
The thought was cliché. Still, Draco could think of no better metaphor for the way Ginny’s rejection had stung him when she missed their scheduled meeting.
In his mind, he could almost see himself staring incredulously at a trickle of blood, the shock of the injury coming before the hurt.
Turning away from the window, Draco stared at the place where his mother had kissed- the place where he had once worn his serpent ring, and suddenly, the pain was fresh.
He had meant to give her the ring that night. After weeks of owling trifles- skirts and shirts and other scraps of cloth- he was finally ready to give her a part of himself, finally ready to go public with their relationship. Early on the joke had started that he wanted to test how the articles of clothing he bought her felt. That night he had meant to tell her that he liked how she felt in his arms. He wanted her to have something to prove it.
Of course, she never came. He had waited in the supply room for hours, casting chronos spells after he became convinced that his watch was fast. At first, he wondered if he had written the wrong time, and when an hour past, he wondered if he had gone to the wrong place. He had roamed the halls of Hogwarts peeking into every corner, hoping to discover where she'd gone. After two hours, he had bribed Creevy to scope the Gryffindor common room and report. When there was still no Ginny, he had gone to the Snake Pit to look for her there. Finally, in a fit of panic, he had climbed to the hospital wing. She wasn't there. There was only one conclusion to reach: she didn't want to be with him, and she didn't want to be found. He spent a sleepless night alone in his room, trying to rationalize her absence and wondering what went wrong.
The explanation was crueler than he had feared, simple, yet cutting:
He hadn’t sent a gift. Ginny hadn’t come.
He shouldn’t have expected her to be different. He should have known that any woman- much less a Weasley who had never had anything pretty or new in her life- would only want him for what he could buy. He’d hoped that Ginny would be different, but he could tell in retrospect that the presents he’d sent- the robes and dresses he’d sent by owl with his notes, and the galleons that he’d slipped into her pockets without her ever knowing- would be more valuable to her than his empty hands wrapped around her waist. As soon as the presents had stopped, so had she. He’d dared to hope that it really was a mistake, but then she’d admitted it when they had met the next day:
“Well, there wasn’t anything for you to feel.” Ginny laughed as she said it, and even now his stomach tightened at the memory. Years later, it was still like a punch in the gut, still stunning that she could hurt him so easily with so little, still amazing that he couldn't bring himself to let her go.
~*~*~*~*~
Two years earlier, the Monday after Ginny’s rejection had dawned cold and forbidding, and Draco meant to mirror the weather. He barked at the firsties he met lingering in the Common Room, and only spoke with Crabbe and Goyle long enough to demand that they bring breakfast to his room.
When he was still a little boy, Draco’s mother had told him, “You don’t always get what you want,” and the notion had seemed laughable at the time. Of course he always got what he wanted. He was Draco Malfoy. What his money couldn’t buy, his parents could command with their social and political power. He didn’t mingle with people who didn’t respect that code. Ginny Weasley had been the first- and, he vowed, the last- person to challenge that notion.
He ignored her that day. At dinner, his eyes only drifted toward the Gryffindor table once, and that was only to revel in how sad and disconcerted she looked…only he couldn’t feel too much satisfaction. In spite of his anger, he felt a small tug on the corner of his heart, and so he kept his gaze averted for the remainder of the meal.
Tuesday morning, she was beautiful. He was glad that she hadn’t seen him as she dashed along the hallway between Transfiguration and charms. Her school jumper was untucked, her robes were too short, and her hair was flying loose of its braids. She looked just as untidily perfect as she had that first night in the Snake Pit so many weeks before. Didn’t she know that she didn’t need any trimmings? She was beautiful, just the way that she was.
He tried not to dwell on her as he went miserably through the motions in potions class. “A gram of dragon scales, eye of newt…” He didn’t want to remember his face. He didn’t want to think of how dark it looked without her brilliant smile. “Pickled toad liver, lacewing flies.” He didn’t care if she wasn’t happy. It would serve her right. “Boil for twelve minutes, stirring constantly.” Except, of course, that he did care. He cared more than anything.
He cared even though he didn’t want to. Ginny Weasley was an itch that he had to scratch.
He sent an owl to Paris.
The next morning, he watched as three of the birds struggled under the weight of a dress from the finest boutique.
She would come. He knew even before she had looked at him and smiled and nodded. Even though it hurt, even though he wanted Ginny to push the offering away- to throw it in the rubbish bin and scream at him for the thought that he could ever buy her anyway- it was enough.
Uncertainty
Everything had been a dream.
Ginny blinked rapidly, sitting up in bed. A second rush of panic quickly followed the first.
Hermione’s voice had mentioned a quidditch match today? The Quidditch match wasn’t until Saturday! Surely Hermione didn’t mean…
“So,” Hermione perched on the edge of her bed, “How did it go last night?”
“Last night?” Ginny shook her head, still refusing to believe that it was Saturday morning. “Last night? It can’t be morning already.” She rooted frantically on her bedside table for a watch. “It can’t.”
“What are you getting at, Gin?” Hermione asked, and when the panic on Ginny’s features continued to build- and she got an eyeful of Ginny’s outfit- the same shirt and trousers she had worn the night before- understanding dawned at last.“You didn’t go?”
“No.” Ginny finally found the watch, swore at it, and bounded out of bed, raking her fingers through her wavy hair in an attempt to make it presentable. “I didn’t go at all. I fell asleep a little bit after I left the room. Oh, Merlin!” Ginny hopped on one foot as she struggled into her shoes, and then bounded for the door. “I’ve still got time for breakfast.” She called over her shoulder in explanation. “Maybe I can reach him there.”
~*~*~*~*~
Breakfast in the great hall was nearly over, but Ginny still had hopes of finding Malfoy. She had started watching him during meals- nothing obvious, but enough casual glances to check his position and catch a smile or a wink in the long drought of contact between the weekends and his Wednesday owl. She had noticed that Draco and his crew always drifted in late, and liked to linger when the others were gone. As she entered the vast room, she was relieved to find that he was still seated at the centre of the Slytherin table, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle (both reaching forward almost constantly to refill their plates).
She couldn’t see his face, but the flash of platinum hair signified that she hadn’t missed her chance to speak with him before she left to prepare for Gryffindor’s match against Ravenclaw.
Ginny started to move forward, but then stopped. What was she planning to do? Was she simply going to march up to Draco Malfoy in front of the entire school? On the few occasions that she had visited the Slytherin table during the week, she had done so under the pretense of visiting Pansy. Parkinson was gone for the weekend, however- something to do with preparations for her party- and with her, Ginny’s excuse was also absent.
Ginny decided to bide her time, hovering behind the doorway until Draco pushed away from the table and stood to leave. She was finally able to see his eyes- unreadable from a distance, except to make out that he had stared at the Gryffindor table for a long time. Ginny’s heart fluttered. He was looking for her! Perhaps it would be easier than she had feared.
Happily Crabbe and Goyle remained at their seats, and so Draco was alone as he passed by Ginny’s doorway. She grabbed the corner of his sleeve as he walked by.
“What the-?” Draco spun around, drawing his wand too quickly for Ginny to even blink. She gasped and stared at it until, looking embarrassed, he let it lower.
“You should be careful.” He warned as he tucked it back into his pocket. Then, all of the warmth in his voice was gone as he growled. “I got the impression that you didn’t want to see me.”
“Are you talking about last night?” Ginny snapped, and then instantly regretted it. Of course he was talking about last night- what else could he mean? She forcibly switched to a lighter tone, trying to inject her voice with a laugh. “Well, there wasn’t anything for you to feel.” She tried to tease, the tension in her smile almost painful. “I figured you wouldn’t have any reason to see me.”
Something in Draco’s face changed- something that Ginny could barely express. It was as though it had hardened, and as if the eyes that had seemed as deep and alive as the summer sea had suddenly frozen into flecks of silver ice. “I see.”
Ginny didn’t know what she had done wrong, but she sensed that she had made a miscalculation. She backpedaled. “I’m sorry.” She said, “I fell asleep.”
“That excited to come and see me, eh?”
“No…I mean yes, I mean…Oh, Draco. Let’s not fight.” On an impulse, she leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his lips, astonished when they remained firmly shut.
With a sigh, she drew away. “I said I was sorry. It’s the best I can do. Are you going to quit pouting? I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About…”
About the real reason that I didn’t show up. About how frightened I am. About the fact that I kind of, sort of, think that I might possibly be in love with you. She thought, but didn’t say anything except: “Pansy’s party.”
“Pansy’s party?”
“Yes. The party. It’s next week. Are we going together? I thought that we would.” She tried to smile again. “It would feel very nice if you would…”
“I’ll think about it Weaslette.” He snapped, and started to walk away again.
“You’re leaving?” Ginny asked, both hurt and amazed, “Well, are you coming to the game?”
“No,” Draco said in a lofty tone. “I think I’m going to skip it. I’m feeling tired. Maybe I’ll sleep.”
Without a backwards glance, he was gone.
Gryffindor lost.
Ginny was glad that she no longer played seeker, as a more obvious share of the blame would have hung on her head. As it was, her ball handling had been less than stellar, but the rest of the team was off too. Ravenclaw’s new seeker had caught the snitch.
Ginny hurried back to Gryffindor tower, changed, and then spent the rest of the afternoon roaming the halls and grounds, trying to find out where Draco was hiding. The answer must have been the Slytherin Common room, because her search was fruitless. He didn’t appear for lunch or dinner that night.
Sunday was more of the same. Ginny spent hours on a five inch scroll about the popular uses of unicorn droppings. She kept losing her focus on the project, and ended up writing the same sentence “Unicorn droppings are the sourest substance in the world.” over again.
Monday was equally miserable. She had Herbology in the greenhouses before lunch, followed by Arithmancy, and then Divination- meaning she didn’t even pass Draco in the halls. She saw him at lunch, but whenever she looked up, he resolutely ignored her gaze.
Tuesday offered no change.
Then Wednesday arrived, with the post.
Ginny’s eyes widened at the size of the package dropped beside her chair.
Three full-grown owls struggled to carry it to her seat, and then hooted and flapped in annoyance as she cut the strings binding the parcel to their legs.
“What is it, Ginny?” Lavender Brown asked, looking excited.
“Nothing.” Ginny answered carefully, but her heart was pounding in her chest. She glanced at the Slytherin table. Draco was already gone.
Abandoning her breakfast, and ignoring the fact that she had Healing Lessons in less than an hour, Ginny raced back to Gryffindor tower. She cast a locking charm on the door and crawled into her bed, closing the curtains around her.
The plain brown paper on the package gave no indication of its contents, other than what could be gleaned from the fact that the paper was thick, the twine was a shimmery silver, and the address had been penned in silver ink to:
Miss Ginevra Weasley,
Great Hall
Hogwarts Castle, Scotland.
With shaking fingers, Ginny peeled away the paper. A golden box was tucked inside, and after its lid was lifted away, there were several sheets of tissue paper. She peeled them away carefully, and then her breath caught in a delighted cry.
To say that the dress robes inside the box were exquisite would be an understatement in the extreme. They were perfection, fashioned of cool, watery green silk that had been perfectly cut to form a deep V neckline, tight bodice, and slightly flared skirt. Tiny leaves and flowers had been embroidered at the neck and hem.
Ginny sprang from the bed, holding it up to her collarbone. On an impulse, she shimmied out of her school uniform and drew it over her head. She started when the fabric suddenly became warm and seemed to mold itself to her body.
A tailoring charm, her brain supplied, and then her heart raced even faster. Although she’d never experienced one before, she was well aware of how difficult and expensive they were to cast. This had, apparently, been one of the best. The dress fit perfectly now, skimming her body like a second skin.
Ginny couldn’t resist the girlish urge to spin around, watching the folds of the skirt flutter and fan around her. Draco had sent this to her. She knew it!
She returned to the bed, rooting around in the tissue paper of the box until she found a small card which must have been tucked inside the dress:
You win. We can go.
I’ll meet you in the great hall on Saturday. Five o’clock.
Get your sleep the night before.
-D.B.M.
~*~*~*~*~*
Two years later, Draco stood at the drawing room window and watched Ginny Weasley disappear down the garden path. He narrowed his eyes to watch the sway of her hips as she moved, and to pick up the glints of sunlight in her hair as the copper curls slowly blended into the leaves and flowers of the hedge.
“Busy at the office, were you?” Narcissa Malfoy asked, forcing her son to break his concentration as he spun around to the sound of her voice.
Draco glanced at his mother, noted the stacked of scrolls in her hands- the same scrolls that he was meant to have taken to his father in London- then shrugged.
He turned back toward the window and frowned.
She was gone.
Narcissa watched her son’s eyes carefully, and he didn’t bother to hide the succession of emotions on his face: hope, frustration, and finally pain. She settled onto the edge of the sofa, observing him in silence.
When it became clear that she wasn’t going to go away, he turned.
“So, what did you think?” he asked at last.
“I thought that it was a very interesting lunch.”
“Interesting?” Draco frowned.
Narcissa pursed her lips, appearing to deliberate before her next statement. “I think that she has potential.”
Draco dipped his head, looking relieved. “You’ll help her then?” He said more quickly than he meant. “I mean...”
“I’ve asked her to go with me to the Garden Party next week.”
“With your friends?”
Narcissa’s lips twisted into a smile, as if she were bemused by the horror in his tone. “Of course. You want her to have a proper introduction into society, don’t you?”
Draco sidestepped his mother’s question. “Those old vipers will eat her alive.”
“Well if they do, than its all the better for her.” She answered cooly,
“It’s sink or swim, sweeting. If she isn’t cut out for this sort of life, then its better she know it now. How do you think she’s going to fare as a society wife if she can’t-”
“I haven’t said anything about marrying her!”
There was a beat of silence.
Narcissa arched an eyebrow and gave her son a significant look. “No. You haven’t.” She let him squirm for a moment on her hook. “But you do Understand that’s the point of the Debutante Ball- to arrange acceptable Pureblood marriages?”
Draco shrugged miserably, uncomfortably aware of his mother’s continued stare, and of the look behind her eyes.
She knew. Should he even be surprised? She was, after all, the woman who had always caught him when he tried reading in bed, whose sixth sense alerted her if he was sneaking into the dungeons, or taunting house-elves, or flying his broom beyond the Manor grounds. Reluctantly, he met her gaze. He was surprised by the compassion he found there.
“Mother, I-”
“I know.”
Wordlessly, she communicated her understanding, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing the ringless finger.
Draco clenched his eyes, silently digesting this information. “What will father think?”
“He’ll think...” Narcissa took a breath. “He’ll think that she’s a Weasley.”
“And you?”
Narcissa rose from the couch, drawing her son into her arms. She guided his head onto her shoulder, and then stroked the downy hair, just as she had when he was a child. “I think that you’re a Malfoy- and a Black.” She said in a determined tone. “I think that if you want her badly enough, you’ll find a way.”
Did he want her badly enough?
Did he want her at all?
He wasn’t sure that he knew, or, perhaps, he knew that he shouldn’t, but he did. Somehow, in the cold winter months of his final year the fire of Ginny Weasley had burned a brand into his soul, and no amount of hoping, or praying or any kind of magic save love could ever wash it away.
He loved her. In spite of every impulse, in spite of conscious will, it had happened. Somehow, being with Ginny had stopped being a novel distraction or a compulsive habit and become something vital to his very soul.
It had started innocently. He had been nice to her. He still wasn’t certain why. In retrospect, it might have been a sort of experiment, a test of what would happen if he stepped entirely out of the role that fate had assigned. Draco Malfoy wasn’t nice. He didn’t have to be. People liked him anyway- or at least they pretended to. Who could ever tell? He could be hateful, or petty, or mean, but he was still a Malfoy. It wasn’t the sort of thing that people could afford to disregard.
For a time, his name had been a comfort, an impermeable wall that protected him from harm, but in the summer after fifth year, everything had changed. Draco saw, for the first time, that a name could be torn down, just like anything else and he wondered- if his father hadn’t been cleared, if things hadn’t turned out-what would he have had left?
He would always have money, of course. The ministry could tout the seizure of assets and freeze the vaults, but the Blacks and Malfoys had been amassing riches longer than the Ministry had been in existence, and they knew how to keep what they got. Money could buy security and (regardless of what people said) money could buy friends, but not the sort that mattered. It wasn’t enough.
Draco had his mind- he had always prided himself in excellence in his studies, at first to prove his superiority of mind, but eventually as a matter of pride. He had his mother’s love. Still, he wondered if there was something else.
Ginny Weasley was the answer, a girl who wouldn’t love him for his name. If anything, she tolerated him in spite of it. He had sent the first owl with little hope of a reply- but she had come. She had come, and she had kissed him, and suddenly, the world had changed.
It had cut like a knife.
The thought was cliché. Still, Draco could think of no better metaphor for the way Ginny’s rejection had stung him when she missed their scheduled meeting.
In his mind, he could almost see himself staring incredulously at a trickle of blood, the shock of the injury coming before the hurt.
Turning away from the window, Draco stared at the place where his mother had kissed- the place where he had once worn his serpent ring, and suddenly, the pain was fresh.
He had meant to give her the ring that night. After weeks of owling trifles- skirts and shirts and other scraps of cloth- he was finally ready to give her a part of himself, finally ready to go public with their relationship. Early on the joke had started that he wanted to test how the articles of clothing he bought her felt. That night he had meant to tell her that he liked how she felt in his arms. He wanted her to have something to prove it.
Of course, she never came. He had waited in the supply room for hours, casting chronos spells after he became convinced that his watch was fast. At first, he wondered if he had written the wrong time, and when an hour past, he wondered if he had gone to the wrong place. He had roamed the halls of Hogwarts peeking into every corner, hoping to discover where she'd gone. After two hours, he had bribed Creevy to scope the Gryffindor common room and report. When there was still no Ginny, he had gone to the Snake Pit to look for her there. Finally, in a fit of panic, he had climbed to the hospital wing. She wasn't there. There was only one conclusion to reach: she didn't want to be with him, and she didn't want to be found. He spent a sleepless night alone in his room, trying to rationalize her absence and wondering what went wrong.
The explanation was crueler than he had feared, simple, yet cutting:
He hadn’t sent a gift. Ginny hadn’t come.
He shouldn’t have expected her to be different. He should have known that any woman- much less a Weasley who had never had anything pretty or new in her life- would only want him for what he could buy. He’d hoped that Ginny would be different, but he could tell in retrospect that the presents he’d sent- the robes and dresses he’d sent by owl with his notes, and the galleons that he’d slipped into her pockets without her ever knowing- would be more valuable to her than his empty hands wrapped around her waist. As soon as the presents had stopped, so had she. He’d dared to hope that it really was a mistake, but then she’d admitted it when they had met the next day:
“Well, there wasn’t anything for you to feel.” Ginny laughed as she said it, and even now his stomach tightened at the memory. Years later, it was still like a punch in the gut, still stunning that she could hurt him so easily with so little, still amazing that he couldn't bring himself to let her go.
~*~*~*~*~
Two years earlier, the Monday after Ginny’s rejection had dawned cold and forbidding, and Draco meant to mirror the weather. He barked at the firsties he met lingering in the Common Room, and only spoke with Crabbe and Goyle long enough to demand that they bring breakfast to his room.
When he was still a little boy, Draco’s mother had told him, “You don’t always get what you want,” and the notion had seemed laughable at the time. Of course he always got what he wanted. He was Draco Malfoy. What his money couldn’t buy, his parents could command with their social and political power. He didn’t mingle with people who didn’t respect that code. Ginny Weasley had been the first- and, he vowed, the last- person to challenge that notion.
He ignored her that day. At dinner, his eyes only drifted toward the Gryffindor table once, and that was only to revel in how sad and disconcerted she looked…only he couldn’t feel too much satisfaction. In spite of his anger, he felt a small tug on the corner of his heart, and so he kept his gaze averted for the remainder of the meal.
Tuesday morning, she was beautiful. He was glad that she hadn’t seen him as she dashed along the hallway between Transfiguration and charms. Her school jumper was untucked, her robes were too short, and her hair was flying loose of its braids. She looked just as untidily perfect as she had that first night in the Snake Pit so many weeks before. Didn’t she know that she didn’t need any trimmings? She was beautiful, just the way that she was.
He tried not to dwell on her as he went miserably through the motions in potions class. “A gram of dragon scales, eye of newt…” He didn’t want to remember his face. He didn’t want to think of how dark it looked without her brilliant smile. “Pickled toad liver, lacewing flies.” He didn’t care if she wasn’t happy. It would serve her right. “Boil for twelve minutes, stirring constantly.” Except, of course, that he did care. He cared more than anything.
He cared even though he didn’t want to. Ginny Weasley was an itch that he had to scratch.
He sent an owl to Paris.
The next morning, he watched as three of the birds struggled under the weight of a dress from the finest boutique.
She would come. He knew even before she had looked at him and smiled and nodded. Even though it hurt, even though he wanted Ginny to push the offering away- to throw it in the rubbish bin and scream at him for the thought that he could ever buy her anyway- it was enough.
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