To Wed the Enemy

Ailleann

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 22/03/2004
Last Updated: 12/05/2004
Status: in_progress

In the wake of the final battle against Voldemort, former Deatheater families are being mobbed and lynched. To bridge the gap forming in the wizarding world, the Minister of Magic decides to marry Ginny and Draco to form a political alliance.

Chapters

1. Waking Up To Negotiations

2. Family & Marriage

3. Domestic Bliss

4. A Fine Line

5. Madam and Sir

6. Secrets and Desires

7. excerpt from Ch.7

1. Waking Up To Negotiations

"Ginny, you're so beautiful," crooned the dark-haired man. "I don't know how I've lived without you for so long. You make me complete."

Ginny pouted her lips. "You're so good to me, Orlando," she breathed lustily. She clamped her hands on his shoulders and brought her lips to within an inch of his. "Take me," she said dramatically as his hands went to her bodice.

Tap, tap, tap. Ginny blinked and stared up at Orlando. "Do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything," he said, his eyes glazed. "You're beautiful."

Ginny pursed her lips. "Yes, I know that," she said impatiently.

Tap, tap, tap. "See? Do you hear it?"

Orlando's hands were busy at her dress, and she allowed herself to luxuriate in the feelings of his hands on her.

CRACK! The loud sound jerked Ginny abruptly awake and dragged her unceremoniously out of her dream. She blinked rapidly, the sun pouring into her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and shoved the pillow over her head. When she heard the squawking outside her window, she started steadily swearing. "Goddamn bird," she snarled to herself, throwing the pillow across the room. Morning was not Ginny's favorite time of day.

She rolled out of bed and kicked the covers away from her in bad temper. She went to the window and shoved it open. An owl tumbled inside, looking very disgruntled. He held out his leg for her to take the message, eyeing her balefully. She shoved her red hair out of her face and took the message. As soon as she had, he fluttered back up the windowsill and flew away, not even waiting for a crust of bread. Muttering to herself, Ginny pulled back down the window and inspected it. In the center of the glass was a radiating crack.

"Great," she muttered. "The damned bird put a huge crack in my damn window." She patted her nightstand, looking for her wand. When she didn't find it, she started muttering to herself again. Circe knew where the dratted thing was. She lost it half the time. She was losing everything half the time.

She glared at the sunlight that was pouring so cheerfully in through her window, illuminating the room. In Ginny's opinion, being cheerful before ten in the morning was cause enough to be murdered. Especially if you woke Ginny herself in the process. Glancing down at the rolled up message in her hand, Ginny grimly decided that whoever had sent it was obviously not familiar with her sleeping patterns. Otherwise it wouldn't have shown up til at least twelve.

She stumbled out of her room, tripped on the rug--must remember to fix that later--and finally made it into the kitchen after stubbing her toe on the hall table. She started the coffee machine, which immediately poured her a cup of coffee. She took it with a muttered thanks to the coffee maker and slumped at the small, circular table in her tiny kitchen. She tossed the message carelessly on the table and then slurped at her coffee, her eyes closed, for a good ten minutes. When she finally felt half alive, she opened her eyes and took the note and unrolled it with one hand while she kept sipping on her coffee to keep her from reverting to her nearly-comatose state of before.

She scanned the contents lazily without really reading it, but one word caught her eye. Frowning, she read back over the note as she took another sip of coffee. Seconds later, she sprayed coffee across the table. "What?" she squeaked. She sat the coffee cup down with a decided thump and read the note for a third time.

Dear Virginia Weasley,

As I'm sure you are aware, the situation has been tense in the few years since the defeat of You-Know-Who. Families that were once associated with You-Know-Who are viewed with utter derision and oftentimes outright hostility. Things reached a head last weekend in Diagon Alley when two members of a former Deatheater family were forcibly attacked and driven out of Diagon Alley. Miss Weasley, we are contacting you because we believe that you might have the solution that we are looking for.

You are a well known and respected figure, both as a member of the Weasley family as well as a prime player in the war against You-Know-Who. Therefore, we believe that to improve relations and to help to bridge the gap between the two warring factions of the magical world, it would be beneficial if you were to marry from one of these Deatheater families. You are more than welcome to visit me in my office at your earliest convenience to discuss the finer points of this arrangement.

Sincerely yours,

Jonathon Ravensblack

Minister of Magic

"Marry a Deatheater?" Ginny sputtered to her coffee. "That's ludicrous! What the hell is Jonathon thinking?"

Jonathon Ravensblack had been an old family friend for years, and was like an uncle to her. After the war with Voldemort, Cornelius Fudge had been forcibly removed from office. The position was immediately offered to Albus Dumbledore and then Arthur Weasley, both of whom had declined. Therefore Jonathon had stepped forward and subsequently become Minister of Magic. He had once been an Auror, but had retired from the field after he had been wounded in battle and never fully recovered. After he retired from being an Auror, he had joined the Ministry and had eventually become the head of the Aurors.

Ginny glared at the paper as if it were the Minister of Magic himself. What is he thinking? Ginny wondered acidly as she got up and stomped back into her room. "Why me?" she moaned pathetically. That answer came immediately, and she pouted. Because you're the only female in the Weasley clan, she thought glumly as she pulled out a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. She dressed and got ready, then glanced around her room for her wand. When it wasn't immediately visible, she wanted to stomp her foot as if she were five years old again.

Instead she calmed herself and got down on her knees to peer under the bed. She stuck her head under it and immediately sneezed. Got to clean under the bed, she reminded herself as she peered around for her wand. A loud thump from the direction of her window startled her, and she jerked upwards, knocking her head against the underside of the bed.

"Dammit!" she shouted. "Damn all owls to hell! Damn them!" she carefully withdrew from under the bed, rubbing her aching head. She whipped her head around to glare at the window and recognized Pig. Still snarling, she snapped open the window. When Pig just looked at her with a dazed expression in his eyes, she said acidly, "You should be used to slamming into windows by now. C'mon in."

He tottered inside and held out his leg for her to take the message from. "Aren't I just popular today?" Ginny muttered, feeling out of sorts. She took the message from Pig and saw that he still looked disoriented. Sighing and softening, she picked him up and took him into the kitchen. She stepped carefully, not wanting to slip on the coffee that she had sprayed earlier. She sat him down on the table, and he shifted his feet gingerly. Abruptly she realized that she had sat him directly in a puddle of cooling coffee, and she huffed at him.

"Didn't know owls were so damned fastidious," she muttered grumpily, and saw Pig cock his head at her. She sighed again, and transferred him to the clean counter. She quickly toasted a piece of bread and broke off a piece and gave it to him. He made a soft little purring sound at her and happily munched on it as she unrolled the scroll.

To her relief, this one was from her father, and mercifully short. Gin, come home as soon as you've talked to Jonathon. ~Dad

She sighed and a smile quirked her lips. "That's Dad," she murmured to Pig as she fed him another piece of toast, which he promptly gobbled up. "Not one for long notes."

She looked around the kitchen dolefully. There was coffee everywhere, and she still hadn't found her wand. She didn't want to take the time to clean it up, but if she just left it, it would cool and everything would be sticky for ages. It also just went against her mother's training. Finally she gave Pig the last piece of the toast and started searching in earnest for her wand.

She eventually found it hiding in a vase of flowers, and absently wondered how it had gotten there. She immediately went back and cleaned up the kitchen with a quick swipe of her wand. Pig chirped cheerfully at her, and she glowered at him. It still wasn't ten o' clock, and cheerfulness was high on her list of ultimate evils. Pig wilted at her look, and she sighed.

"C'mon, Pig. Let's go. You need to be off to home." She picked him up on her wrist and snagged her heavy jacket from the closet as she passed and thoughtlessly shoved her wand into the pocket. She locked the door of her flat behind her and went outside. She immediately shivered at the cool air, and glanced around.

Her flat was one in a small complex that was mostly inhabited by older couples. She waved cheerfully to her next door neighbor, Mrs.Kingsley, and belatedly realized Pig was still on her wrist when he squawked loudly. She winced. "Sorry, Pig," she apologized, and he just looked at her with reproachful eyes.

She huffed at him. "Don't look at me that way. My morning sucks, and it hasn't even started yet," she muttered. "Now go on home." Pig nipped at her fingers, inadvertently drawing blood, then flew away. She winced and sucked on her finger, muttering about damned owls. She pulled on her jacket, grateful for its warmth. The November air had a decided bite to it, and the russet leaves littered the ground, leaving the trees bare and stark against the warm blue sky.

When she saw Mrs.Kingsley eyeing her hopefully, Ginny sighed to herself. She itched to go ahead and get to the Ministry to yell at Jonathon, but she couldn't just leave without talking to Mrs.Kingsley. The poor woman's husband had died a few years ago, and she didn't have many friends, so she was dreadfully lonely. Ginny kept her company every once in a while, and found her to be a genuinely caring and nice woman. The flats in her complex were small, perfect for couples or for people who lived alone like Mrs.Kingsley. Despite the small size of her flat, Ginny loved it. It was completely hers. She shared it with no one. After years of living with six brothers, any space that was totally hers was heaven to her.

Ginny trudged across the space that separated her from Mrs.Kingsley, who immediately brightened when she saw Ginny headed over to her. The older woman was raking up leaves into a huge pile. Ginny wondered what she was going to do with them once she had them all together. Instead of asking, she summoned up a smile. "Good morning, Mrs.Kingsley."

"Good morning, Ginny dear. I'm surprised to see you awake so early." Her eyes twinkled at Ginny.

She inwardly grimaced. Me too, she thought sourly, but instead smiled ruefully the woman. "Quite right," she agreed sadly. "I have to go home."

Mrs.Kingsley looked concerned. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

Ginny smiled affectionately. The old girl really was a dear. "No, nothing like that. Just some family business."

Mrs.Kingsley nodded, smiling brightly. "That's nice, dear. It's always good to have family." Sadness flitted across her face for a moment, and for the first time, Ginny wondered what had happened to Mrs.Kingsley's family. She had never heard the woman talk about them, and Ginny had never seen her have any visitors or owls.

"Yes, it's good to have family," Ginny said softly. Then she shook herself. "I'm so sorry that I have to rush off like this, Mrs.Kingsley, but I have some urgent business to attend to."

Mrs.Kingsley waved her hand quickly. "Of course, of course, dear. Don't let me keep you. You just be careful out there, you hear? There've been some terrible going-ons over in Diagon Alley lately." She frowned and started to rake leaves a little more forcefully than she had before. "Damned Deatheater scum," she grumbled to herself. "Shouldn't even be allowed in Diagon Alley."

Ginny's heart sunk. Even Mrs.Kingsley knew about the Diagon Alley debacle? And the hatred of the Deatheaters reached even here? Ginny had never found Mrs.Kingsley to be particularly fervent about anything, but she obviously was about this. And Jonathon wants me to marry out of one of these families? she thought dismally. He's insane. Certifiably insane.

"Yes ma'am," Ginny sighed. She patted Mrs.Kingsley's arm. "I'll come in and talk with you when I get home," she promised.

Mrs.Kingsley brightened. "That would be very nice, dear. Thank you."

Ginny smiled at her and walked a few feet away. She watched the woman for a moment as she muttered and grumbled to herself about damned Deatheaters, then sighed heavily and Apparated to the Ministry, fully intending to tell Jonathon what she thought about his hair-brained scheme.

***************

Ginny appeared on the landing area outside the Ministry doors and quickly stepped off the flat dais as another person abruptly appeared on it. The older witch who had appeared gave her a quick, absent smile as she rushed into the building, simultaneously ruffling through papers in her hands. Ginny shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket, thanking Merlin that she didn't work at the Ministry. She didn't know how laid-back Jonathon managed to be Minister of Magic. The job had "stress" written all over it. Shaking her head to herself, Ginny hurried inside.

The halls were cool and quiet. Labeled doors led off from the main hall, and she knew that if she opened one of them it would lead into the catacombs of that particular department. Her father's department was behind one of the doors, but she wasn't here for him. That thought was enough to press her mouth into a militant line, and she hurried down the hallway, her soft shoes making barely no sound on the floors. Occasionally there was a witch or wizard who was rushing down the main hall, but it was mostly quiet. There were shorter, quicker ways to move between departments that employees usually used. Visitors used this main hallway.

Ginny came abruptly to a large mahogany door that was guarded by two burly men. They eyed her for a long moment. Then Ginny grinned up at them. "Hi guys." They smiled indulgently down at her.

"Hey, Ginny. You here to see Jonathon?"

She winked up at them. "Absolutely not. I'm here to see my two favorite men." They both grinned down at her and bent from their great heights for her to stand on tip-toe to kiss their cheeks affectionately.

She glanced over at one, curbing her impatience. This was a regular ritual, and she usually enjoyed it. Now she only wanted to get to Jonathon and demand answers. But she knew both men--despite their huge size--would be hurt if she didn't go through with the little ritual. "How's Mel, Kenny?"

"Pregnant again," he said gloomily, and caused Ginny's laughter to ring down the long hall. A wizard down the hall raised his head from his papers to glare at her, then whisked through one of the doors leading into the departments.

"Well, you know how to fix that," she scolded gently, and he sighed heavily.

"I know, I know. And we try, but it never seems to work."

Ginny grinned up at him. "Maybe you don't want to stop having kids," she teased him, then laughed again at his horrified face.

She held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I guess you do." Kenny had four children already and his wife Mel was pregnant with their fifth. Ginny knew that Kenny adored his wife and children to distraction. Which was probably why Mel kept getting pregnant.

Kenny smiled at her and ruffled her hair in a rough gesture of affection. From beneath his big hand, she shot the other man a sideways look, which he ignored by staring at the ceiling. "And what about you, Anton? Still clinging to that bachelor status?"

"By the fingernails," he said stoutly. "I'm not looking to tie myself down with a woman. No offense," he said hastily, and caused Ginny to grin.

"None taken," she said dryly. "I don't believe we women usually carry our extra-strength ropes around on a daily basis, Anton. So I think maybe you could date once in a while."

He glared at her, which she ignored. "I go on dates," he said defensively, and whipped his head around at Kenny's snort.

"I do!" he insisted. "I just went on a date the other night."

"With who, your mother?" Kenny scoffed, and Ginny laughed when she saw Anton flush.

She squeezed his big hand. "Don't worry, Anton. You'll find the right lady."

He smiled down at her and winked. He might not date, but he sure had the moves, Ginny thought dryly. The man had flirtation down to an art. "I've already found the right woman. Marry me and run away to Fiji with me, Ginny!" He clutched his chest dramatically, causing Ginny to laugh at him. But the word 'marry' reminded her of why she was there.

"I don't think Fiji's on the short-term list of goals, Anton," she said with a sigh. "Is Jonathon in?"

Both men sobered. "Yup. Isn't he always?" Kenny said dryly.

"I suppose so," Ginny said with a sigh. She hugged both men. "I've got to go talk to him," she said apologetically. She stabbed a finger at Kenny. "You, stop getting Mel pregnant. And learn how to change diapers." When Kenny started to protest, she ignored him and turned to Anton and stabbed a finger at him. "And you, Mr. Bachelor, start taking a woman out. That's not your mother. You could start with that cute girl in the Magical Creatures Department. I've seen her eye you a time or two. Now, good day, gentlemen." Then she swept regally by them as they chuckled, and through the large mahogany door and into chaos.

Notes flew magically across the room from one desk to another. Although notes would have done just fine, people still shouted orders at one another across the room. Apprentices dashed wildly around the room with stacks of files, their expressions harried and eyes wild. The sound of many quills writing furiously only added to the cacophony of noise. Ginny waved broadly to the room in general as greetings were shouted before people returned to what they had been doing. She forged determinedly through the room to the other side and through another door. The room was almost completely empty and mostly used so there was a buffer between the insanity of the Common Room and the Minister's actual office. Space was becoming limited in the Ministry as the departments had to expand, so the once sacred sanctuary of the Minister was rapidly being encroached upon. Once there would have been no one in the Common Room. Now it was overstocked with stressed, rushing witches and wizards.

Ginny pushed open the last door and stepped into the Minister of Magic's office. She glanced around quickly to make sure she wasn't interrupting a meeting and saw that the room was empty of people except for a man in a chair with his back turned to her.

She propped her fists on her hips and her eyes flashed. "What the hell is all this business about marriage to a Deatheater family?" she demanded heatedly.

The chair swiveled and she came face to face with the Minister of Magic. Although he was nearing fifty as her father was, he had aged well. As most men did, Ginny thought sourly on behalf of all womanhood. The lines in his face gave it character, as did the scar that ran diagonally down his right cheek, testament to his time as an Auror in the field. His eyes were a steady, calm blue, and his hair was as black as a raven's wing with only a few strands of silver. His body was still whipcord lean. He was an incredibly graceful man, a fact that Ginny had envied since she was old enough to want to be graceful. His hands were the only thing about him that belied the elegant appearance. They were the hands of a warrior--marred with scars and nicks. The pinky finger on his left hand was twisted slightly from having healed wrong years ago after being broken. His hands looked as though they would be equally competent with either a wand or sword, and Ginny had no doubt he would manage quite well with either one. He had always been her hero as a child, and when she was younger she had dreamed of marrying him. She had grown out of those girlhood dreams, and now usually called him Uncle Jonathon. Except when she was angry with him. Like now.

"You're not going to be marrying the whole family, dearest," he said mildly. "Just one of the males."

She narrowed her eyes at him and flopped down into one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Don't play semantics with me, Jonathon. Why me? Why did I get elected for this scheme?"

"Because you're perfect for the role," he said calmly. "And I trust you."

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Great! I'm one of the few people you can trust, so you toss me to the wolves?"

His mouth twitched. "I'm not 'tossing' you to the wolves, Virginia." She winced visibly when he said her full name. He was one of the only people who used her full name. It was one of the reasons she had solemnly informed him at ten that she couldn't marry him. The other reason had that she was going to marry Harry Potter. That would-be marriage had also fallen through, as he was blissfully married to one Hermione Granger and producing kids at an alarming rate. Babies everywhere, she thought grumpily. People need to learn some self-control. She shoved her mind back to the matter at hand.

"Well if you're not 'tossing me to the wolves', then what are you doing?" she demanded petulantly. "Please clue me in, because it sure as hell looks like you're doing just that!"

He sighed. "Virginia, things are growing tense. Right after You-Know-Who was defeated, things were fine. Everybody was so relieved and happy that he was gone forever that no one really thought about the people who had followed him. The former Deatheaters either melted back into society or were sent to Azkaban. But now that some of the shock's worn off, people have started to wonder if maybe any of the people who followed You-Know-Who might want to set themselves up as the next Dark Lord."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "Well that's natural. They followed him, so they obviously believed in his crusade." Her mouth twisted bitterly. She more than most knew how very cruel Voldemort's crusade had been.

Jonathon sighed. "Maybe. But there are such things as second chances, Virginia."

Ginny's eyes chilled. "Not to me," she said coldly, and Jonathon looked startled.

He seemed to age before her eyes. When had she grown up so fast? he thought wearily. Looking at her now, it was hard to remember the girl that he had bounced on his knee. The girl who had proposed marriage to him at age four, and the little redhead who had always followed in her older brothers' footsteps. Now she was an independent, witty woman who was easily his contemporary. It made him feel very old.

He had participated in small ways to the final battle against Voldemort, but hadn't been in the real fighting. This slight woman with her wealth of silky red hair had stood at Harry Potter's side in those final hours and killed Deatheaters. She had done what he was unable to do--she had finally helped to rid the world of Lord Voldemort. Now he was putting her into an untenable position--to wed the enemy. He wanted her to be the bridge that closed the gap that had split the wizarding world. It was a horrible burden to place upon those slender shoulders than had already borne so much, but he knew of no other choice.

He felt a lump in his throat as he looked at her. He had watched her grow up, and in the absence of his own children, she had become like a daughter to him. He hated to use her, but knew that for the safety and preservation of their world, he was going to have to. He laid his hand across the desk, and saw her eyes go from angry to concerned all in a flash. She leaned forward and gripped his hand with hers, her grip firm and strong. Youth, he thought sadly. How very fleeting it was. He would give almost anything to taste the heady sweetness of it again.

"Ginny," he said softly, and saw her start. He never called her by her shortened name. "Ginny, I love you like my own daughter. You know I would never do anything to hurt you, don't you?"

She nodded slowly, and he saw tears glitter in her eyes. She squeezed his hand. "I know that," she said gently. "But I don't understand why this has to be me, Uncle Jon."

He squeezed his eyes shut. Merlin, the job weighed on him. Especially at times like this. Finally he opened his eyes again. "Ginny, you're from a highly influential and political family. It's well known that I'm almost part of the family, and that your father is a Departmental Head. Charlie's a dragon tamer, which gives him a certain amount of fame, and then there's Ron, Harry Potter's best friend. And then there's your own personal fame to add to it. You and Hermione are the most celebrated women in history. You both stood toe-to-toe with Voldemort and beat him back."

He saw a blush rise to Ginny's cheeks, and nearly smiled. "You have political impetus, even if you don't think you do," he continued relentlessly. "There's no other woman that's as highly regarded as you are that's unmarried and under the age of seventy." Ginny's mouth twitched at that, then she regarded Jonathon with unsmiling eyes as he continued. "You're the only person I could ask to do this, Virginia. Otherwise I never would have approached you with it."

"But why does it have to be marriage?" she pressed. "Why can't I just be--friends with one them?" she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She didn't regard Deatheaters any more highly than Mrs.Kingsley did. Even less, in fact. Ginny had seen friends fall to Deatheaters before her eyes. It didn't give her the warm and fuzzies to think of marrying a Deatheater, or even into a family of one.

"Friends isn't enough," he said grimly. "That's doesn't give it a sense of permanence, or that you're serious. If someone like you can marry a Deatheater, then it will show everyone that they're not as bad as people are making them out to be."

"But they are as bad as people are making them out to be," Ginny snapped. "They're murderers and bigots, Jonathon!"

Jonathon pulled his hand away from hers and slammed them both down on the desk in frustration, making her snatch her hand back to save her fingers. His blue eyes flashed sparks at her. "Goddammit, Virginia. I'm asking you to do this for me. I need you, and no one else can do it. It won't be for forever. Just until things settle down and you can separate quietly. If this doesn't happen, the wizarding world will be torn apart by civil war. And what the hell's the point of defeating You-Know-Who if his legacy of hate is just going to live on? He'll still winning, even from the grave, the bastard." He started to pace around the room.

Ginny bit her lip as she watched him pace. She knew that this job was slowly taking its toll on him. Positions of great power always did so to those who held them. And he was asking for her help. Was it such a great thing? she asked herself, gnawing on her lip. To sham a marriage for a little while? She had done worse things before, certainly.

Like what? her conscience asked skeptically. She beat it down in irritation and continued thinking.

It wouldn't last very long, she assured herself. Maybe a few weeks, possibly a month or two at least. And then her life would return to normal, none the worse for wear. And if she had helped her beloved Uncle Jon in the process, was that such a great hardship? She sighed in defeat, then asked irritably, "I have to pretend to actually like him, don't I?"

Startled, he turned to face her, then she saw the tension drain from him. "Yes," he admitted. "Otherwise it would serve no purpose."

She raked one hand through her russet hair and glared up at him out of clear blue eyes. "You better buy me a damn good birthday gift," she grumped. "Spectacular. It better have phenomenal cosmic powers."

His face split into a broad grin as he seated himself again, breathing a sigh of relief. "I swear it," he promised solemnly, and she smiled at him.

He reached out and squeezed her hand, then sat back. "You're right, basically it will have to be passed off as love match. And it won't last very long--maybe just a few weeks." More like a few months, he thought to himself, but decided not to mention that to her. She looked edgy enough, and now that he had her helping him, he didn't want to have her bolt.

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not going to sleep with him," she said firmly, and saw by his horrified face that the thought had never even crossed his mind.

"Hell no!" he said violently. "You have my express permission to hex him for as long as you'd like if he even tries it. I've already spoken to him about it."

Ginny arched her eyebrow sardonically. "So you already have my husband arranged for me?"

He squirmed, and if she hadn't been annoyed, it would have amused her to watch it. "Yes," he admitted. "I didn't want you to end up with someone completely terrible."

"Well, there was such slim pickings, I'm not sure how you managed to find someone who was only semi-terrible," she said sarcastically.

"Why, my dear fiancée, I'm hurt," said a cold voice from the doorway. Ginny froze, and felt like all the blood in her body had turned to ice. She turned slowly and stared as Draco Malfoy sauntered into the room and flopped gracefully into a chair beside her.

He raised her numb fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to them, his eyes glittering icily at her over it. She snatched her hand away and wiped it on her jeans, her lip curled. Then she whipped her head around to her uncle, who was glaring balefully at Draco, who only looked amused.

“Him?” she said desperately. “Of all the men you could have chosen, it had to be him?”

Draco smiled at her, but it was a dangerous smile. Like a predator baring its teeth instead of a gesture of amusement. It made her shiver to see it. “Why, wife, your stream of insults quite wounds my feelings.” He lounged in the chair, looking like a jungle cat. It made Ginny want to slap him. She gritted her teeth.

“I’m not your wife, Malfoy,” she snarled.

He didn’t look troubled. “You will be soon enough,” he said, his voice tranquil.

Ginny shot Jonathon a look that promised dire death. If Malfoy hadn’t been there, he would have quailed beneath her very formidable feminine temper. She had gotten the damned thing from Molly, Jonathon thought grumpily. Molly was fearsome when she was in a temper. Thankfully she rarely lost her temper. Ginny’s was a little quicker than her mother’s, unfortunately.

“Cut it out, Malfoy,” Jonathon snapped. Malfoy grated on his nerves as well, but he was a damn sight better than the other choices Jonathon had to work with. Some of the families Jonathon had looked over he wouldn’t have let his dog near, let alone his precious only niece. Malfoy had been the lesser of several evils. And despite Malfoy’s irritating personality, Jonathon was certain Ginny would hold her own. The girl came from good stock, he thought in wry amusement.

Draco just looked amused, and glanced around Jonathon’s office. It was spartan, but what few furnishings there were were masculine and obviously expensive. “Nice place,” he commented. “A bit too sparse for my taste, but whatever floats your boat.”

“Cut the small talk, Malfoy,” Ginny snapped, her teeth gritted to keep from shouting at someone. She wanted to wring someone’s neck, and Malfoy’s was looking great right about now. Followed closely by Jonathon’s.

Draco’s gray eyes cut to hers swiftly. “I’m trying to make this a little easier, Weasley,” he snapped. “Merlin knows that I’m not jumping for joy to have you as my wife.”

“Well it’s not like it will be for long. But then, none of your marriages are,” Ginny said nastily, and had the pleasure of watching his face darken. Her reference to his brief marriage and subsequent divorce of Pansy Parkinson was below the belt, but Ginny felt like she could occasionally sacrifice principles in the name of pleasure. Especially when it was at Draco Malfoy’s expense. She hadn’t liked the git in school, and even after they had both graduated she still hadn’t liked him. She hadn’t seem him on either side of the final battle, but he was damned by association in her eyes. She had seen his friends Crabbe and Goyle and Zabini on the side of the Deatheaters, and his father and mother had been prominent figures as commanders for the Deatheaters. That made him guilty in her eyes. And Ginny didn’t believe in second chances. Therefore marriage to Draco Malfoy made her want to stuff a spoon down her throat and gleefully choke on it.

“Ginny, that’s quite enough,” Jonathon snapped, inwardly wondering how the hell these two were going to manage for months. Surely one of them would kill the other. But since Jonathon had already put a spell on Malfoy so that he couldn’t physically or magically harm Ginny, Jonathon wasn’t too worried about Ginny’s welfare. He did wonder if he’d find Malfoy in pieces on his doorstep one night, considering the look in Ginny’s eyes. They hadn’t even gotten out of his office and they were at each other’s throats.

Ginny shot him a fulminating look, but he gave her a steady, level one that reminded her instantly that he wasn’t just her favorite uncle, he was also the Minister of Magic. So she closed her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest and fumed to herself. She sensed that if he hadn’t been trying to preserve his dignity, Malfoy would have done the same. Jonathon sighed heavily. “Look, you two. This is beneficial to everyone. How can you two present this as a love match if you look like you’re ready to kill each other?”

Neither Draco nor Ginny answered, although they took time away from sulking to glare balefully at one another. “Am I going to have to marry him in public?” Ginny demanded. “Because I don’t want to tarnish my name more than possible.”

“Oh please,” Draco said scornfully. “As if I’m looking forward to it either. I don’t want to tarnish my name.”

Jonathon saw Ginny open her mouth and knew precisely what she was going to say, so he cut her off before she could start another argument. “Virginia, shut your mouth,” he said sharply. “I am rapidly losing patience with both of you. You will be civil to one another, at least while you are in this office, or I will throw you out. And that will tarnish both your names.”

Ginny sat back in her chair and glared at the ceiling. Jonathon took a steadying breath. He was supposed to have huge reserves of patience as the Minister of Magic. These two were rapidly using all of it. “To answer your question, Virginia, no--you will not have to be married in a public ceremony. You will be married quietly by me, and then you will return to Malfoy Manor.”

Ginny stared at Jonathon in shock. Maybe she had been idealistic or at least not thinking clearly, but she hadn’t realized that she would have to live at Malfoy Manor. That meant leaving her lovely flat. “What about my flat?” she blurted out. “I don’t have to get rid of it, do I?”

Jonathon glanced at her, and shook his head, a smile curving his lips. He knew how much Ginny loved that tiny little flat. He shook his head. “No,” he said gently. “The Ministry will pay for the rent while you’re not there, Virginia. You can keep it.”

Ginny breathed a soft sigh of relief. Then she glanced over at Malfoy, who was stubbornly staring out the window as if he didn’t give a damn about what was going on in the room. Since just looking at him made anger bubble in her veins, she resolutely turned her gaze elsewhere. Jonathon sighed. “I’ll marry you tomorrow. I think both of you should go home. Virginia, you need to pack tonight. I’ll have someone bring your things to Malfoy Manor tomorrow. Both of you should be here around one o’ clock tomorrow. Meet me here in my office.”

Malfoy nodded curtly, and Ginny did the same. Jonathon sighed heavily. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this from both of you.”

Malfoy rose lazily to his feet. “I’m not doing this for you, sir. I’m doing this for me. I don’t feel like being mobbed in the streets or being lynched.”

Jonathon stared at him levelly. “I don’t give a damn why you’re doing it, Malfoy, just as long as you do it.”

Draco nodded curtly and glanced over at Ginny, his eyes like chips of flint. “Weasley.”

“Malfoy,” she said coolly. Then he strode out of the office. Once he was gone, Ginny looked over at Jonathon and shook her head with a sigh. “I need a nap,” she proclaimed firmly. “I’m going home and taking a nap and hope this isn’t happening.”

Jonathon smiled sadly. “It’s happening, pet. I hope we all get through it alive.”

Ginny stepped toward him and hugged him tightly. His arms went around her and hugged her back. Then she kissed his cheek. “I do too, Uncle Jon,” she said quietly. “I’ll see you later.” Then she exited his office, leaving him alone and feeling very old indeed.

2. Family & Marriage

Ginny Apparated right outside the Burrow, and pushed her way through the door, feeling edgy. She glanced around the kitchen that was usually bustling and frowned. It was completely deserted. "Mum! Dad? Is anyone here?"

"We're in the parlor, Ginny." Her mother's voice floated to her through the halls of the house. Frowning and wondering why they were in the rarely used parlor, Ginny hurried through the house and into the parlor. She stopped dead, her eyes wide as she stared at all her brothers that were scattered about the room, all of them looking grim. She saw with a brief--very brief--pang in her heart that Percy was the only one missing. But then, he had removed himself from their family long ago. Most of the time she ceased worrying or thinking about him. He had made his choice.

She flicked a glance at her parents, who looked just as solemn as her normally loud brothers. Even Ron was there. He was rarely home now that he was training under Jonathon to become an Auror. Obviously it was something serious if he was home. She bit her lip and looked toward her father for comfort. "Dad? Is something wrong?" she asked anxiously.

Arthur sighed heavily. "We wanted to discuss Jonathon's proposal with you, sweetpea."

She blinked. "You know about it?"

"Of course," Molly chimed in, wringing her hands. "He ran it by your father and I before he ever owled you."

Getting permission from my parents, Ginny thought with a spurt of anger. Wouldn't she ever be seen as anything but the youngest Weasley? But she shoved down the familiar anger and forced herself to listen. She sighed and seated herself in an overstuffed chair. The twins were perched on the arms of the chair, and even their normal cheerful faces were solemn. Molly made a dismissive gesture to them, and they obediently moved so that Molly could clearly see her youngest child.

"Did Jonathon talk to you?" Molly asked anxiously.

Ginny nodded. "I spoke with him just a few minutes ago."

"And? What did you tell him about his proposal?" Fred asked eagerly. "You told him to shove it, didn't you?"

She gave him a withering look. "No," she said quietly. "I didn't. I told him that I would do it. It happens tomorrow."

An angry buzz rose from her assembled brothers, and her mother looked on the verge of tears. Her father looked as if he aged before her very eyes. "I thought you would," he said wearily. "But I had to give you the choice."

She bit her tongue before the bitter words emerged, and just waited in silence. The explosion came from Ron. "Why are you marrying one of those pieces of scum?" he snarled. "You know what they've done, and you want to marry one of them? Sleep with one of them?"

Ginny snarled down at him. "I fought them just as you did, Ron. Don't think that I've forgotten. And no, I won't be sleeping with one of them. The marriage will be a sham, to try to patch up the hole that's opening up between regular folk and former Deatheaters."

"Why is that a bad thing?" George retorted. "Let them rot, I say." Molly shushed him, her eyes still glittering with tears.

Ginny snorted. "Damned if I know."

"Because we're civilized folk," Arthur said wearily. "And lynching them makes us no better than they. Two wrongs don't make a right." He looked briefly pleased to have used the Muggle expression, then his expression reverted back to gloom.

"But Dad," Charlie protested, "why should Ginny have to be the sacrifice?"

Precisely what I want to know, Ginny thought sourly, although she already knew why. But it still rankled.

"Because she's famous, Charlie," Molly said, sniffling. "And because your father is an important man in the Ministry. That makes her a political figure."

Her brothers all snorted in unison, and Ginny rolled her eyes. No matter what accomplishments that she managed, she would always be their little sister. That was one thing that would never change, she thought wryly. And the thought didn't bother her. It was just when everyone else had that same mentality that it bothered her.

"So who are you going to marry?" Bill asked her, his lips pressed tightly together.

She hesitated and glanced sideways at Ron, who was glaring furiously at the floor. "Draco Malfoy," she admitted, and watched as Ron lunged to his feet amid the shocked chatter that filled the room.

"Malfoy?" he snarled. "I'll be damned before I let you marry him, Ginny! That bastard tortured us all through school!"

She surged to her feet to stand toe-to-toe with him. "You think I like it any better?" she snapped back at him. "You're not the one that has to live in the same house with the bastard, eat the same meals, and pretend to adore him whenever you're in public. I don't see that this affects you at all, Ron."

"I'm not going to let the bastard who was the heir of Slytherin marry my baby sister!" Ron roared at her.

She felt her temper bubble. "I can take care of myself!" she shouted back at him, her fists clenched at her sides. "I'm not just your baby sister, Ronald! I killed Deatheaters the same as you did. Just because I don't choose to make it a career doesn't change that fact."

He blinked, startled at that angle of attack. Then he shouted back at her, "No one ever said that you didn't!"

"You did!" she retorted. "You like to pretend that you have to protect me from everything, but I'm twenty-two years old, Ron. I graduated from Hogwarts with honors, and I stood on that battlefield the same as you. I think that makes me fully qualified to take care of myself! And this is none of your business." She turned her furious gaze on each of her brothers in turn. "None," she repeated. "There was no other choice. Soon the families would be lynched and mobbed in the streets. Then what happens? Civil warfare, that's what. Do you want to go to war again--only this time with ourselves?"

"We wouldn't be fighting ourselves!" Charlie said hotly. "We'd be fighting Deatheaters!"

"Then what happens after that?" she snapped. "What happens when we start to see Deatheaters around every corner? Once the former Deatheater families are gone, who says that it's done? Who says that it's all right to stop murdering people for their supposed loyalties?"

There was a charged silence in the room. "You have a very good grasp on what's happening," Arthur said quietly. "Did Jonathon tell you all this?"

"No," she said curtly. "I can figure it out for myself, Dad. It's not a far mental jump. There was no one else who was suitable for this. It will only be for a few weeks, and then it will be over. Once the tension's died down, we'll quietly get divorced."

"So you'll legally be married?" George asked in dismay.

"Yes," Molly said, sniffling furiously. "She'll legally be someone's wife. My little baby." Then she promptly burst into tears.

All the boys in the room, including her husband, drew back in horror. Because Ginny and Molly were the only females in the family, and they never cried, the men were all useless around female tears. Ginny went and knelt at her mother's feet and hugged her. "Hush, Mama," she said quietly, rocking her mother as Molly wept on her shoulder. "Don't think of this as me getting married. Just think of it as one of Fred and George's tricks."

Molly sniffled into her daughter's shoulder. "But you are getting married!"

"Not truly," Ginny said firmly, although the thought of what would happen tomorrow tied her stomach into knots. She endured her mother's sniffling for a few more minutes before Molly sat back in her chair and wiped at her eyes with trembling fingers.

"It just doesn't seem right," Molly said tearfully. "It doesn't seem right that my baby is even old enough to get married."

So that's what was wrong, Ginny thought with a mental sigh. Her mother was worried about her growing up. But she didn't have anything to respond to that, just stayed kneeling by her mother's feet. "We're just worried about you, sweetpea," Arthur said sadly. "We don't want you hurt."

"I'm not going to be hurt," she said firmly. "I can take care of myself. I know none of you believe it, but it's true. And I won't have all of you popping in to check on me," she said sternly. "What would that look like to the public? We're supposed to show a united front. So I need you to help me on this."

She saw her brother's mutinous faces and bit her tongue before the angry words emerged. Finally she said with deceptive calm, "If I can be the fatted calf, then you can lie. You will help me on this, because if I marry him and then you fuck it up, I will make your life a living hell."

"Virginia Annette Weasley!" Her mother said in a shocked voice at Ginny's crudity, and promptly popped her on the head. Ginny muttered another curse under her breath and rubbed at her aching head, but she shot her brothers a glare. They all looked grumpy, but with a sigh of relief, she knew that they would do what she had asked.

Thinking of all the things that she would have to pack before tomorrow, Ginny rose to her feet. "I need to go home," she said quietly. "I have some packing to do."

Molly clutched at Ginny's hand and stared up at her daughter with pleading eyes. "Please stay for dinner," she implored.

Looking down into her mother's watery eyes, Ginny sighed deeply. She desperately wanted to go home and hide beneath the covers and pretend that today hadn't happened. She needed time to assimiliate everything that had happened and she had heard, and she wasn't going to get that in her noisy home. But looking down into her mother's upset face, Ginny knew that she couldn't just leave when her mother was so upset. "All right," she said with a sigh. Molly immediately perked up and rose to her feet. "I'll go start getting dinner ready," she said hurriedly, then rushed out of the room.

Ginny seated herself in her mother's vacant chair, and saw that her father was looking a little watery himself. But to her intense relief, he didn't cling to her as her mother had. Circe knew that Ginny adored her mother, but she was in emotional overload and she didn't think she could deal with everyone else's emotions at the moment. But then, it had always been that way. Ginny was the lodestone that drew the family to her when they were troubled or upset. She always listened and never judged--as best as she could--and everyone walked away feeling better.

Except Ginny herself. She had borne the heartache of her brothers' private struggles and pranks that they kept from their parents, the worry of knowing the stupid things that they did but swore her to secrecy. She accepted the burden because it was her nature. But sometimes she felt like she was going to burn out, like all the emotion that was loaded upon her would someday break her.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, feeling her temples throb with the headache that was rapidly rising. She hated to fight with her family. She was more than ready to pick a fight with anyone that wasn't a family member or as good as one--like Harry and Hermione--but fighting with her family made her feel queasy. She saw Ron opening his mouth to argue, and said abruptly, "I'm going upstairs for a little while." She rose quickly from the chair and escaped up to her room.

She opened the door and drew in the warm, comforting scent of her own room. There was her oldest broom, the first one that her parents had bought for her. She had a newer one now that she kept in her flat, but she kept this old one for the memories that it evoked. The bed was perfectly made, testament of her mother's cleaning presence. Books on Quidditch and fiction books randomly littered the room, and she could smell the warm scent of vanilla. She closed the door behind her and crawled up on the bed, feeling some of the tension ease from her shoulders.

She cuddled up against the pillow and soon fell asleep, hoping to forget the events of the day and what would happen tomorrow.

__________________________

"Hey, Miz Weasley, is this all?" The young wizard asked her, popping his gum. Ginny glanced up at him, her eyes distracted. "Yes, yes, that's it, Tom," she said quickly. He nodded and murmured a quick spell and the box floated along as he made his way out of the apartment. Ginny looked around her flat, feeling a lump clog her throat. Although her furniture was still here, it felt empty. It didn't feel like her home anymore. Her clothes had all been cleaned out of her closet, everything was spotlessly clean for once, and all of her little treasures had been boxed and were being sent to Malfoy Manor.

She bit her lip, feeling tears tremble on her lashes. She felt like she was leaving forever, instead of for a few weeks. As she left her room she ran her hand over the hall table and suppressed a sniffle. This was her home. At the Burrow, she was just another kid in her large family. Here she was an independent, capable witch who was fully grown, instead of the child her family still thought her. She had already said goodbye to Mrs.Kingsley, and told her that she was going away for a little while. There was nothing left for her here.

She swiped angrily at the one wayward tear that had slid down her cheek, then turned sharply on her heel and out of the flat, locking it behind her. Then with a sharp, almost angry pop, she Apparated to the Ministry.

* * * * *

Ginny stalked through the Common Room of the Ministry, not even bothering to say hello to anyone. She shoved open the door to Jonathon's office and then closed it behind her almost too quietly. Malfoy was already there, lounging lazily in a chair. He glanced up when she entered, and his cool, assessing gaze went over her. She was wearing a gray pullover, jeans and tennis shoes, and her wine-red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her face devoid of cosmetics. "Well aren't we ravishing on our wedding day," he said ironically.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she snarled back at him. Her head turned toward her uncle, who was sitting in his chair and watching them with troubled eyes. "Jonathon? Could we get this over with, please?"

Malfoy rose gracefully from the chair. "Ah, can't wait to get home to ravish me, I see."

Her hands curled into fists, but she held her ground. "I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole, Malfoy," she said coldly. "So you can keep on dreaming."

"Having nightmares, you mean," he said blandly. "I don't want that skinny little freckled body of yours, Weaslette, so you won't have to fight me off with a stick."

She ground her teeth together. "Bite me, Malfoy."

"No thanks," he murmured placidly. "I'll take my attentions elsewhere. Where I'm not afraid that they'll be chopped off."

Ginny bared her teeth in a feral smile and didn't say anything. With a heavy sigh, Jonathon rose from his chair. "For the sake of this whole plan to work, it requires that you both not mutiliate or kill one another," he said dryly. "So please don't."

Ginny shot Draco a dirty look, which he returned with a supercilious lift of his eyebrow. Draco broke the eye contact first, which made Ginny grimly pleased. "Could we get this over with?" he asked coldly. "I have meetings to attend."

Ginny bit her tongue before the bitter words slipped out. Her nails dug into her skin as she clenched her fists harder. Jonathon stepped out from behind his desk and took his wand out and gestured for Draco and Ginny to stand side by side in front of him.

"Marriage is a trust," he said quietly. "A trust between two people who care for one another." Ginny and Draco turned to glare at one another. "A trust that--"

"Can we skip this part?" Ginny said impatiently. "Pretty much none of it applies."

"It should," Jonathon said heavily, but he skipped most of the ceremony. He glanced over at Draco. "Do you have the rings?"

Draco withdrew a small velvet box from his pocket with a flourish. Ginny felt her heart give a funny little thump, and couldn't decide if it was annoyance or sorrow. She should have married a man she loved, she thought sadly. It should have been a man that she adored that offered her a ring, instead of a man she despised. Draco opened the box, and Ginny sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the ring.

Her ring was a square-cut, 3 carat pink diamond set in white gold. Her shocked gaze flew to Draco's cold eyes. "This is completely extravagant!" she sputtered. "I'm not really your wife, Malfoy! I don't need something like this."

"You're my wife," he said coldly. "At least that's what everyone believes. And my wife will have a ring like this."

She gaped at him for a moment, then shook herself. If Malfoy wants to spend that kind of money, then let him, she lectured herself. It's not my money. Abruptly, she realized that she hadn't bought a ring for Draco. She bit her lip just as Draco drawled, "Oh, and don't worry that you didn't buy me a ring. I didn't expect you to, so I provided one for myself."

She bristled, but kept her mouth shut since she hadn't bought him a ring. "Put the ring on her finger," Jonathon said quietly. Draco grasped Ginny's limp left hand and slid the ring onto her slender finger. Feeling like she was in a dream, Ginny took the simple gold band that Draco solemnly held out to her and slid it onto his finger. While her hand was still touching his, Jonathon touched his wand gently to the back of Ginny's hand and murmured something. She gasped in surprise when a soft white light spread over the back of her hand and over to cover Draco's hand as well. It faded slowly a moment later, the last thing to fade being the light that was above their rings.

As soon as the light was gone, Ginny snatched back her hand, her cheeks burning. "It's done," Jonathon said quietly. "You're married. Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy."

Draco and Ginny both glowered at one another, and Jonathon watched them, feeling sadness well in his heart as if it bled. His goddaughter was someone's wife now. It wasn't going to be a pleasant marriage, nor one made for love, but she was nonetheless married. He had no doubt that Molly was at home bawling her eyes out right about now.

Draco nodded curtly to Jonathon. "Minister."

Jonathon nodded solemnly to Draco. "Malfoy."

Then Draco glanced back at Ginny and curled his lip. "I assume you know where Malfoy Manor is?"

"Yes," Ginny said with great dignity, feeling like her hand still tingled from the touch of his. It was just that weird light, she dismissed instantly.

Draco gave her a wary look, almost as if he wasn't sure how to handle her when she wasn't spitting fire at him. "I've instructed the house elves that you're to arrive today. You may do what you see fit within the house. For as long as this farce lasts, you are my wife. I will assume that you will act with all the decorum and privilege that this affords you."

Ginny drew herself up to her full height proudly. "I'm just as pureblood as you are, Malfoy. I know precisely how I'm to act and will do so accordingly." She tilted her chin in the air. "If you gentlemen will excuse me," she said coolly. She nodded to Jonathon and gave her new husband a cool glance, then she strode out of the office.

Once she was gone, Jonathon spoke quietly. "Malfoy."

Startled, Draco half turned to face the Minister of Magic. "Sir?"

"Virginia Weasley is like my daughter. If you do anything to hurt her in any way, I'll hurt you very badly, Malfoy. You don't want me as your enemy." His voice was like ice, and for the first time, Draco saw past the aimable facade to a man who was steel to his very core. He covered his surprise instantly.

"But that would be breaking the terms of your own peace plan," Draco said, his eyes glittering. Despite his newfound respect for the Minister of Magic, he didn't take kindly to being threatened.

"I don't have to publicly attack you, Malfoy," Jonathon said quietly. "And it would be infinitely easier to leave Virginia a widow. Don't make me have to."

Draco studied him in silence. "I have no intention of even approaching my wife outside of public, Minister," he said shortly. "So I have no doubt that we'll get along just fine."

Jonathon eyed him with eyes that were like an icy preview of hell. Not sure if he wanted to turn his back on the man, Draco reluctantly turned and walked quickly out of the office.

* * * * *

Ginny Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor, and saw in disgust that she was outside the darn gates, which were firmly closed. The guard at the gate eyed her and walked toward her. "Who are you?"

"Virginia We--Malfoy," she said, cutting herself off before she said her old name. She had to get used to saying it now.

The guard's eyes widened. "I didn't know Mr. Malfoy had family."

Ginny blinked. Draco didn't have any family? She had known that his father had been an only child, but she had assumed that his mother had family somewhere. It made her sad for a moment that Draco was all alone in the world, then she abruptly reminded herself that he was a cold-blooded bastard and deserved to be alone in the world. Irritated by her own sudden bout of sympathy, Ginny said curtly, "I'm not his sister, I'm his wife."

The guard gaped at her. "I--I beg your pardon?" he stammered. "Mr. Malfoy isn't married!"

"He is now," she said shortly. "May I please enter my own house?"

He hesitated. "I can't let anyone in without identification," he said apologetically. "Please understand, Mrs. Malfoy."

Ginny's stomach knotted at the form of address, but she dug in her pocket and withdrew her I.D. card. He blinked, startled, as he read the name printed on it. "You're Virginia Weasley?"

"Yes," she said, her tone one of long-suffering. His eyes widened even more, if that was possible. Ginny wondered in annoyance what was wrong with him now. "Ronald Weasley's sister?" he asked in awe. "My brother is in Ron's squad in the Aurors. He says that everyone's in awe of him because what he did with Harry Potter."

And what about me? she wanted to ask, but held her tongue. Then he stared, his mouth opening in shock. "And that means--that means that you were there too!" He clutched at her hand, and Ginny had to suppress a wince at his sweaty palms.

"Merlin's beard, Mrs. Malfoy--I just don't know what to say!"

"Then don't say anything," she muttered. "Silence is always the best policy."

He was happily oblivious to her sarcasm. "The things that you did for everyone, helping to get rid of You-Know-Who--"

"It was nothing," she said hurriedly, wanting nothing more than to escape from him. She could feel his enthusiasm and awe through the physical contact with him, as well as a healthy attraction that he was fostering for her. It made her uncomfortable, and she gently extricated her hand.

"May I go inside now?" she asked too gently, and he nodded emphatically. "Of course, of course!" He murmured a quick spell and the heavy gates moved aside. Then he just stood beaming at her, while Ginny stared at him.

"May I have my I.D. please?" she said pointedly. He nodded and handed her the card, a blush heating his cheeks. Ginny hid a grimace at the damp card. Circe's pigs, the man must have to drink a bottle of water every hour, she thought in annoyance. Otherwise he'd be dehydrated all the time, the way that he sweats. Then she immediately felt ashamed for the thought. The poor man had done nothing but like her, and she was thinking badly about him. It was the Malfoy estate, she thought gloomily. Maybe that's why Draco was such a prick.

She trudged up the long driveway and studied the house. Malfoy Manor, she thought, her gaze scanning the expansive grounds. This was where generations of Malfoys had lived and tortured. Although the carefully tended grounds were beautiful, it was the house that held her attention. It was gorgeous, a true work of art. She knew from gossip that it had been created by one of the world's greatest architects in the sixteenth century, and had been passed down through Malfoy heirs ever since. Despite the gleaming white of the house and the graceful marble columns, it had a distinct aura of masculinity. Generations of Malfoy men had imprinted themselves on this house, Ginny thought, not able to suppress her sense of awe. No matter that she knew that the Malfoy men had been Deatheaters and general troublemakers for centuries--they had great taste in architecture. The house represented a sense of permanence that her family didn't have. Although the Burrow was full of love and laughter, it wouldn't be there two hundred years from now. None of her brothers would take over the Burrow--they would all move away to their separate corners of the earth and live their own lives. They would just naturally assume that Ginny would take over the Burrow, which wasn't going to happen. She loved her family, but she wasn't going to live her life for them.

Ginny mounted the granite steps and stepped onto the front terrace. The front door was made of dark mahoghany, arched and recessed. Violets tumbled wildly from planters that sat beside the door, and Ginny wryly decided that it must be the work of gardeners or house elves. She could never imagine Draco Malfoy out here gardening. She hesitated, not sure if she should just walk in or ring the bell. Despite that she was mistress here now, it wasn't her house. And the feeling of generations of Malfoys watching her with cold eyes hadn't faded as she walked toward the house.

Her fingertips brushed the smooth bronze doorknob and hesitated. Her slender fingers curled back into a fist for a moment, then she set her jaw. She would not let a Malfoy intimidate her. Not even dead ones. She reached out and grasped the doorknob firmly, turned, and then pushed her way inside. Much to her disappointment, trumpets didn't sound at her personal triumph. Slightly deflated, she stared around the corridor and sucked in her breath.

If the house was a masterpiece of artwork on the outside, the inside was even more so. Peacock blue and white marble tiles made up the floor of the foyer, and a wide, sweeping staircase led upstairs. She felt very small and out of place standing in the foyer in her faded jeans and hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. As she glanced around the hall, parts of the air seemed to solidify until it looked as if they were human shapes. They were opaque, and seemed to not notice her.With a jolt, she realized that what she was seeing was fragments of memories that had been imprinted into the very stones of the house. It wouldn't be apparent to anyone else, but her special skills made her especially receptive to such things.

It was a dinner party, she thought in wonder, not even bothering to consider how she was seeing a hazy glimpse of centuries before. Men with the trademark silvery blonde hair of the Malfoys moved lazily through the room, drinks held in their hands and beautiful women on their arms as they chatted soundlessly to guests. She could see the hazy views of the guests and the ancient Malfoys. Like watching a scene from a movie through foggy glass, she thought in amazement. Then the figures faded, leaving her alone in the foyer.

She let out her breath in a sharp gust, abruptly realizing that she had been holding her breath for Merlin knew how long. She shook her head. Nothing had ever happened like that to her before, she thought in surprise. She knew that she was empathic, but she had never dreamed that she was postcognative. Who knew? she thought in wry amusement. But then she had never been in a place where there were so many strong personalities imprinted upon one place. Even the Ministry wasn't like this--there were so many people in and out all the time that everything was all jumbled up, including emotions.

Ginny shook herself. Despite her shock at her new ability, the house drew her. She desperately wanted to explore, to feel the fascination of being somewhere that had a real history. She started toward the sweeping staircase and stepped up it, one hand trailing along an elegantly carved banister. I feel a bit like Belle from Beauty and the Beast when she first goes in the castle, she thought with a small smile. She had found that she had a passion for Muggle movies, and lately she had been gorging her senses upon them. The man Disney and his movies were a particular favorite, and Beauty and the Beast in particular. She had also found the Lord of the Rings movies and had drooled over the man candy present in the movie. Which was probably why Orlando Bloom showed up in my dream the other night, she thought dryly as she ventured up the stairs.

The house was silent, but she felt like the very air was vibrating around her. The upstairs was just as elegant as the downstairs, and just as spotless. Ginny wryly wondered if the house elves wouldn't quickly want to kick her out--she was terribly disorganized and messy. She bit her lip, distressed. She felt small compared to the house--her family had never been wealthy, and she valued her independence more than money. And this house was money. Privilege and all it stood for. She was dreadfully out of place. But she hardened her jaw. She was going to live here, and she was going to make it her own.

On the heels of that thought, a timid voice asked behind her, "Missus?"

She shrieked and jumped, one hand flying to her heart and the other heading for her wand. The next second she realized she was pointing her wand at a cowering house-elf. Still breathing hard from the sudden surge of adrenaline, she shoved her wand back in her pocket. "Sorry," she apologized, and saw the house-elf blink in surprise. "You startled me."

The house-elf cast her eyes down shamefully. "Blinky is sorry, Missus. Blinky did not mean to scare Missus." The house-elf drifted toward a wall and without warning slammed his head against it repeatedly. Ginny's mouth opened in shock and she leaped forward and grabbed the house-elf out of reach of the wall. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

Blinky stared up at Ginny with dazed eyes. "Blinky must punish himself."

Ginny's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. Finally she said firmly, "That's not necessary. I don't need you to punish yourself for anything."

Now it was the house-elf who stared up at her in surprise. "Not punish?"

Ginny shook her head emphatically. "No punishment."

Blinky just stared up at Ginny as if the concept was alien to him. Finally when it appeared that he wasn't going to speak again, Ginny asked him, "You know who I am?"

Blinky nodded emphatically. "Master says that red-haired lady will be our Missus, and to show you where things are."

Well at least Draco did that right, Ginny thought sourly. Instead of vocalizing her irritation with her new husband, she smiled encouragingly at Blinky. "That would be wonderful, Blinky. Unless I'm taking you from something."

Blinky stared at her in shock, nonplussed by her attempt to be kind to him. His master either ignored or snapped at him. Blinky was comfortable with that and expected it. His new mistress's kindness confused him. But he shrugged it off as a quirk of his new mistress and nodded solemnly and completely ignored her implication that she wouldn't interrupt his work. That was what masters and mistresses did. "Blinky will show Missus around," he said, puffing out his chest importantly, and Ginny hid her smile.

"Thank you," she said gravely. She rose from her half-crouch and made a broad gesture. "Lead on."

Blinky nodded, his eyes gleaming. "Yes, Missus." He marched down the hallway and opened a door that looked like all the other ones. "This is Missus's bedroom." Ginny peered around the doorway and couldn't hide her gasp.

The room was enormous. The carpets were soft and sandy colored. The bed was a king size, covered in black silken sheets. The wall opposite the doorway had glass French doors that opened onto a small balcony. Through the glass she could see that the flagstones of the balcony were warm ochre that seemed to glow with the sun's warmth. There were two rocking chairs, and gardenias spilled over one side of the balcony. Inside the room there was a vanity made of dark cherry wood with a mirror that was bare, just waiting for her things to be placed on it. In one corner of the room she could see her tattered boxes that held her things that had been transferred from her flat. The room was feminine and sumptuous, and she wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

Ginny bit her lip to fight the sudden urge to go inside and touch the silken sheets. Hell, she thought impetuously, no one was here to see her except Blinky. And she was guessing that Blinky wasn't going to go telling Draco that she had touched her own sheets. She stepped past the house-elf and into the room. She walked over to the bed and slid the sheets between her fingers, feeling the silk slide sensously over her skin.

Grinning, she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony and suppressed a gasp. She had a beautiful view of the rolling expanse of land that belonged to the Malfoys. Trees liberally laced the grounds, and flowers were everywhere. Despite that the Malfoy women had never been 'nice', they certainly had loved flowers, Ginny thought dryly. They were everywhere.

She looked around the gorgeous bedroom and couldn't suppress the quiet thrill that went through her. She hesitated, wanting to ask but at the same time not wanting to know. Finally she blurted out, "Where is Draco's bedroom?"

Blinky pointed to a door in the corner of the room that she hadn't noticed before. "That leads to Master's bedroom," he said importantly. Ginny clenched her teeth. The bastard had given them adjoining rooms? But knowing that losing her temper would only frighten Blinky, she bit her tongue and tried to speak calmly. "Thank you, Blinky. I think I'm going to lie down for a little while."

Blinky nodded hastily, seeing the glitter in his mistress's eyes. "Yes, Missus." Then he escaped out of the room. Ginny marched over to the door and hesitated before she opened it. Then she shook her head, annoyance creasing her brow. Malfoy had decided to give them linking rooms. If he didn't want her snooping, then he would have put a locking charm on the door, she reasoned with herself. If it was locked, then she wouldn't go snooping. If it was unlocked, then he obviously wouldn't care.

On that thought, she turned the knob and found that it opened easily. She gulped when she saw Draco's room. All of the furniture was dark maghoghany, including the huge sleigh bed that also had black silk sheets. His room also had a balcony, but unlike hers, it was completely bare of chairs or flowers. There was a dark desk that sat on one wall, and an armoire on another wall. The room was spartan and completely masculine, unlike hers.

Her fingers nearly twitched with curiosity to go through his desk, but she told herself that even though it was Malfoy, she had no business going through his private papers. Instead she chose to go through his armoire. Her fingertips had just touched the handle when an amused voice drawled from behind her, "Not even five minutes and you're already snooping, Weaslette?"

3. Domestic Bliss

Ginny spun on her heel, her hand going instinctively for her wand. When she saw it was Draco, she stopped reaching for her wand, although she scowled furiously. "Don't call me that," she snapped.

He arched his eyebrow at her, a gesture she was already coming to hate. "And why not?" he drawled, strolling over to his desk and propping one hip on the corner. "It's so appropriate."

She fumed. "Fine, then I can call you Ferret-boy," she said, smirking, and saw his face darken.

There was a moment of charged silence before he changed the subject. "Why are you in my room, then?"

She suppressed her own smirk. Obviously she had won that dispute. She hunched her shoulders slightly. "No reason," she muttered. Then her eyes snapped sparks at him. "Why are we in adjoining rooms?" she demanded. "This isn't a real marriage, Malfoy."

"How well I know," he said sardonically. "I'd be getting laid a whole lot more."

She grimaced. "I don't need your crudity, Malfoy."

One side of his mouth curled coolly. "I don't see any reason to shield you from it, Weasley. It's not like you're some fainting flower. I think you've sufficiently proved that."

She narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?"

He glanced at her with a bored look in his eyes. "Come now, Virginia. Not many women would dare to go toe-to-toe with me." Then he had the nerve to preen.

Ginny gritted her teeth so hard she was sure that they would shatter. Stupid, supercilious, arrogant, pompous bastard! she fumed. Instead she stomped over to him and hissed, "And don't you forget it, Malfoy." Then she stormed away. His voice stopped her at the doorway.

"Weasley," he called mockingly, "don't come in my room again. Unless of course you're looking to relieve a little of that tension."

With her back to him, Ginny's mouth opened in soundless shock at his blatant innuendo. Then she spun on her heel, eyes flashing furiously. She marched back over to him and stabbed her finger at his chest but didn't touch him. "If I was tense, I would not go looking for you to relieve anything!" she shouted. "I don't want anything from you, Malfoy. And if you come into my room, prepare to leave with your balls hanging around your neck. Clear enough?"

He blinked, then drawled, "Crystalline, darling."

She narrowed her eyes at him and then stormed back to the door that connected their rooms and went into hers, slamming the door behind her. Then she shouted from the other room, "And don't call me darling!"

Draco suppressed his chuckle and called back, "Why? Are you worried that you'll want to be my darling?" To his delight, he could practically hear her grinding her teeth in frustration. But she ignored him.

His lips twitched. Ah, it was so good to find a worthy opponent, he thought in amusement. Most people were blatantly terrified of him, from his house-elves to his assistants. But one Mrs. Virginia Weasley-Malfoy was obviously unafraid of him and ready and willing to go three rounds with him any day of the week. Or any hour, he thought wryly. The damned woman gave new meaning to the word 'spitfire'. Which was one of the reasons that he had cut his meetings short for the day--he had been half afraid that he'd find his house-elves on strike or gone. The damned woman was friends with Hermione Granger-Potter, that idiot woman who was trying to make that S.P.E.W. campaign. He rolled his eyes at the idiosyncrasies of women and then sat down at his desk and unlocked one of the drawers to withdraw a stack of notes.

His lips compressed with anger when he saw that the stack had grown since he had checked it last night. He slid his finger along the crease of one and broke the seal, then read the contents of the message quickly. Seconds later he threw it down in disgust. This was getting to be ludicrous. Half of the notes were pleading for him to take over the role of Dark Lord, and the other half were threatening him if he exposed who had been Deatheaters under You-Know-Who. The threats had grown increasingly more dire and more serious as the months went on. It had been almost a year since Voldemort had been killed in the final battle, and things were reaching a flash-point.

Just last week two members of the Bellaphue family had been mobbed in Diagon Alley. While it was true that the Bellaphue family had always been staunch Voldemort supporters and the upstanding witches and wizards of Diagon Alley had good reason to mob them, it didn’t change the statistics. Sooner or later the all old Deatheater families were going to meet horrible deaths at the hands of the everyday witches and wizards of the world.

Although it was commonly known among those who had been on the final battlefield that Draco hadn’t been present, no one knew where he had really been. Which was why there was such a wide spectrum of notes. Those who wanted to believe the best of him thought he should be the next Dark Lord and take up Voldemort’s mantle. Those who sent the death threats thought that he had been working against the Deatheaters and spying for Dumbledore. In fact, the truth lay somewhere in between.

To the public, his family was still very much a Deatheater family. As he was the last of his line, that meant that he bore the brunt of the hatred against the Malfoy family. Which meant that he was just as liable to be lynched as any other. The Minister of Magic had approached him several weeks ago about the prospect of marrying a woman to try to bridge the gap forming between former Deatheaters and the citizens of the wizarding world. Jonathon Ravensblack had made it perfectly clear that the marriage would be a sham, nothing more than a trick to try to put a temporary patch over the animosity that was running rampant. Even if Draco and Ginny divorced after a few months, the marriage would hopefully have alleviated some of the fears that the public held, and the problem would no longer be at a crisis point. This sham marriage between them was doing nothing more than buying time for the world to try to learn to live together again.

Draco had considered the thought that his marriage to a witch of 'upstanding' family would only incite the letter-writers even more. On that thought, he had increased his security around his home before he had even gone to the Ministry to find out who his wife would be. Despite that she was a Weasley, he had no desire to have a witch hurt on his account.

He was rapidly growing irritated with the letters that kept pouring into his home. He had already spelled the drawer to have all the letters that were sent to him from any former Deatheater family appear in his drawer instead of somewhere where they could be easily found. He had no desire for anyone--least of all Ginny Weasley--to find the problem that he had found himself in.

He also had no desire to become the next Dark Lord. It was fairly obvious what happened to men who tried to assume that position. He wasn't adverse to power, but he didn't particularly enjoy torture. He wasn't sympathetic to Muggles, but he also didn't want to murder them for just being Muggles. He prefered to leave them alone and they to leave him alone. On the opposite side of the coin, he didn't want to expose the deeds that the former Deatheaters had done. He could care less, just as long as they stayed away from what was his. Which for the moment included Ginny Weasley, he thought with a long-suffering sigh. So the letters that he was receiving were seriously starting to piss him off, because either option they proposed was repugnant to him. And it wasn't like there was a way to publicly tell the Deatheaters that he wasn't going to squeal on them.

He heard a quiet knock on the door and swore softly and shoved the letters back into his drawer. "Come," he said sharply, and the door opened to reveal one of his house-elves cowering in the doorway. Immediately he felt his shoulders relax. He had thought it was Ginny. Then he rolled his eyes to himself. If it had been Ginny, she would have just barged into the room instead of knocking. "What?" he asked, his cold eyes boring into the hapless house-elf.

Blinky cowered. "Missus wants to speak with Master."

Draco's eyebrow rose in surprise. "Very well," he said coolly. "You may go." Blinky nodded and then escaped, leaving the door open.

Draco's smile curled slowly. So she wanted to apologize already, did she? He rose from his seat and stepped through the door that connected their rooms without knocking. Almost immediately he had to duck as a vase flew through they air and shattered on the door behind him. He felt a shard of the vase pierce his shirt and slice his shoulder, and he swore viciously, his eyes cutting over to where Ginny was standing with her arms crossed militantly over her chest.

"What the fuck was that for?" he snarled.

"For coming in my room!" she snapped back. "I told you not to!"

"You asked to talk to me, you stupid woman!"

"I'm not stupid!"

"Then why the hell are you throwing costly vases at me for no reason?"

"I had a reason, Ferret!"

"Then why don't you clue me in, Weaslette?"

Ginny glared at her, her blood boiling. "You could come through the front door like a civilized person," she snapped. "That adjoining door is off limits, Malfoy."

"It's my house, you spiteful harpy!"

She tapped her foot and narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Oh yeah? Well while I'm occupying this room, it's mine. And I want you to stay out!"

"Fine then!" he snarled, feeling blood trickle down his shoulderblade and his temper inch up another notch. "What the hell did you want to talk to me about?"

She sniffed. "I wanted to tell you that the room was very lovely, despite it's damnable proximity to your own."

He gritted his teeth. "So," he said with deliberate slowness, "you call me in here to thank me, and suddenly decide that you want to throw something at me instead?"

She sniffed again. "It's a disease I have. No cure. Exterminitis Malfoyitis. Quite bothersome, really."

He sneered at her. "Cute, Weasley. Very cute."

"I thought so," she said haughtily. "You can leave now, Malfoy."

He arched one eyebrow and glared at her. "Maybe I don't want to."

He saw the hesitation flicker over her face and knew with sadistic pleasure that she couldn't think of a way to get him out of her room. Physical force wouldn't work--he was bigger and stronger than she was. Magic wouldn't work because her wand was across the room and he would be on her before she had taken two steps. She felt like stomping her foot as if she were five again.

"Get out!" she said, imperiously pointing toward the doorway.

He smirked at her. "What if I don't, Weasley? What are you going to do about it?"

She fumed in silence. "Fine!" she snarled. "Then I'll leave." She stomped toward the doorway, and Malfoy's lips curled in cold amusement.

"Oh, don't bother," he drawled. "I wouldn't dream of running a lady out of her own bedroom." Then he sauntered back through the adjoining door and closed it behind him.

There was a moment of shocked silence, then she shouted furiously through the wall, "You insufferable prick!"

"All the better to love you with, my dear," he called cheerily, and heard her little scream of frustration. Feeling infinitely more cheerful, he sat down at his desk again and felt another rivulet of blood run down his back.

He grimaced. The damned woman had actually cut him. Thrown a priceless vase at him and cut him with the damned thing. It was unbelievable. He sighed deeply. She was going to be hell on his antiques.

* * * * *

Ginny fisted her hands impotently and since she was alone in the room, she allowed herself to stomp her foot in complete frustration. The man was insufferable. A complete beast. She didn't know how she was going to pretend that she actually liked the stupid git. Remembering the look of shock on his face as she had thrown the vase at him, her lips curved in a small smile. It had been petty and borne out of her frustration, but it had felt good to throw the thing at him. And the look on his face was priceless. Then she remembered when he had turned to exit her room seeing a smudge of red on the back of his otherwise pristine blue shirt.

Her brow creased in a frown. Then she growled as realization dawned. Dammit, she had cut him. She bit her lip, torn. The empath in her made her want to go tend him, but the fighter in her made her want to gleefully watch him mop up his own blood. But eventually the ethics instilled in her by her mother made her heave a sigh. Gloomily, she trudged downstairs and through some trial and error found the kitchen. To her surprise, she saw that Draco was already there, seated in a chair. She felt her knees tremble a little when she saw him pull his shirt off over his head, leaving him bare from the waist up.

She found that all the spit had dried in her mouth, and licked her lips nervously. His back was to her, and the long curve of his spine made her swallow hard. Then she shook herself violently. What are you thinking? she demanded of herself. This is Malfoy. You just had a fight with him. You were just saying that he's a complete, worthless git. Just because he's pretty doesn't mean anything! But her hormones gleefully bounced up and down on her common sense and overpowered it.

She was momentarily distracted by her study of his body when she saw the wicked slice down the back of his shoulder blade. She bit her lip, her emotions swinging from lust to reluctant concern. She saw him slather some clear salve onto a cloth and try to rub it over his shoulder, but the angle was awkward and he kept missing it. She heard him curse her under his breath, and her lips wanted to twitch.

She stepped forward, and his head shot up like he had been shot. Then he glared. "What are you doing here? Haven't you done enough?"

"Shut up," she said brusquely, taking the cloth from him and dabbing it in some fresh salve. Then she stepped behind him. He flinched away from her hands, although she hadn't touched him yet. He eyed her warily over his shoulder. "I don't know if I want you back there messing around, Weasley. You might scar me for life."

"Don't be a big baby," she scolded. "I won't hurt you."

He snorted, and she glared at the back of his blonde head. Then she touched the cloth to the cut, and he sucked in his breath sharply, his skin flinching beneath her fingers. She bit her lip and dabbed gently at the cut. "Why are you doing this with this salve?" she asked softly. "It hurts more than if you used magic."

"Because it heals better," he said shortly. "Doesn't leave scars."

"The spells don't leave scars either."

"They do if you don't know them well enough," he said curtly. "And I don't. Healing was never my forte."

"No," she murmured. "I don't suppose it was. I can do the spells if you want me to."

"No," he muttered. "You've already started with this stuff. Go ahead and finish it." She obediently continued to dab gently at the wicked cut on his shoulder and saw the skin start to slowly knit together. The process was slow enough so that she couldn't see it if she continued to look at one spot on the cut, but if she moved her eyes away then back, the cut seemed to have grown slightly smaller, leaving only a faint chalk-line on his skin that would soon fade.

Once the cut was healed, Ginny put the cloth back on the table and went to the sink and ran some water to wash her hands. Draco watched her, confused by her. One minute she blew hot and the next she was cold. He had no idea what to expect from her. She took the cloth and ran it through the water and wrung it out, then came back to Draco and soundlessly and gently wiped away the salve that remained on his skin. He shivered at the touch of the cool rag, and Ginny had to swallow down another unwelcome flair of lust. She had been running her hands over the man for a good five minutes now, and she'd be a liar if she said she hadn't noticed.

Draco rose from the chair in a sinuous movement that simultaneously made Ginny's stomach clench and made her envious. Merlin's beard, he was so graceful. Just as much as her Uncle Jon. Damn that about them, she thought with a resigned sigh. She, the woman, was supposed to be the graceful one. Instead she was a complete klutz--she lost things all the time, she tripped on rugs, stubbed her toes, tripped over her own feet. . .It was a nuisance.

He turned to face her, and she swallowed hard. Wow, was all she could think. Obviously he hadn't been slacking from exercise. His torso was firm, and she could see the ripple of muscles as he moved. She resolutely dragged her eyes up to his face, and immediately knew it was a mistake.

When had his eyes become so gray? she thought, dazed. They had been muddy before, full of annoyance and taunts. Now they were like a storm-tossed sea, or molten mercury. Gorgeous, she thought dreamily, then shook herself, her eyes flying wide. This is Malfoy! her conscience shouted at her. Get a grip!

She blinked rapidly, and opened and closed her mouth for a moment. "I'm going to go look around," she blurted out, then escaped the kitchen.

Draco blinked. For a moment he had been sure he had seen. . .something in her eyes. But then it had been gone, just as she was. He shook his head and rolled his eyes as he pulled his shirt on again. Damned confusing, irritating woman.

* * * *

Ginny hurried up the stairs and into her room. Once she had closed the door behind her she started to pace quickly back and forth across the room. This is Malfoy, she lectured herself. Malfoy, of all people. You can not want to sleep with Malfoy. Get a grip!

Abruptly she remembered his arms that rippled with muscle whenever he moved. With a squeak, she shoved away those memories. "Not a grip on that," she muttered out loud, continuing to pace. "You are not allowed to be attracted to Malfoy," she told herself firmly. That was just asking for trouble. But her stubborn mind remembered his taut, muscled stomach and that little line of fine silvery blond hair that ran down his stomach.

She sat down on the edge of her bed. She dropped her head onto her knees. "Oh hell," she sighed. "I'm attracted to Malfoy. Bugger."

* * * * *

Hours later, after giving herself a stern talking-to, Ginny ventured downstairs. She had no idea where any of the house-elves were; the house seemed to be deserted. She wondered absently if Malfoy had employees. She would have expected a man like him to have them. But she had yet to see one. She was relieved--she didn't want to have to try to fool any employees. The functions that she would have to attend as Draco's wife would be bad enough. She needed the quiet sanctuary of the house to relax in. Not that there would be much relaxing, she thought grumpily. Damned hormones have ruined that for me.

She glanced hesitantly in the kitchen and saw that it was blissfully empty of one Draco Malfoy. She didn't know when dinner was supposed to be, or even if they'd eat dinner together, but for right now she was starving. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten all day. She reached for the door to the cold box. It looked much like the Muggle refrigerator that her father had shown her, but it was powered by magic instead of this 'electricity' business that her father was always so curious about. She opened the door and surveyed the contents of it. She made a face. You would think that a man with as much money as Malfoy would have someone to grocery shop for him, she thought acerbically. The only thing that was in the cold box was some jelly, some browning celery and beer. "Nice selection, ace," she muttered under her breath, shoving the door closed with her hip as she turned to open the cabinets.

She didn't have much luck there either, but she found some peanut better and bread, she sat them on the counter and pulled out the jelly, unconsciously humming to herself. She quickly found a knife in one of the drawers and set about making herself a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich.

* * * * *

Driven by hunger, Draco had gone downstairs, grumbling about house-elves who didn't do their jobs. He had yelled for Blinky, but the dumb creature hadn't come running. Grumpily, he had decided that he was perfectly capable of making himself some food. But you never have, whispered that annoying little voice in the back of his head. He immediately squashed it viciously. He shoved open the kitchen door and then stopped, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

The room was lit only by the fading sunlight that filtered in through the windows over the sink. His wife was standing at the counter, humming something softly to herself as she spread something over a piece of bread. When he slammed into the kitchen, she had jumped and spun to face him, her heart hammering. When she saw who it was, she immediately scowled. "Do you have to slam through the door like that?" she snapped. "You could scare the life out of someone."

"I could only wish," he muttered under his breath.

She curled her lip at him, feeling the cool taste of relief spread through her. When she looked at him she was only irritated--she didn't see the sexy, half-naked man that she had been lusting over just hours ago. Smirking to herself, she turned back to her sandwich.

He narrowed his eyes at her back. "What are you making?" he asked suspiciously.

"Arsenic," she said serenely. "To sprinkle on your salad."

His eyes narrowed to cold slits. "You're so funny, Weasley," he snapped. He stepped farther into the kitchen to peer over her shoulder.

She felt the warmth of him at her back, and it caused little shivers in her stomach, so she shouldered him away, scowling. "Don't look over people's shoulders," she snapped. "Don't you know it’s rude?"

He curled his lip at her. "I wouldn't know about rudeness," he said coolly. "But obviously you do, seeing as it's so prevalent in your family."

She gritted her teeth, her hand clenching on the knife so hard that her knuckles were white. "Keep your mouth off my family, Malfoy," she snarled, keeping her back to him.

His smirked at her and brushed his lips over the back of her neck. "Why?" he whispered silkily. She froze beneath the touch, feeling like her muscles had spasmed. She felt her breath choke in her throat and goosebumps rise along her skin. Surprised and a bit smug at her reaction, Malfoy watched her as she reined her unruly body in. It only took her a few moments before she whirled to face him. "Stay away from me," she snapped. He took in her wild eyes and grinned.

"Why, Weasley, I didn't know you were that hard up," he said tauntingly, and saw her eyes flash with rage.

She brandished the knife at him, and he raised one eyebrow at her. "I don't believe that butter knives usually cause injuries, Weasley," he said dryly.

She curled her lip in a way that he saw with amusement was reminiscent of his own expression. "They can if they're pushed hard enough, Malfoy," she snarled. "Back off." Holding up his hands, he took two steps back from her but continued to smirk. Ginny ground her teeth, furious at her body's betrayal. She eyed Malfoy warily for a moment before turning back around to slap the two pieces of bread together. She took a vicious bite out of the sandwich and pushed coldly past Draco to plop down at the table. Draco watched in amusement. She was so clearly sulking.

Amused and wanting to consider the thought that Weasley was susceptible to his touch, he turned to survey the kitchen with hidden dismay. He had no idea where anything was. If Weasley can do it, then I can too, he thought staunchly, and opened a cabinet. He immediately shut it again when it yielded nothing except wine glasses. Might need those later, he thought grimly. Having Weasley in his house might drive him into a drunken stupor. Unwillingly, his mind remembered how she had reacted to just the brush of his lips. Would she respond that easily in bed? he wondered, then clamped down hard on those thoughts. I don't want that little freckled Weasley, he thought viciously. I don't! But he could remember how her body had shivered at his touch, and it tightened his body.

Feeling his temper rise with every cabinet that yielded nothing to eat, he finally turned on Ginny, who was surreptiously watching him in amusement. "Where the hell is all the food?" he snarled.

She eyed him peacefully and munched on her sandwich, obviously relishing her food in the face of his hunger. "It's your house," she said serenely. "Don't you know where things are?"

"Of course I don't," he snapped. "That's what I have house-elves for."

She shrugged one shoulder. "Then I can't help you," she said cheerfully. "You'll have to find it on your own. I did, and I just moved in."

"And Merlin willing you'll be out soon," he muttered under his breath, and had the cold satisfaction of seeing her eyes darken with annoyance. She bit down hard on her sandwich and glared at the tabletop, refusing to look at him. Draco swore under his breath. If he was ever going to have any food, he was going to have to be nice to her. Bloody hell. He bit his tongue for a moment, then demanded, “Fix me some food, Weasley.”

Her head shot up in absolute shock, then she burst into laughter, nearly spitting out her bite of sandwich. He narrowed his eyes as she howled with laughter. “What’s so funny about that?” he snapped.

She giggled, her eyes alight with laughter. “Do you honestly think I’m going to do anything for you? Especially when you try to order me around? I don’t think so, Mr. Malfoy.”

He growled under his breath. “You’re my wife!”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me,” she muttered, and he glared at her.

Still grinning broadly, Ginny wiped away tears that had collected at the corners of her eyes. “Ah Malfoy,” she sighed. “You’re always good for a laugh.”

“I wasn’t being funny,” he said coldly. “You’re my wife. You’re supposed to take care of me.”

She arched one eyebrow. “If I was your true wife,” she said, her voice matching his in coldness, “I would. However, seeing as I’m not, you can fix your own damn sandwich.”

He rapped his fist on the counter in frustration. He saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes and blinked. “I’m not going to hit you, Weasley,” he snapped, goaded by the thought that she would think he would hit her. Granted, she wasn’t his favorite person at the moment, but he had never struck a woman in his life, and he didn’t intend that Weasley should break his record.

She rallied immediately. “I should hope not,” she said haughtily. “Seeing as I’d have to gut you. And besides, I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking that you’re going to crack that lovely marble counter and then you’ll have to get it replaced.”

He eyed her skeptically, but she crossed her arms, her lips pursed, daring him to contradict her. “I seriously doubt that,” he muttered dryly, but didn’t pursue the issue. He felt like whining like a little boy, and firmly shoved down the urge. Finally he decided that wheedling wasn’t too closely to whining, so wheedling was permissible. “C’mon, Weasley,” he coaxed. “Just one little sandwich. You don’t want me to starve, do you?”

“It’s my fondest wish,” she said acerbically.

He sighed. He had walked into that one. He crossed his arms to mirror her position and leaned against the counter. “Now look here, Weasley. I can’t very well go out half-starved all the time. That would reflect badly on you.”
She rolled her eyes. “No it wouldn’t. And besides, there’s nothing to eat here. You have jelly and dead celery and beer. Doesn’t make much for a meal, Malfoy.”

He jumped on that. “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed smoothly. “Which means that tomorrow you should probably go grocery shopping. But for tonight, you’re eating something. That means that there’s something around here to eat.”

She smirked at him. “It’s a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, Malfoy. Something that I don’t think you would ever deign to eat.”

“It’s food, isn’t it?” he snapped at her, dropping his pretense of pleasantness.

She smirked at him. “And the real Malfoy returns,” she murmured to herself. Draco resisted the urge to shake the dratted woman. She was so damned frustrating! “Just fix me a sandwich!” he shouted at her. “I’m starving!”

“Fix it yourself,” she said tartly. “You have two hands.”

He had taken a half step toward her before he stopped himself. He whirled on his heel and flung open the door to the cold box. He glared at the empty shelves and snatched up one of the beers and took off the top with an irritated snap of his wrist. He chugged down two gulps, glaring in bad temper at the cabinets that hadn’t yielded anything to eat. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him that he still hadn’t eaten. And all because of his damnable wife.

He took a deep breath. He was a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake. Part of that was knowing what buttons to push to get people to do what he wanted. Surely he could handle the littlest Weasley. He sat down across from her at the table, and she eyed him warily. “Please, Virginia,” he said softly. “I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m hopeless in the kitchen. I really need your help.” He watched in satisfaction as she hesitated. Asking a woman for help was a surefire way to get what he wanted, and he wasn’t adverse to using it when needed. As his stomach clenched with hunger, he decided that this was assuredly one of those times when it was needed.

She stared across the table at him, feeling resentment bubble. Damn him for using her emotions against her, she thought fiercely. How did the man know exactly what to say? She had been ready to watch him fumble around himself in the kitchen, and now she was wavering. His eyes had gone soft and pleading, and he had half-reached across the table to her. Remembering the brush of his kiss on her neck, she suppressed a shiver. Feeling like she was a traitor to herself, she rose with a heavy sigh and silently went to the cold box and withdrew the jelly, then the peanut-butter and bread. She drew out her knife and quickly and efficently made up a sandwich for him.

Draco watched her in carefully hidden fascination. There was an economy in her movements that was somehow graceful and unbelievably sexy. She didn’t have one wasted movement, and she was obviously at home in the kitchen. Her wine-red hair spilled over her back and shoulders, and the fading light made it burn like liquid fire Her eyes were a steady color that seemed at first a very dark, dull brown. However whenever you stared at that face, it seemed as though her eyes were a rich dark chocolate. Sometimes they were like drowning in the finest chocolate, other times it was as though they were the light, pale brown of a doe's coat. He was utterly fascinated by her eyes, despite that he was rapidly growing to hate her personality. Beneath her clothes her body was slender but had hints of curves that intrigued him. Abruptly he brought himself up short. This is Weasley, he reprimanded himself. Weasley. Focus on that.

Moments later, Ginny plunked a plate down in front of him with a messy sandwich on it and sat across from him to finish her own. He stared down at it, nonplussed. She hadn’t been wrong when she said that he had never had a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich before. He gingerly picked it up and took a bite, wondering if she had put arsenic in it. Or something equally dire. But to his surprise it was good, if incredibly sticky. He swiped a chunk of peanut-butter off the roof of his mouth with his tongue, his face screwed up in concentration. Ginny ducked her head to avoid him seeing her smile. Oh, it was priceless to see the great Draco Malfoy eating a peanut-butter sandwich for the first time. Well worth the small inconvenience of actually making the sandwich.

His voice broke the silence that had fallen over the kitchen. “Where did you learn to make this?”

Startled, she looked up at him and saw that he looked uncomfortable, as if he hadn’t meant to ask her. She smiled faintly and glanced back down at her plate for a moment. “My mother used to make them,” she murmured. “In the summer, she’d always make them after we got done playing Quidditch. We’d sit in the kitchen and eat them, and I could always smell the gardenias that were outside the window.” Her lips curved in a small smile. “I can still remember the smell of them,” she murmured. “The taste of the sandwich. The feeling of being with my brothers.” Unexpectedly she felt a lump rise to her throat. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything,” she whispered, swallowing hard and avoiding his gaze. She abruptly felt vulnerable, as if she had willingly stripped away her defenses before him. She had shared something fairly insignificant with him, but it was extremely personal to her. She felt like she had opened the gates and now he would bombard her with his sarcasm. But to her surprise, he said nothing, just stared down at his hands for a moment before taking a sharp bite out of his sandwich.

She glanced up at him hesitantly through her lashes, half wondering where his usual sarcastic and cutting comment was. But he remained silent, so she just looked down at her plate again.

Draco knew that he should have said something derrogatory, but all he could think of was a picture in his mind of a young Ginny among her brothers. He could imagine the scene, and it made yearning rise in him. His family had never been informal, never ate together at anything less than a huge table that separated them and made connecting difficult. Conversation had been sparing and stilted. Draco had essentially been alone, and having grown up that way, he liked it. He couldn’t imagine having a family like the Weasleys, a rowdy bunch of loud noise and laughter. Laughter had never rang in his house. It irritated him that he should feel a yearning for something of that sort now.

He finished off his sandwich and slugged down the rest of the beer, then threw away the bottle and stalked out of the kitchen in silence, his face drawn into a scowl.

Left alone in the kitchen, Ginny watched him go in surprise. What did I say? she wondered in bewilderment. First he hadn’t insulted her, and now he looked as though she had made him angry. She shook her head as she rose to wash the two dishes that they had used. Men were so odd, she thought with a sigh.

4. A Fine Line

Ginny made her way upstairs and hesitated for a brief second before Draco's door, then resolutely moved the few feet to her own. She stepped into her room and murmured a quick "Lumos" to light the lamps that were scattered about the room. She closed her door behind her, feeling weariness drag at her bones. Merlin, she had been married just this morning. It seemed as though it had been eons ago. She sighed heavily and went over to the boxes that were stacked in the corner of the room and knelt in front of them. Ginny opened one and the first thing she pulled out was her Weasley sweater that had a bright green G emblazoned on it. She sniffled softly and pulled the familiar sweater over her head, fingering the worn threads wistfully. Her mother had given her this sweater in her first year. Ginny closed her eyes on the familiar spurt of pain. Before Riddle, she thought painfully.

Most of the time she tried not to think about what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Her family assumed that because she never mentioned it, that she had forgotten. But she hadn't. It was impossible to forget something like that. Her lips curved in a small smile. And Harry had saved her from that nightmare. She would never be able to repay the debt that she owed him for that. Although she had brought it up once she had graduated from Hogwarts, he had appeared genuinely shocked and had immediately dismissed it. But she hadn't forgotten. Ginny Weasley paid her debts, and she owed Harry Potter a great one. The fact that she considered him as another brother--now--didn't change that fact.

Although she hadn't been physically harmed in the Chamber of Secrets, she would never recover from the wounds that she had received there. She had been invaded by evil and pure hate. Hate left its mark on a person. She wasn't the sweet little girl that she had been before the Chamber. She had grown colder and harder, and even more so as she aged. The fact that she had sought it out only added to her shame that she kept deeply hidden. She had inadverently given Riddle a chance to destroy everything that she held dear, and it ate at her.

Ginny felt the tide of loneliness tug at her insistently. Sometimes she felt so alone. No one really understood what she was. Harry was possibly the closest, but even he couldn't understand completely. He had never sought evil. She had. She had done it in childish ignorance, but it didn't change the outcome. She could have been killed, and taken Harry along with her in the process. Ginny sniffed and swiped a stray tear from her cheek angrily. She rose to her feet, clasping her arms around her as if she were cold. The familiar sweater made her feel a little better, and she pulled on some soft pajama pants and then crawled into bed.

Maybe it was foolish to try to hide beneath the covers like she was a little girl again, but it made her feel better. She was feeling overwhelmed and unsteady, and the sweater made her feel safe. Her mother had sat for hours making the sweater for her, and it made Ginny feel closer to her family.

She buried her face in her pillow as the tears spilled helplessly. The sobs were torn unwillingly from her and muffled into near-silence into her pillow as she wept. Finally she cried herself to sleep, still clutching the hem of her sweater.

***

A loud banging jarred Ginny abruptly awake. She sat up in a rush and found that she had been lying half off the bed. Consequently she went tumbling off the bed with a squeak. Shocked by the short fall and cold floor, she let out a string of inventive curses. Seconds laughter she heard her husband's laughter from the other side of the door. She curled her lip, death in her eye. "What the hell do you want?"

"I've come to wake you, my pet," he sang cheerfully.

"Go away!"

"May I come in? Or are we going to speak through the door?"

For one instant Ginny was sorely tempted to do just that. Finally she grumbled, "Fine. Come in."

She heard the door open and then shut, then she popped her head up from the side of the bed and glared at her husband, who looked entirely too cheerful for her liking. "What do you want?" she snapped. "I was sleeping."

He eyed her tousled hair and heavy-lidded eyes. "Obviously. However, in the spirit of goodwill, I decided to give you an ample amount of time to get ready."

She snorted at the goodwill half of his statement, then narrowed her eyes. "Ready for what?"

He smiled. "Why, the press conference, of course."

"Press conference?" she shrieked. "There's a press conference?"

He smirked at her. "But of course, my sweet. We must make our marriage public. Otherwise it does no good for us to be married at all."

"When's the press conference?" Ginny demanded, panic and loathing glittering in her eyes. He smiled beautifically at her. "Two hours from now."

"Two hours?" she shrieked, and Draco winced and touched one ear gingerly. "Might lose the hearing in that one," he murmured to himself. She jumped up from behind the other side of the bed, and Draco's mind went as blank as glass.

Sometime during the night Ginny had woken because her sweater was itchy and it was unbearably hot in her room. She had instead donned one of Fred's stolen shirts, which hung halfway down her thighs. Then she had crawled into bed again.

Now the effect on Draco was stunning, although Ginny didn't notice. He stared at her, his mouth slightly open. Her red hair tumbled around her shoulders and looked as though a man's hands had been run through it. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and sleepy, her cheeks still flushed from sleep. She was wearing a flannel shirt that hung halfway to her knees, leaving enough silky leg for him to drool over. A few of the top buttons had slipped out of their well-worn holes, and whenever she moved the shirt gaped slightly, letting him glimpse the curve of one breast.

"Get out, get out!" she said furiously. "I have to get ready!" She advanced on him, and before he knew it he was on the other side of the door as it slammed at his back. He blinked, abruptly coming out of his daze. Now how did I get out here? he mused. Ah yes. My wife kicked me out. Then his grin spread. For seeing her like that, he was willing to be kicked out. In his head he imagined that shirt riding high on those strong thighs of hers.

Then he grinned again and ambled downstairs, whistling, to finish off the last beer in the cold box.

***

Almost precisely two hours later, Ginny rushed down the curving stairs, tugging on one strappy black heel as she went. She tripped and swore, then continued down the stairs at the same breakneck pace. "Malfoy!" she shouted. "Malfoy!" She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to finally finish putting on her shoe, muttering to herself as she did. She irritably batted one curl out of her eye as she did so. When she had looked in the mirror and wondered what to do with her hair, the long, loose curls had seemed ideal. Simple, not too dressy, and they had suited the image she wanted. Now they were a damned nuisance. She was so used to being able to run her hand through her long, stick straight hair whenever she wanted to that she had unconsciously done it and wrecked the curls three times already.

She anxiously smoothed the dark blue boatneck dress over the swell of her hips. The dress bared her delicate collarbones, and ended at her knees, with a daring slit that revealed a glimpse of her slim thighs whenever she moved. Her makeup was subtle, but made her high cheekbones look even more pronounced, and accented her unusual eyes. When she was done fiddling with her attire, she glanced up and saw that her wayward husband hadn't come running at her call.

"Malfoy!" she shouted, deepening her voice and subsequently making it louder so that it rang through the house.

Draco strolled leisurely from the direction of the house that the kitchen was in. "No need to shout, pet," he drawled.

She glared at him and tried not to notice how handsome he looked. The dark suit--which could assuredly feed her family for at least a month--made his mercury silver eyes seem piercing, and his pale blond hair even more dashing. Instead she snapped, "Where were you? I've been calling you for ten minutes!"

He smirked. "Hardly that. More like ten seconds."

She glared at him. "Whatever. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for hours now," he said, buffing his fingernails on his sleeve. Ginny bared her teeth in a parody of a smile.

"Great. Let's go."

He took a step toward her, and she unconsciously mirrored him by taking one away from him. Once she had completed the motion, she immediately stopped herself and held herself perfectly still as he advanced on her. As he moved closer, a glint of gold against her pale throat made him pause. He leaned close to her, and felt her quiver. Ignoring that betraying motion, he slid his finger against her throat and then away, pulling out the necklace that had been hidden beneath her dress.

There was a frozen silence for one long moment as he stared at what dangled between them. Then his gaze snapped up to hers, and she almost flinched from the rage there. "Why is my wife wearing a wedding ring that's not mine?"

She tried to step back, but his hand fisted around the small ring and effectively held her immobile. She glared up at him. "None of your business," she spat at him.

"It's damn well my business," he snarled back at her. "This is supposed to look believable. How is it going to look believable if my wife is wearing another man's ring around her neck?"

"How do you know it's a wedding ring?" she said coldly. "It might just be a regular ring that doesn't fit me anymore."

He snatched up one of her hands and slid the ring over her finger. It fit perfectly. She jerked away, a sob caught in her throat that was never voiced. The motion was too much like what she had dreamed about for so long. She couldn't stand to have that dream tainted by Draco Malfoy's hate and bitterness. She violently drew off the ring and tucked it back inside her dress, trembling violently.

His eyes coldly catalogued her reaction. "That's how I know," he said icily. "It's a wedding ring, Weasley, and don't try to lie to me. Who was it?"

"None of your business!" she shouted, her hands clenched so as not to betray their trembling. "Why does it matter, Malfoy? I'm not taking it off."

"You damn well will," he snapped. "My life depends on this farce being believable. And I'm not going to have you fuck it up because you're still pining over some jerk."

Her face was icily composed when she spoke. "Although we are legally married, Malfoy, it is just a lie. Therefore it does not give you leave to know certain things about me."

"It does when it involves me," he said through gritted teeth.

She stepped away from him out of arm's reach. "Then fortunately this does not involve you. May we leave for the press conference now, please?"

He glared at her, but she just ignored him. Finally he snapped, "Fine. But we're going to talk about this later."

She didn't respond as he stepped closer to her. Just before they Apparated to the Ministry, she murmured beneath her breath, "No we're not."

***

They appeared on the landing area right outside the Ministry doors and were immediately assaulted by the flash of cameras. Ginny instinctively shielded her eyes with one hand. A split second after they appeared, Draco's arm snaked around her waist and yanked her protectively against his side. For one instant, Ginny forgot the cameras that were flashing around her. His body was hard against her softness, and he was warm. He had her pressed against his side, and with dire glares he kept the reporters from crowding her. For one second Ginny could almost believe that he cared if she were hurt from the crush of people. Then she shook those thoughts away. He was just playing a part, just like she was. He had just been quicker on the uptake.

She immediately looked up at him with an adoring look in her eyes, and when he glanced down at her, he stopped, his gaze arrested on hers. There was a flurry of camera flashes, which neither noted. Seconds later they broke their gazes and Draco began to determinedly forge his way through the crowd and into the Ministry. Thankfully, the reporters didn't follow them inside. Draco strode down the hallway and came to the two hulking men who guarded the outer door to the Minister's inner sanctum.

Ginny smiled up at them. "Hey, guys."

They smiled down at her, their eyes gleaming appreciatively at her appearance. Unconsciously, Draco's arm tightened possessively around Ginny's waist. He might not like the woman, but she was his. "Hey, Gin," Anton said, smiling. Then his gaze shifted to Draco and darkened, the smile sliding away from his lips until he looked cold and remote. "Mr.Malfoy."

Draco inclined his head haughtily. "Mr.Schvanka." His gaze moved to Kenny, who looked just as forbidding as Anton. "Mr.Davidson."

Kenny didn't even answer him, just glared at him as though he would like nothing better than to stomp Draco into the ground. Ginny blinked, startled at the change in the demeanor. She knew that no one really liked Draco--she wasn't an exception--but she hadn't realized that the hatred was so virulent among the general populace. Abruptly she jerked herself back. She was supposed to be madly in love with Draco. She leaned against him, and his arm shifted to accomodate her without thought. She frowned at Anton and Kenny, mentally apologizing even as she spoke. "Boys, don't look that way! Draco's my husband! What are you doing?"

Their eyes shot to her in shock. "Husband?" Anton blurted out, looking as though she had punched him in the face.

Kenny didn't take his eyes off Draco. "More to the point, Gin, what are you doing?"

"I dislike your informal tone with my wife. She is Lady Malfoy to you." Draco's voice was soft and dangerous. Surprised at the silky threat in his voice, Ginny looked up at him. Even if no one else did, she would see the lie in his eyes. She knew that he didn't give a damn what Anton and Kenny called her. But his eyes were like frozen glaciers, and deadly serious. Surprise made her slow as Anton stepped aggressively forward. "Ginny would never marry a scumbag like you, Malfoy, so come off it." His hand reached out to grab Ginny's wrist and pull her away from Draco.

In a blur, Draco withdrew his wand and pressed the tip to Anton's vulnerable throat. "Lay one finger on my wife and you'll sorely regret it."

Anton froze, his fingers still mid-motion in reaching for Ginny. Slowly, his eyes warily on Draco, Anton withdrew his hand. Abruptly, everything snapped back into focus for Ginny. "Draco! What are you doing?"

He didn't answer her, just kept his wand extended and his narrowed his eyes on both men. "Malfoy!" Ginny hissed. "Let it go! We need to leave!"

He hesitated, then reluctantly lowered his wand. "I'm so sorry," Ginny apologized, her eyes, darkened to velvet brown with distress, pleading for Kenny and Anton to understand.

"It's all right, Gi--Lady Malfoy," Kenny said slowly, and Ginny could have wept. She tugged on Draco's hand, her nails digging into his skin in revenge, and led him through the door, her other hand giving Kenny's hand an unobtrusive squeeze as she passed him. Once they were through the door, she released Draco's hand.

"What the hell were you doing?" she hissed at him in an undertone.

"Not here," he murmured back, slipping an arm around her waist. She almost pushed him away, still angry about the incident in the hall, but remembered herself just in time. There were too many eyes in the room--eyes that were all watching the pair in fascination. Ginny forced a smile to her lips and allowed Draco to lead her through the room and into Jonathon's office. Once the door had closed behind them, Ginny wrenched herself away from Draco.

"How dare you threaten them?" she asked furiously, her eyes flashing with rage. "And all over some stupid comment!"

Draco's eyes were skimmed with ice as he glanced over at her. "You are my wife--farce or not. They will treat you with the respect that the Malfoy name deserves."

"Fuck the Malfoy name," Ginny spat. "I refuse to have you treating my friends like the dirt beneath your feet, Malfoy."

Draco arched one eyebrow at her, looking smugly superior. "And why shouldn't I, Weasley? They're much like the dirt that's always on your face."

Ginny clenched her fists, feeling tears burn the back of her eyes, although her eyes remained dry. "You bastard," she whispered, loathing ripe in her voice. "I hate you."

Draco gave a little mocking half-bow. "No more than I dislike you, Weasley," he said curtly.

She turned her back on him and looked around the room. Jonathon was watching them in silence from a chair behind his desk, his face looking deeply lined and weary. Ginny was still trembling with anger, and she wanted badly to lash out at her uncle. Ordinarily she might have, but his weariness tugged at her. She took a shaky breath to calm herself, then snagged a chair and dragged it behind the desk to sit beside her uncle.

She reached for one of his hands that were lying on his desk. She wrapped her tiny fingers around his larger hand, feeling his frustration and self-anger swamp her. Her muscles trembled for a moment against the onslaught of emotions. Normally she would have been calm enough to deal with his tumult of feelings, but she was still unsettled and furious at Draco. It took her a moment before she grounded her own emotions, knowing they would only be destructive. Once she had centered herself, she gently drained away the more virulent of her uncle's emotions, and felt some of the tension recede from his body.

"Uncle Jon?" she asked him gently. "Are you all right?"

He turned his head to smile wanly at her. "I'm much better now, my dear." With his free hand, he patted her hand that was still curled trustingly in his. "You always did have a soothing touch, Virginia."

You have no idea, she thought with an inward sigh. But she just smiled comfortingly at him and squeezed his hand.

Jonathon continued to absently pat her hand, almost as if he gained comfort just from touching her. Although Ginny was no longer leeching her uncle's destructive emotions, obviously just her touch was helping to ground them. She left her hand to lie passively in her uncle's, and blatantly ignored Draco, who had remained standing, watching them with eagle eyes.

"I see your first night as husband and wife haven't sweetened your dispositions," Jonathon said wryly.

Ginny's muscles tightened. "No," she said curtly. "Why should they? It's not like this marriage actually matters to either of us." She nearly sneered the words, then realized abruptly how completely Malfoy she sounded.

Horrified, she clamped her mouth shut as she saw Draco smirk at her.

Jonathon sighed heavily. "But it needs to matter to you, Virginia. If this plan is going to succeed, it has to matter to you."

"Why should it?" Ginny snarled, lunging to her feet and starting to pace across the room. Draco watched her with narrowed, glittering eyes. "I don't give a damn what happens to those. . .Deatheaters. I don't care, Jonathon! Why am I doing this?"

"Because it will be civil war if you don't," Jonathon said quietly, and effectively made her stop to look at him. "You knew why you were doing this before now, Virginia. What's making you hesitate now?"

"I'm not hesitating," she snapped. "Just because I'm doing this doesn't mean I have to be happy with it."

"I don't see what you're whining about," Draco broke in, his voice icy. "You act like you're the only injured party here, Weasley. I don't like being married to you any more than you like being married to me."

She curled her lip at him over her shoulder. "I didn't ask for your opinion on anything, Malfoy. I don't believe this conversation includes you."

He was across the room so fast that she barely saw him move. His hands gripped her upper arms, his lips curled in a snarl as he got close to her face. Jonathon lunged to his feet with the thought of protecting Ginny, but when he saw his dainty niece stick her face back into Draco's and snarl back at him, he slowly seated himself. Obviously she wasn't looking for any assistance.

"It damn well includes me," Draco growled at her, his voice a savage rumble in his throat that made things tighten low in her body, despite her rage. "I'm a part of this too, Weasley. You think you're the only one who doesn't like the situation? I hate your damned family, and I hate you. You think I wanted to be stuck with some red-haired, pain in the ass Weasley?"

She glared at him and stuck out her chin defiantly. "You're the one who got yourself into this mess," she hissed back at him. "If you hadn't been such an evil git in school, and hadn't been a Deatheater. . ."

Abruptly she realized what she had said, and she clamped her mouth shut. Total silence fell in the room as Draco stared at her, his eyes terrifying as they stared down into hers. It was well known that no one knew where Draco had been during the final battle--except for Dumbledore, probably. But Ginny had laid it firmly on the line--she considered him no better than those she had killed.

"Is that what you think?" he asked remotely, and his voice was even more frightening because of its deceptive calm. Ginny suppressed a shiver and instead glared mutinously up at him.

"Yes," she said rebelliously. "That's what I think. Care to prove me wrong? Show me your arm, Malfoy. Let's see if the Dark Mark still burns there. Does it haunt you at nights, Malfoy? Can you still feel what it was like when he summoned you? The pain, the burning?"

"Shut up!" Draco snarled, releasing her so abruptly that she staggered back several steps before she regained her balance. He snarled at her, his face savage. "I don't have to prove a goddamned thing to you, Weasley. Fuck off." He spun to face Jonathon, who had been a silent but watchful observer. "I knew this was a mistake as soon as you told me it was her. I'm quitting, Ravensblack." Draco spun on his heel and made for the door.

Just as his fingertips brushed the handle, Jonathon said quietly, "I know the position you're in, Malfoy."

Draco paused. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was frigid, and he didn't turn to look at the Minister of Magic as he spoke.

"Do you really want me to outline it?" Jonathon said softly, and Draco hesitated. He didn't want the Weasley knowing about the threatening letters.

"No," he said curtly. "So what? You know. Big deal."

"This will solve your problems, Malfoy. Are you going to turn away from it because of some family rivalry?"

"Family rivalry?" Ginny blurted out in shock, and Draco turned to glare at her.

"What else would you call it?" he asked scathingly, and she glared virulently at him.

"I'd call it common sense," she spat back at him. "Our family knew bad when they saw it."

"Shut your mouth," he snarled back at her.

She took a threatening step toward him. "Make me," she sneered.

He took a threatening step toward her, but Jonathon spoke up abruptly. "Virginia, Draco! Both of you shut up and sit down."

They both turned to snarl at him, but he glared right back at them. "Sit," he growled.

To everyone's surprise, Draco was the first to slowly seat himself. Bristling, Ginny did the same, well away from her husband.

Jonathon took a deep breath. "I'm getting sick of hearing you both bitch and complain. You were both willing for this assignment, and when it doesn't go the way that you want it you start complaining like five year olds. You're both adults--act like it! You both have an interest in making this believable. Don't forget that. You can bitch and moan all you want once you're safely back in Malfoy Manor, but there are ears everywhere, and I'm sick of listening to you have it out in my office. Virginia, your personal feelings aside, you know that Malfoy is the only way to stop war. Can't you bite your tongue enough for that? And you, Malfoy, you're in a sticky situation yourself. I'd think that you would be able to keep your temper with one woman long enough to get through this."

Ginny resisted the urge to hang her head like the child that Jonathon claimed she was acting like. She felt as if she were five years old again and being scolded by her precious uncle. Ginny gnawed on her lip, wondering if she had it in her to act as though she actually liked Malfoy. She snuck a glance at him out of her corner of her eye. He looked rebellious, much like he was fifteen again and unhappy about a dictate from his father.

Ginny sighed heavily. That thought was enough to soften her to Malfoy. No matter what else, he hadn't had an ideal family life. Just the thought of a boy growing up with Lucius Malfoy as a father was enough to make her shudder. She bit her lip. Was pity enough to get her through the coming months living in the same house with him? Abruptly, she remembered the night before, and the wave of heat that had swept over her when he brushed his lips against the nape of her neck. She violently shoved that thought away. She valued herself more highly than to just go screw someone because they made her feel things she hadn't felt before. And not even Draco Malfoy would change that.

She sighed again. She wouldn't be attracted to him if he had no redeeming qualities. Sometimes she sensed things about people, but Draco was murky to her. But there was no overwhelming sense of evil about him. But then, she had already known that. He was just enough to get on her nerves.

Before she could rethink her decision, she blurted out, "Malfoy."

She sensed his attention on her, but she resolutely didn't look at him. "I apologize," she said, her voice short. "I was out of line."

He blinked over at her, obviously startled. There was a long moment of silence in the room, and Ginny forced down her bristle. Wasn't he going to apologize too? Finally he said slowly, "I apologize as well, Weasley." And that was all. He sounded baffled, as if he wasn't sure that the words were coming from his own mouth.

That thought made a smile wryly curve Ginny's mouth. No doubt he's never had to apologize to anyone in his life, she thought in amusement. Despite that her tension and anger had eased, she still didn't look over at Draco. She felt embarassment heat her cheeks. She had totally lost her temper. It was a rare phenomenon, and one that she didn't particularly relish. She got nasty when she lost her temper, and she usually tried hard to keep herself in check. But Draco seemed to have a remarkable knack for making her lose her control.

She took a steadying breath, then rose to her feet, keeping her eyes resolutely on her silent uncle. "I think we're ready now, Uncle Jon," she said quietly, and he looked up at her.

For one moment, she saw his affection for her shine in his eyes before he hid it behind a mask of professionalism. He nodded curtly. "Very well. Would you like me to escort you?"

"No." Draco's voice was deep and rumbling, and caused that little jerk in Ginny's stomach again. "We should go on our own. It would be simpler."

Jonathon hesitated, then nodded curtly. "Very well." He rose to his feet, but didn't come out from behind the desk. "Will you retire to Malfoy Manor afterwards?"

"Yes," Draco said, his voice short.

Ginny forced down a bristle and instead said quietly, "I have some things I need to buy at Diagon Alley."

Draco turned his head sharply to look at her. "What?" he snapped, then he reined himself in and tried to speak more civilly. "What did you need?"

Ginny forced down her own irritation at his sharp tone. "I need more ink. I'm running out."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Why do you need ink?"

She watched him in silence, then said quietly, "I'm an author. I need to finish what I'm writing."

Draco blinked several times, as if he had been struck. "An author?" he repeated blankly. "You write?"

Her lips twitched. He looked as if she had sent a Bludger at his head. "Yes," she said, smiling slightly. "I write books."

"What kind of books?" He looked vaguely suspicious, as if he didn't believe her.

Genuinely amused, she actually gave him a real smile. "Fiction books. Books about love."

His sneer was automatic. "Love?" He rolled his eyes expressively.

Ginny waited for the surge of anger at his dismissal of her craft, but it didn't come. "Yes," she told him, laughter making her eyes twinkle. "Love. Quite horrid, I know, but it suits me."

He looked over at her, startled, and saw the mischief twinkling in her eyes. She thought she saw the ghost of a smile before his face went expressionless. Then he said calmly, "We have plenty of ink at the Manor if you need it so urgently. It would be better if we stayed at the Manor for a while. Make it seem as though we're honeymooning."

Ginny nearly flinched. It was a harsh reminder that this marriage wasn't the melding of hearts that she wrote about. Instead of lashing out because of hurt feelings, she just said quietly, "You're right. I'll use your ink, and I'll replace it."

"That's not necessary," Draco said curtly. "The Manor is yours for as long as this lasts."

Ginny inclined her head slightly. "That's generous of you, Malfoy, but I'll replace it." Her voice was inflexible and gave him no room to argue.

He started to, then thought better of it. He didn't want to fracture their fragile truce over ink, of all things. Instead he nodded shortly. "Are you ready to go out?"

Ginny took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. I'm ready." She stepped closer to him, and he held out his arm to her in an instinctive gesture that had been drilled into him from birth.

Both of them startled at the gesture, and their heads went up to stare at one another. Ginny found herself caught by his eyes. They had darkened to dark mercury as he stared at her. She saw the pulse speed up in his throat, and felt her body respond to him, even though they weren't touching.

Draco stared at her, his heart pumping blood furiously. All she had done was to look up at him, and he was captured by her eyes. They were like brown velvet—soft and gorgeous. He could drown in her eyes and never wish for another breath. He didn’t even have time to analyze his own uncharacteristically sentimental thought, because her lips trembled open, and he felt his muscles tighten spasmodically, his brain wiped clean of all thought. Her cheeks flushed, and her lashes slipped down over her eyes, although he could still feel her gaze on him.

Trying to steady his own breathing, he offered her his arm again. She hesitated for a breath, as if she were a wild shy doe, then she slipped up to him and slid her arm through his. He had to resist his body's instinctive jerk as her body slid against his. She felt small and feminine against his larger, stronger body, and he felt that unusual leap of possessiveness and protectiveness seize him by the throat again.

It had already reared its ugly head once today. When those idiots at the door had tried to grab her, he had simply reacted. He hadn't thought about what he was doing--all he knew was that he didn't want them laying their beefy paws on his woman. Coupled with his possessiveness was a strong urge to stretch her out on the Minister's desk and taste her. He could already imagine what she'd taste like. Cinnamon and sugar, he thought, swallowing hard. And so sweet he could get high off her.

She looked up at him, her lashes lifting to give him a glimpse of her fascinating eyes again. "Draco?" she murmured, and his heart thumped painfully. It was the way she said his name. Like a caress. Not the way that she said his last name--full of disdain and boiling anger.

He looked down at her, and she obviously sensed his turmoil. She gently touched two fingers to his hand, and he saw her cheeks flush with heat with the simple touch. She looked up at him, her eyes glittering like stars in the night sky. "Are we ready?" she whispered again, her eyes searching his, her breath short.

"Yes," he murmured, and she shivered at the feel of it rumbling through her body. He laid his free hand over hers where it lay on his arm, and unconsciously curled his fingers around her smaller ones.

She looked up at him, feeling as if she were in a dream. It seemed like there was no one there except she and Draco. She felt snared by his unearthly silver eyes, and the heat from his body. She couldn't seem to keep from staring at his mouth and wondering if he would kiss her. She couldn't find room for recriminations in her mind. All she knew was that she desperately wanted his mouth on hers. Obviously he felt the same way, because his eyes had flared, and she had felt his body stiffen against hers.

Barely aware of leaving her uncle behind, Ginny let Draco lead her from the room. Her sense of mild euphoria faded as they stepped out of the door to meet Kenny and Anton again. She tore her gaze from Draco's as she looked guiltily at her two friends. She felt a wash of shame as they stared at her in disappointment and confusion. She dropped her gaze away from them, her steps starting to lag.

Draco frowned slightly, and his knuckle grazed over her cheekbone, raising her eyes back to his. "See only me," he breathed. He lowered his head toward her, his lips a breath away from hers. She could feel his warm breath touch her lower lip, and she unconsciously licked them, staring up at him, mesmerized.

She was abruptly jarred awake when a flash exploded behind her eyes. For one moment she thought Draco had kissed her and she had passed out. But when she felt the fluid movement of Draco's body step forward to shield her from the cameras, she realized that the reporters had finally braved the inner sanctum of the Ministry.

From behind the protection of Draco's back, she took a shaky, steadying breath. Then she slid her hand into Draco's larger one, feeling nerves skate up her spine at the sight of the crowd of reporters. Then she stepped up beside him. She felt more than saw his surprised look down at her, but she was smiling beautifully out into the cameras. His hand tightened around hers as he turned his attention back to the reporters as they eagerly crowded around the couple.

"Mr. Malfoy!" A middle-aged, balding man shouted as he viciously shoved his way to the front of the pack. "Ms. Weasley! Is there something you'd like to share with the public?"

"Yes," Ginny said, her voice quiet and serene. The reporters silenced quickly so she could be clearly heard, and Draco felt a little niggle of admiration. She had them firmly in the palm of her hand in mere seconds. "Draco and I are married. We were married yesterday afternoon by the Minister of Magic."

Shouts and cries of shock immediately filled the hall as the reporters pressed closer eagerly, and Draco glanced down at her. She looked up at him, and he frowned slightly. He could have sworn that he saw trepidation in her eyes. Then he blinked rapidly. Merlin's beard, was she afraid of crowds? Just as the thought occurred to him, her lashes slid down to shield the expression in her eyes. But she unconsciously shifted closer to his body.

Draco blinked again as he realized that somehow his assumption had been right. On the heels of that thought came another irritating wave of that damnable protectiveness he was feeling for her lately. This time he didn't try to struggle against it. "Everyone back off." His voice was savage and icy and effectively silenced the crowd, who took a large step back from the couple. Whereas Ginny had silenced them with her calm serenity and elegance, Draco had done it with fear. They were afraid of him, which suited him just fine. I just backed them off because I don't want to be crowded, he told himself consolingly. I didn't do it for her. But he felt a little breath of relief when she seemed to relax slightly at his side.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Anton and Kenny were both glaring at her back. Bristling and wanting to rip off their heads just on the general principle that they upset her and irritated him, Draco defiantly slid his arm around her waist to pull her flush against his side. Startled, her gaze flew up to meet his. He almost glared down at her, irritated that her idiotic boyfriends were acting so stupidly. To his surprise, she didn't glare back at him. Almost as if she were afraid to, her hand inched up and touched her fingertips to his high, aristocratic cheekbone.

There was a flurry of flashes, but neither noticed, too enthralled in each other. Draco bent from his height towards her, almost as if he were drawn by an invisible thread, and felt her sharply indrawn breath. "Kiss me?" he whispered, the words sounding more like a command than a request.

Her lips curved slightly for a moment, and then his mouth was on hers. She felt her body tremble once before he tucked her close against him, his fingers grazing over the pulse beating in her throat as his mouth caressed hers. Her eyes slid shut, her fingers tightening her hold on his shoulder and her body softening against his.

Draco felt his head whirl. I was right, he thought in a daze. She tastes like cinnamon and sugar. Then all rational thought fled his mind as her mouth tentatively opened under his. His hands slid down her back and pressed her against him, but his mouth was still soft on hers, hesitant, testing. He felt her body tremble beneath the gentle onslaught, and he slowly released her, feeling his insides knot at leaving the warmth of her mouth. He leaned away from her, staring down at her and feeling slightly breathless. Her eyes fluttered open to stare up at him, and he felt like he had taken a fist to the gut. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and sensuous, her mouth swollen and wet. Her hand came up again to brush a lock of his hair out of his eyes, her touch tender, and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Abruptly, they were awakened from their daze by the increasingly loud shouts. Draco turned, feeling more confident in his right to tug Ginny under his sheltering arm. She went against him willingly, feeling a little dazed. Who knew Draco Malfoy had such gentleness in him? she wondered dreamily. He had touched her as if she were the most precious thing on earth. As if they hadn't just told one another that they hated each other but ten minutes ago. Like he actually cared about her.

"That's enough," Draco said brusquely, taking a step forward toward the exit. "We've answered enough questions. I'm taking my wife home."

There were some knowing chuckles from the throng of reporters, and Draco nearly snarled at them, feeling like he was on a hair-trigger. He kept Ginny tucked close against him, knowing that if a male approached her he would have to snarl like a dog over a bone. He took another step toward the exit, and the reporters in his way scattered, although continued to protest the couple's departure. Finally one brave soul shouted over the rest, "Mrs. Malfoy! It's well known that you fought beside Harry Potter in the battle against You-Know-Who! What does he think of your marriage to Mr. Malfoy?"

Ginny felt Draco's body turn to stone, and she was momentarily shocked at the reporter's audacity. She detatched herself from Draco and turned slowly. "Mr. Potter wishes me well," Ginny said, enunciating clearly. "He is happily married to his own wife and I'm sure wishes me every happiness." She eyed the reporter narrowly, and sure enough the woman was quick to speak up again.

"I'm sure we're all aware of Mr. Potter's marriage to Hermione Granger, Mrs. Malfoy. But there were rumors that you had a fling with him back in your Hogwarts days."

Ginny nearly erupted. Would her silly childhood crush on Harry never leave her? She gritted her teeth but forced herself to speak calmly and coherently. "It's true that I had a crush on Harry in my first year at Hogwarts. What woman wouldn't?" There were several nervous titters from the women reporters as they imagined Harry's lean, muscular form that so often graced the pages of newspapers and magazines. Ginny felt Draco's body start to vibrate with rage, and she continued calmly. "However, I left behind my crush on Harry many years ago. He is a dear friend and much like a brother to me, and that's all."

Then she dismissively turned her back on the crowd and took Draco's hand and started to walk out. His hand crushed around hers so hard that she nearly gasped, tears springing to her eyes. But he didn't look at her, just dragged her out of the room and onto the landing area that was momentarily deserted. "Let's go, Weasley," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. Then he Apparated back to Malfoy Manor. Sighing, Ginny Apparated a moment behind him, knowing that their moments of companionship and shared passion were gone.

5. Madam and Sir

Chapter Five: Madam and Sir

As soon as Ginny stepped into the Manor, Draco’s fingers snaked around her wrist and tightened in a hold that was almost painful. Startled, she instinctively tried to jerk her hand away, but his grip only tightened more, grinding bones together until she gasped. Then he started dragging her down the hallway.

Once she had recovered from her shock, she tugged on her wrist again, feeling rage start to build. “Let go of me!” she hissed savagely, aware of the unobtrusive eyes that were on them. The house elves seemed to be everywhere-or at least they seemed to be. Maybe she was just delusional. He didn’t answer her, just continued to tow her with tightened lips down the hallway.

Ginny could help it. She despised physical violence-although she did practice it at times, especially around Draco-but she wouldn’t let herself be manhandled. “Let go!” she snarled, and slammed her foot into the back of Draco’s knee.

It crumpled beneath him, and she saw his shocked look before he fell to the ground. Unfortunately, even with the surprise of her attack, his grip on her hadn’t wavered, so she went tumbling down with him. Immediately he rolled on top of her, pinioning her arms to her sides so she couldn’t do him any real damage. Then he snarled down at her. “What the hell was that for?”

She could feel the trembles start, and she desperately tried to push them away. Not now, not now, she prayed desperately, but felt her body start to shake. He was heavy and strong above her, and she felt helpless, a feeling that she despised and feared.

Draco looked down at her, and saw that her pupils were dilated, and her body was shaking violently. He nearly gaped down at her. “What’s wrong with you?” he blurted out, and saw her flinch violently.

“Get off me!” she whispered, her voice wobbling dangerously. “Get off me!” Her voice continued to rise in pitch before Draco regained his wits and rolled off her, staring at her in surprise.

“What’s your problem, Weasley?” he growled at her. “Can’t handle a real man?”

She didn’t answer him, just wrapped her arms around herself and tried to stop the horrible trembling. Draco’s brow furrowed in consternation. What was wrong with the woman? He had never seen her display an iota of fear, and he sincerely doubted she could even feel the emotion. So what was her problem? A few minutes later, she rolled to a sitting position, her hands still shaking wildly. To hide it from Draco, she buried them in the folds of her skirt.

Draco just watched her with narrowed eyes. “Get up,” he said curtly. “I want to talk to you.”

“Why can’t you talk to me here?” Ginny’s voice was soft, and sounded like she was worn to the bone.

Behind her back, Draco’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, well, he mused. Wasn’t she a bundle of contradictions today? First she wore some stupid wedding ring from some old flame, then she freaked out over a bit of nothing, and now she’s tired from all that. Then he rolled his eyes expressively. Hell, if he had been half as busy today as she had, he’d be tired too.

“Because I don’t fancy sitting on the cold marble,” he said coldly. “Now get up.”

Ginny bit her lip. She wasn’t quite sure that she could. Even sitting down her legs felt like limp noodles. But the thought of being able to sit down in a chair and relax-even if she had to listen to Draco bitch while she did it-was a seductive idea. She squared her jaw. She could do this. It was all a matter of willpower. And if there was one thing that she possessed in abundance, it was willpower. She studiously avoided looking at Draco as she braced her hands on the floor and tried to push herself to her feet. Her legs nearly gave out, and she sagged for a moment before pushing herself all the way vertically.

She swayed briefly for a moment, then made her way over to a wall to try to lean against it. Then she glanced at Draco, then swiftly away. “Where were you going?” she asked him quietly, looking over his right shoulder.

Draco frowned. What the hell was wrong with her? “What’s wrong with you?” he said, feeling a tenuous uncurling of those unfamiliar emotions again. “Are you ill?”

She barked out a laugh that startled him in its bitterness. “No,” she said shortly. “I’m not ill. Could we just go, please?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, deciding on the spot that he would find out what was wrong with her. “Yes,” he said curtly. “I was heading for my office.”

Ginny nodded shortly. “Very well. Lead on. Just don’t haul me anywhere.” Her eyes flashed with a little of her spirit. “I don’t like to be manhandled.”

“Obviously,” Draco muttered under his breath. He turned on his heel and strode down the hall, because looking at her leaning against the wall made he want to pick her up and carry her. After a moment’s hesitation, he heard her soft, hesitant footsteps as she followed him. A few seconds later, they came to a bare mahogany door. He turned the handle, and Ginny saw that it glowed a soft red whenever Draco touched it. Then he swung the door open and strode into the room.

More slowly, Ginny followed him, looking around in fascination. The room was spacious, but almost bare. There were bookshelves lining the walls, filled with books. Hermione would have a field day in here, Ginny thought wryly. Then she smiled to herself. As would I. Then she turned her attention to the rest of the room, promising herself that she would come back later and peruse the books. There was a massive desk, made of the same dark wood as the door had been. It was almost bare, except for a few paperweights and scattered papers. Ginny frowned to herself. She hadn’t pegged Draco as messy. In fact, she had thought he was quite the opposite. So why were there papers scattered around on his desk?

She glanced around again as Draco seated himself in the luxurious chair behind the desk. There was a sofa across the room in front of the hearth, as well as a dark green wingback chair. Obviously for comfort if someone was talking to someone in the fireplace. There were two chairs in front of Draco’s desk, and that was all. That was the entire contents of the room.

Frowning thoughtfully to herself, Ginny sat in one of the chairs, letting herself relax. She had had to hold herself painfully erect to make it down the hallway, considering how badly she was still shaking. Curious about the undercurrents and memories in the room, she opened her barriers a little bit. She kept them tightly closed whenever she was around Draco, which is why she had been able to bear his physical touch throughout the morning at the Ministry. Now she let them down a little, and nearly sucked in her breath in shock. There was unhappiness in this room, and a pleasure for violence and pain. She could almost hear screams, and a woman’s weeping.

Ginny hung her head so that Draco didn’t see the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She slammed her barriers up again, but she could still hear the memory of that piteous weeping in her ears. Who were you? She wondered painfully. Who were you that loved so much to hurt so badly?

Draco watched her with narrowed eyes. She was tying him up in knots, the dratted woman. She made him feel unfamiliar, uncomfortable things, and he didn’t particularly like it. He had never seen her as anything but strong and formidable, but she looked fragile now, almost as if he could break her with a breath. Since the thought made him uneasy, he pushed it away.

“Now tell me,” he said brusquely, “what you’re doing with that ring around your neck.”

Ginny looked up at him, and he could see that some of her fire was dimmed, although it still shone from her like a beacon of life. “That’s none of your business.” Usually her words would have had more bite, but she was just too tired to argue with Draco. She had laid her stance out, and he would have to respect it.

“I believe it is my business.” Draco deliberately forced himself to calmness. “As I said earlier, my life and the lives of others depend on this sham of a marriage. Therefore, I do not want your past coming back to bite me on the ass.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Ginny said wearily, running her hair through her hair and wrecking it again. It tumbled around her face, making her look even more pale against the fiery glow of her hair. “Nothing is going to bite you on the ass, Malfoy.” He saw a quick sparkle of laughter light in her eyes. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing, of course.”

Draco’s lips twitched, which he sternly pushed away. “I doubt that will be happening in the near future, Weasley,” he said acerbically.

She shrugged, making the movement somehow graceful. “Never know,” she said cheerfully, and Draco felt the cool taste of relief as he saw some color come back into her cheeks. Then he shook himself and scowled at her.

She didn’t cower before him-instead she just politely arched one eyebrow in a gesture that Draco noted was reminiscent of his own. Because he wanted to smile at how quickly she had picked up his mannerisms, he scowled at her instead. Then he leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to look indolent and mildly interested. “Well why don’t you regale me with the tale anyway, Weasley?”

Ginny smiled, but it was sharp and edgy. “Because I don’t want to, Malfoy. It’s personal, and you have no business knowing it.”

He smiled silkily at her. “On the contrary, you’re my wife. I think that gives me every right.”

Ginny lifted her chin and stared at him boldly. “I don’t think it does,” she said softly, her voice sounding almost dangerous.

Draco stared at her, then lifted his slender hands and clapped lazily. She blinked at him, surprise evident in her eyes. “Very well done,” he said, a sardonic smile curling his lips. “I almost believed your threat there, Weaslette.”

Her eyes iced, and Draco watched her in blatant fascination. She was a coil of contradictions, and her moods could swing widely from danger to playfulness. He never knew what to expect from her. “You should believe it.” Ginny’s voice was remote, and her eyes like shadowy previews of hell. “I meant it, Malfoy. There are some things that I don’t believe it’s any of your business to know. This is one of them.”

“What’s another?” Draco’s voice was deliberately taunting, and he saw Ginny’s eyes flash with anger.

She rose slowly from her chair, and Draco mirrored the movement-both because his mother had drilled courtesy into him as well as he didn’t want her looming over him. He would have expected her to be vibrating with rage, but she was oddly, almost eerily calm. “I think we’ve made it clear between us that we’re both only doing this to avert a war,” she said coolly. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s real, Malfoy.”

His eyebrows went up in surprise. “I’m thinking it’s real, Weasley? I could say the same for you.”

Ginny stared at him coldly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever given you an indication that I believe we are anything but reluctant partners.”

“Oh believe me,” Draco said silkily, “when we’re-partners-it won’t be reluctant.”

Ginny shoved down the instinctive shiver that came from somewhere deep inside her, and found the power to stare at Draco with a bored look in her eyes. “Leave off with the innuendo, Malfoy,” she said lazily. “We both know you don’t mean it. Or maybe it’s such habit by now that you can’t quite help it anymore.”

This time Draco kept his face expressionless. By God, if she could do it, then so could he. But he was annoyed at her assessment of him. Although he possessed a natural charm and charisma that he used to his advantage, he didn’t treat women the same. They were fascinating creatures in his eyes, and he loved to unravel their mysteries. But he was never overtly disrespectful-he wasn’t twelve anymore. There was no need to bait the females of the species. He could get around them in other ways, or use them for his own purposes without hurting their feelings. Of all things, Draco Malfoy hated female tears. They made him feel like slime-even if they weren’t directed at him.

“I do not seduce women-“

“I’m not sure that’s something I need to know, Malfoy.”

“Without a care.” He finished his statement and then glared at her. She smirked at him, and he suppressed his rising irritation. God, the woman could infuriate a rock. Then he skirted the desk and came to stand beside her. She tilted her head back to look up at him, and for the first time her eyes were wary. Draco took sadistic pleasure in knowing that she was aware of him-in more ways the one. Unconsciously, his mind recalled the feel of her beneath his hands. Soft, feminine, and utterly delicious.

“And don’t you think that I knew what you were feeling at the Ministry?” he asked her softly, his voice radiating sexual menace. But Ginny knew he wouldn’t hurt her-at least not in that way. Whatever else he was, Draco Malfoy was not a rapist. Why would he need to? She thought irritably. Women threw themselves at his feet all the time. Can’t rape the willing.

“Knut for your thoughts?” he murmured, his eyes moving languorously over her face. She had an interesting face, one that he would have loved to draw if he had any talent in that area. It was made up of a jumble of features that kept her from having a classic beauty. She would never be a beauty queen like Pansy Parkinson had been at Hogwarts. Instead there was a strikingness in her face, a vivacity that kept her from that fate. She was so alive that it almost hurt his eyes to look at her. She glowed from the inside out, and it was fascinating to look at her.

Her cheekbones were high and arched, sculpting her face into something elegant, almost the equal to Draco’s own aristocratic bones. Her eyes glowed, contrasting sharply with her mane of tumbled red hair. Unconsciously, Draco’s fingers came up to touch her hair. He remembered her first year when she had come to Hogwarts. Her hair had been thin, and the color of a carrot. But over time it had thickened, and darkened to a luxurious, silky wine-red. When the light struck it, she looked like a ruby shining in the sun. Her hair was still stick-straight as it had always been, but it suited her. On other women it would have made them look sickly and frail, but on her she looked…vivacious.

“What are you doing?” Ginny’s knees were trembling, and she was amazed that she could speak. He had been staring at her for several minutes, as she stared right back at him. His face made her stomach clutch up with the urge to touch him. And feeling his fingers moving softly through her hair made her want to close her eyes and touch his mouth with hers again.

Draco blinked down at her. “Doing?” he echoed blankly. Unconsciously his fingers threaded through her hair.

She stared up at him, unable to think. He was so close to her that she could feel the heat from his body, and she wanted to press herself against him. Wanted to nip at that curve of his neck, kiss that sulky bottom lip. She wanted him. Wanted him to touch her with the same gentleness that he had touched her hair.

Draco stared down at her, caught by the look in her eyes. The only word he could think to describe it was-hungry. He stepped closer to her, feeling her soft curves press against his harder body. He swallowed. God, why had he ever thought any other woman turned him on? Ginny fit against him like another half of a puzzle. He pushed his hands deeper into her hair, and tilted her head up to look at him.

He could feel her breathing quicken to match his own pounding pulse. He pushed away the niggling thought that he shouldn’t touch her like this. He couldn’t not touch her. She was like a drug in his blood. He lowered his head and kissed her.

He felt the same whirling in his head as he had before when he had touched her. His hands tightened in her hair, chaining her to his mouth as he ruthlessly took what he wanted. His mouth urged hers to open, to accept him. And without hesitation, she did. As her mouth opened, Draco felt that dizziness again at her simple acceptance of his kiss-of him. It didn’t matter what she thought he had been, or what he was now. It didn’t matter that their families hated each other. All that mattered was feeling her soft mouth beneath his, and her tentative caresses on his back as her arms came around to hold him.

Without thought, he turned her and then pressed her back against the desk, still taking his time with her mouth. He could kiss her all day-she was an addiction. Once he had had a taste of her, he would kill to have another. His hands loosed themselves from her hair, but she didn’t notice as he moved from her mouth down to nip and kiss at her throat. The sound of her soft breathing and whimpers made his body as tight as a wire. His hands moved down her back and to her hips, sinking into her firm flesh. Abruptly, he lifted her and sat her on the edge of the desk, not breaking his kiss on her throat.

He felt more than heard her soft gasp of surprise, considering that his lips were on the soft juncture between her throat and jaw. Then he stepped forward, aggressively crowding close to her. Instead of drawing away, her hands went around his back to press him closer, and Draco felt a savage primal triumph. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. It was gratifying as well as seductive.

He drew his head away from her throat, his breathing harsh. With primitive pleasure he saw his mark rising on her throat. Good, he thought savagely. She’s mine. And that shows it.

She opened her eyes, and he saw that they were dilated again, but this time not from fear. Where a few minutes before her face had gone white as chalk, now it was flushed, her hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders, mussed from his hands. “Draco?” she breathed, and he felt his body shiver convulsively. Her voice when she said his name was like a physical caress that he felt through his whole body.

He stared down at her, taking a primitive satisfaction in knowing that he could have her right now if he wanted her. For his own enjoyment, he took her mouth again, lingering over it until she whimpered, her fingers digging into his back, a silent plea for more. Then he released her, feeling her fingers clutch at him in protest. He took a step away, staring at her, his breath heaving.

She looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and sensual. “Draco?” she asked again, and he shivered.

“Go away,” he said curtly, and saw her blink and shake her head as if she hadn’t heard him properly.

“What?”

“Go-away.” He enunciated clearly, and saw her struggle to understand.

“Why?” she whispered, her eyes wide and filled with hurt.

He curled his lip at her. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done. “I don’t want you. Get out.”

She seemed to draw into herself for a moment, and looked down at herself. She was sitting on the edge of Draco’s desk, her legs still spread from where Draco had been standing a moment before. Her hair was tousled, and she could feel the bittersweet pleasure of his mark on her throat. When he had touched her, she had felt-passion. Heat. And now all she felt like was a whore.

She hung her head as a sick feeling of shame went through her. She knew that he had wanted her-knew that he still did. She might have been innocent, but she wasn’t that innocent. But no matter if he wanted her or not, she looked like she was a whore. It didn’t matter that he was her husband. She had almost given herself to him, on his desk, in the middle of the day.

She slid off the desk, feeling like she was going to throw up from the nausea curling in her gut. Then she looked up at him, and Draco nearly flinched from the pain and shame in her eyes. “I know you want me,” she whispered hoarsely, and he winced. She sounded like someone had strangled her.

He forced himself to stare at her haughtily. “I don’t want you anymore, Ginny.”

She didn’t even process that he had called her by her first name. “I know you want me,” she repeated again. “But you’ll never have me. Not ever again. I won’t let you treat me like your whore, Malfoy.”

Then she turned unsteadily on her heel and walked out of the room.

Blinking in shock, Draco sank down into one of the chairs that he had muscled aside when he had pressed Ginny against the desk. He desperately tried to process what she had said. You’ll never have me. I won’t be your whore.

The idea of Ginny as his whore was so foreign that he almost couldn’t understand it. She was his wife. And the thought that he might never have her again made his whole body scream in frustration. What had he done? Why the hell had he stopped? Even he couldn’t answer that question. All he had known was that he couldn’t take her. Not on a desk. Not Ginny. She wasn’t a quick fuck like most of his other women. She had courage, and passion, and he couldn’t bear to see her treated so shabbily.

He blinked. When did he care what Ginny was like? When did he care what she felt, or what she thought? He scowled to himself. Better this way, he thought consolingly. Don’t want the stupid Weaslette anyway. But his aching body told him otherwise.

Snarling at his own stupidity and sudden scruples, he stalked upstairs to take a cold shower.

***

Later that night, Ginny finally ventured downstairs again. She had taken a shower and scrubbed herself repeatedly, weeping silently. One minute he had made her feel glorious, and then the next she felt like she was dirt. How could one man make her feel so much? She wondered wildly. He shouldn’t be allowed to have such power over her.

She didn’t even bother to dress up-she put on a pair of pajama pants and one of Fred’s old shirts, then went downstairs. She didn’t want to meet Malfoy, but her stomach was gnawing impatiently at her. She hadn’t eaten all day, and she was starving. She had lain in bed for hours, terrified to go downstairs and come face to face with Malfoy. She knew it would happen eventually, but her nerves felt too raw to survive another confrontation with him at the moment.

Fortunately, she didn’t see him on her way down the stairs, nor as she scampered into the kitchen. She ruthlessly pushed away the little voice in her head that told her she was disappointed she hadn’t seen him. Why do I want to see him? She asked herself roughly. I don’t want to see that prat.

As she stepped into the kitchen, the bustle of movement inside stopped abruptly. Blinking, Ginny stared at the various house-elves. She knew they had been hurrying around before she stepped inside, because several still held plates and dishes. But they had all frozen in place once she came through the door.

She bit her lip, hoping that she could just back out the door and leave, because obviously her presence unnerved them. Just as she started to do so, a little voice squeaked, “Missus!”

Startled, her gaze instantly flew to the speaker and saw that it was Blinky, the house-elf who had shown her to her room yesterday. Was it only yesterday? She wondered absently. It seemed so long ago.

Blinky hurried up and bowed deeply, a gesture that the rest of the house-elves hurriedly emulated. “Does Missus need anything?” Blinky asked anxiously. “Is something not to the Missus’s liking?”

“Oh no,” Ginny said hurriedly. “Everything is wonderful. Honestly. I just came down here to fix myself something to eat.” As if to punctuate her remark, her stomach growled.

There was a shocked gasp from the house-elves, and even Blinky looked horrified. “Missus would fix her own food? This can not be done! Blinky himself will fix Missus some food.” Then he puffed himself up importantly, and Ginny surmised that obviously this would be a great honor for Blinky. Unfortunately, Ginny had never been raised with house-elves, and she had always fixed her own food. To have someone wait on her was-unnerving. It wasn’t so bad when she didn’t see the house-elves, but to know they were here and taking time out of what they had to do to fix her something to eat made her uncomfortable.

“No,” she said hurriedly. “It’s quite all right, Blinky. Thank you for offering, though.”

Blinky blinked, as if he were stunned. “But Missus!” he sputtered. “Missus cannot be making her own food!” He seemed obviously distressed, and Ginny bit her lip, distressed herself. She didn’t want to have Blinky make her food, but she also didn’t want to insult him. The rest of the house-elves seemed to be watching in blatant horror and fascination at the tableau being enacted between the head house-elf and their mistress.

Then a voice said pleasantly, “Blinky, if the Mistress would like to make her own dinner, then I suggest you move out of her way.”

There was a simultaneous squeak from the house-elves, then they all seemed to vanish from the room. Ginny blinked at their sudden departure, then turned to face the person standing behind her.

It was a slender man with a crop of perfectly trimmed fair hair. He wore what looked to be a butler’s uniform, and his face was perfectly expressionless. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and he looked like an older version of Draco. Draco took little from his father, and most of his physical attributes from his mother. He had her fair hair, silvery eyes and slim build. This man had all those same things-was he related to Narcissa? Ginny wondered, staring up at the man.

“Thank you,” she said hesitantly, not quite sure what she was thanking him for. The house elves hadn’t been a real annoyance, just a conundrum. And they had seemed blatantly terrified of this man.

She held out her hand to shake with him, abruptly conscious of her damp hair and pajamas. She curled her toes beneath her pants, feeling five years old again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” To contrast her disheveled appearance, her voice was polite and precise.

She could have sworn she saw amusement in his eyes, then it was gone. He shook her hand gingerly, then immediately released her. “My pleasure, madam.”

“Who are you?” Ginny asked him, fascinated. His resemblance to Draco was too strong to deny, but why would Draco have one of his relatives working as his butler? It didn’t make any sense.

He drew himself up to his full height. “I am Gareth,” he said, his voice proud, then looked down at her to see if that had any meaning for her.

Obviously it didn’t, because Ginny just looked perplexed. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Gareth. Do you have a last name?”

If she hadn’t been looking for it, she wouldn’t have seen the fine tension that invaded his muscles. “No madam.” His voice was positively arctic. “I do not.”

Ginny nodded quickly, hoping to relieve his annoyance. “I apologize,” she said hurriedly, but he shook his head.

“No, madam. No need.”

“Yes it is,” Ginny argued. “I insulted you, and I apologize.”

“There’s no need.” He sounded as if he were speaking through gritted teeth, but Ginny ignored that and started to glare at him.

“Can’t you just accept a simple apology?” she snapped, her fists planted on her hips. “Who are you, anyway?”

He sighed and muttered something under his breath, but Ginny didn’t hear him. Finally he said, “I am your butler, madam.”

Ginny’s mouth quirked in a little smile. “I guessed that, from the costume,” she said lightly, making a gesture towards his clothes.

Gareth nearly glared at her. “Is something wrong with my attire, madam?” His voice was positively arctic, and Ginny threw up her hands in frustration.

“You’re already driving me mad!” she muttered. “Good God, how does Malfoy stand you?”

“He’s had lots of practice,” Gareth said, a mixture of amusement and irritation in his voice.

“I’ll bet,” Ginny muttered under her breath, then checked her temper. Finally she puffed out a breath and asked him, “I was going to make something to eat. Would you like something?”

Gareth blinked at her. “I thought you just wanted to house-elves to leave because they were bothering you,” he said slowly. “They should make your dinner, madam.”

Ginny leveled a finger at him, a stern stare on the other end of it. “If you don’t stop with this ‘madam’ business, I’m going to clock you,” she told him, glaring. “You can call me Ginny.”

“It would not be proper,” he said stiffly, and she surprisingly laughed.

“Nothing about me is proper, Gareth,” she said lightly, moving to the cold box to peer inside. Then she grinned. Obviously it had been restocked sometime in the day, because it was nearly overflowing with food. No more celery and beer, she thought gleefully, rummaging through the food.

She emerged a few minutes later holding an armful of food, which she promptly dumped onto the counter. She turned toward the door, half expecting Gareth to have fled. Instead he was watching her with sharp, considering eyes. She smiled at him. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

He hesitated, then took a step into the room, then another. “I suppose I could assist you,” he said reluctantly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I don’t need your assistance, Gareth. I was going to make some dinner. I’m hungry, and you look like you could use some fattening up. Doesn’t Malfoy ever feed you?”

She could have sworn she saw a twinkle of amusement in his eyes before he said with great dignity, “Master Malfoy feeds me perfectly well, madam.”

She glared at him over her shoulder, and he sighed. “I cannot call you Ginny. What does Ginny stand for?”

She hesitated, then rolled her eyes. “Virginia,” she said reluctantly, turning her back on him to rummage in the drawer for a knife.

“Very well.” He sounded pleased with himself as he came to stand beside her. “I will call you Virginia, then, if you so desire.”

“You can’t call me just Ginny?” she asked wistfully, and saw his small smile and shake of the head. She sighed theatrically. “Fine, fine. I guess Virginia will work. Just as long as it’s not madam!”

She saw his secretive smile, and nearly smiled herself. He was awfully handsome, she thought abruptly, then pushed the thought away. But it crept insidiously back. She looked at him sideways as she started to cut up some lettuce. He had the same sharply defined bone structure as Draco, but his eyes were a piercing, pale blue instead of Draco’s changeable silver. He was also more stout than Draco. Draco had a classic Seeker’s build-wiry muscles and a slim body. This man was more thick, his shoulders more broad. Despite his broad shoulders, they tapered down into a thin waist that would have been the envy of most women, who had to suffer through corsets to get that kind of shape. Despite their differences, the two men could have been brothers.

The thought struck her like a hammer. Were they brothers? She certainly couldn’t ask Draco-or Gareth, for that matter. They would just brush her off, or in Draco’s case, insult her. She started to tap her lip with her finger, and was abruptly startled into awareness when Gareth snatched her hand. She blinked up at him, and saw that he looked both annoyed and furious. “Good God, woman!” he snapped. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to stick knives around your face? You could have cut yourself!”

She blinked up at him. “I didn’t know,” she blurted out. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

“Obviously not,” he snapped at her.

She scuffed her feet, feeling like it was her mother scolding her. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Can I have my knife back, please?”

“I don’t believe so.” The furious, icy cold voice came from the doorway, and as if on cue, both Gareth and Ginny turned to look.

Draco leaned against the doorframe, but his indolent posture was belied by the furious, icy rage in his eyes and the hard set of his mouth. Ginny wanted to shrink back against the counter, but forced herself to remain straight and not cower before him. Gareth seemed like a stone statue beside her, and she risked a look up at him. His face was perfectly composed and set, except for his eyes. They burned with a steady emotion that Ginny could only think of as hate. She bit her lip anxiously, then Draco’s fingers were sliding around her wrist and pulling her forward, away from Gareth.

Startled, she allowed Draco to move her a foot before she dug in her heels, feeling a sense of de ja vu. “Let go of me,” she hissed furiously. “I’m not your little toy you can drag around. Let go before I make you let go.”

Draco turned around to glare at her. They had both forgotten about Gareth, still standing stiffly beside the counter. “You couldn’t-“ Then he abruptly remembered her actions earlier. Obviously she could.

Reluctantly, he released her, but couldn’t resist letting his fingers linger for a moment on the soft underside of her wrist in a tempting caress. He saw the small shiver in her at his movement, then she controlled herself and stared at him with icy eyes. “Did you need something?” she asked him coldly. “Gareth and I were just making dinner.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Gareth, who just stared at him in silence. “Why is my butler making dinner? That’s what house-elves are for.”

“Because I asked him to,” Ginny said coolly. “And he was kind enough to oblige me.”

Draco barked out a laugh. “He was kind enough? That’s a laugh.”

Ginny’s glare darkened. “How dare you?” she hissed. “To insult him like that!”

Draco sneered down at her. “What do you care, wife?” He caught her fragile wrists in his hands and brought them up, almost to his chin as he put his face close to hers. “And don’t forget that,” he hissed. “You’re my wife, Virginia.”

Her lips wanted to tremble-whether from fear or rage, she didn’t know. “Don’t call me that,” she snarled at him.

He glared down at her, fury nearly sparkling around him. “Why not?” he hissed at her. “You asked him to call you that.”

Embarassment and anger made two red flags rise on her cheeks. “That’s different,” she snarled back at him, keeping her voice as low as his.

“How is it?” he snapped. “How is it different? You’re my wife. I can call you whatever the hell I want.”

“No you can’t,” she growled. “You call me Weasley, or Weaslette, but you don’t call me by my name. That would imply that you cared.”

“Oh? And like he cares about you? You’re just his employer. Not even that. You’re his employer’s woman.”

Shame burned her cheeks. “I am not your woman,” she said woodenly. “I will never be your woman.”

He curled his lip at her. “We’ll see about that,” he hissed. Then he released her so sharply she stumbled back a step. He spun on his heel and strode from the room, leaving a barren silence in his wake.

Ginny leaned against the counters, feeling trembly and drained. She tried to get her breath back, feeling like Draco had taken it with him as he had gone. Then there was a hesitant touch on her shoulder, and she looked up at Gareth. His face was hard and cold. “I apologize for any trouble I have caused you, madam,” he said remotely. “If you will excuse me-“

“No,” she said shortly. “I won’t excuse you.”

He had already started to move toward the door, but at her words he stopped and turned to stare at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“I won’t excuse you,” she repeated. “There’s no reason for you to run off. He was angry with me, not with you.”

“That’s the reason that I am leaving,” Gareth said coolly. “I do not wish to be a problem between you and your husband.”

Ginny sighed and raked her hand through her hair in frustration and confusion. “You’re not a problem, Gareth.” She laughed harshly. “There are so many other problems than you.”

“But you were just married yesterday,” Gareth said softly, his voice almost having the same silky quality as Draco’s did. Again, Ginny was sure that they were related. There was no way that two men could be so similar and not have the same blood. But that only made her more confused. Why was Gareth a butler if he was related to Draco?

Ginny smiled slightly at him. “Draco isn’t the easiest man to get along with.” That, at least, was truth. “But I love him anyway.” That was a lie-wasn’t it? “We always have little spats.” That was exceptionally true.

Gareth narrowed his eyes at her, but didn’t respond. He slowly moved back toward her, and picked up the knife that was lying on the counter, and began to thoughtfully chop more lettuce.

Ginny moved up beside him, then smiled hesitantly up at him. “And besides-I thought I told you to call me Virginia, not this madam stuff.”

He looked down at her for a moment, then she saw his mouth move into a slight smile before he turned his gaze away and concentrated on what he was doing.

Feeling a mixture of pleasure that she had made him smile and frustration with Draco, Ginny started to make the rest of their dinner.

***

In his office, Draco glared at the bookshelves across from him, barely seeing them. He could barely look at his desk without imagining Ginny earlier that day. She had been radiant, and now whenever she looked at him he saw her shame. It made his guts twist into knots, a fact that he was rapidly growing irritated with. He didn't want to care for the chit. He didn't want to feel this multitude of feelings that were scrambling him up. Especially when he knew that she didn't feel the same way. He knew that she was attracted to him--that had been blatantly obvious earlier today. But she didn't feel this same dazzle of emotions that he did.

Then he imagined Ginny downstairs with Gareth, and his hands curled into fists. He had never wanted to hit another person so badly as he had wanted to hit Gareth. The nerve of the bastard! To try to seduce Draco’s wife in his own house! Draco gritted his teeth, his fury unabated by his moments of introspection. And Ginny had looked-adorable. Her hair had been falling down around her face, and he had seen laughter in her eyes as she looked up at Gareth. He had no desire to admit it aloud, but he had been desperately jealous. She never smiled at him, and he was her husband!

He narrowed his eyes furiously. By God, that wanker Gareth wouldn’t get away with it. She was his, dammit, and he didn’t share. Not with anyone. Maybe he hadn’t cared in the past if the woman he was seeing was seeing another man, but it made a difference now. No matter what she thought, Ginny was his woman, and he wasn’t going to let her go. At least until the charade is over, Draco thought. And then they would quietly divorce, and they would go their separate ways. But until that time, she was his, and he planned to keep her that way. Only his.

Draco brooded silently until he heard a soft knock at the door. He sat up straight, his heart jumping at the thought that it might be Ginny. Then he pushed it away impatiently and called, “Come.”

The door opened hesitantly, and Draco nearly slumped. Ginny would never have opened the door so hesitantly, as if she were afraid of him. She would have strode into the room and commanded the attention of everyone there. That was what she did. Whether or not she meant to, she was impossible to ignore. He was jolted from his thoughts when one of the house-elves peeked around the corner of the door at him.

"Master," it said hesitantly. “Dinner is ready.”

Dinner made by who? He nearly asked scathingly, then checked himself. He had no wish to broadcast his problems with his wife to his house-elves.

Instead he nodded curtly. “Very well.” The house-elf, sensing his dismissal, scampered out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Draco glared at one of the glass paperweights on his desk, then surged to his feet, ill-temper making his eyes flash. By God, he wasn’t going to sit idly by. More than his ego rested on their marriage. Lives-his life and others-depended on it. It was high time that she was reminded of that. With a cold smile curling his lips, Draco strode to the door and then down the hallway, ready to give his wife a thorough tongue-lashing.

6. Secrets and Desires

Chapter Six: Secrets and Desires

“Please forgive me,” the red haired woman whispered, her wide eyes on her husband as he moved throughout their room in brooding silence. “I didn’t mean what I said in your study. You know I didn’t.”

“I know,” the man said quietly. He turned away from his desk to face her, his eyes dark and steady on her face. She felt heat crawl up through her cheeks at his look. He could make her blush with a single word, a single look. It was just as thrilling as it was irritating. He moved with a sinuous grace to sit on the bed beside her. Without looking at her face, he picked up her delicate hand and played absently with her fingers.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” he said quietly, and since he wasn’t looking at her face he didn’t see her eyes dim with tears.

“No,” she said softly. “I didn’t. But I’m certainly glad to hear it.”

Startled, he looked up at her, and was immediately caught in the depths of her eyes that glittered with tears. She pressed her damp cheek to his, and his arms came around her to hold in silence. “I’ll never leave you,” he whispered to her, stroking her hair.

To his surprise, she reared back in his arms, her eyes morphing from pleasure to a nearly frightening intensity. “Swear it!” she said hoarsely, capturing his face between her hands. “Swear it on your life!”

He blinked up at her. “I swear it,” he said slowly. “On my life. On my soul. I’ll never leave you. Not even in death.”

She flung herself back at him again, her arms closing over him convulsively. “I’ll love you until I die,” she whispered, her voice trembling with tears. “And even beyond. Never, ever doubt it.”

“I don’t,” he whispered back, stroking his hands over her back. Then he kissed her, and drew her down into their bed.

* * * * * *

Draco woke abruptly, every sense coming alert with lightning quickness. He didn’t move, merely lay in silence, listening intently. He didn’t sense movement or sound in the room, and so after a few minutes of frozen stillness he slowly cracked open his eyes. When nothing jumped out at him, he quickly swung his legs out of the bed, grabbing his wand that lay on his bedside table. He swiftly checked the parameters of the room, then eyed the open French doors suspiciously. He knew for a fact that he had closed them before he went to bed. He wasn’t so foolish as to leave intruders an easy way into his home. He glanced suspiciously around the room once more, then stalked towards the doors.

He tapped the handle with his wand, and whispered, “Prior incantato.” The door handle shivered for a moment, then a ghostly figure emerged from the door handle. Eyes narrowed in thought, Draco recognized the miniature version of himself, casting the protection charm on the doorway. “Deletrius,” he murmured, lips pursed in thought. He knew for a fact he hadn’t opened those doors, and he also knew that no charm had opened them. The last charm to be used on those doors had been the one that he had cast himself years ago when he had first moved into this room.

Suddenly, he heard a muffled sound coming from Ginny’s bedroom. He whirled on his heel, ready to rush through the door. He was halfway across the room before he realized what the muffled sounds were. His jaw hardened and his facial expression went blank as the realization slapped him in the face. She was weeping. Oddly enough, the thought made his guts twist. He involuntarily took another step closer to the door that separated their rooms, then stopped himself. His hands fisted in impotent fury. He couldn’t stand the thought of her tears. He knew it was irrational, considering that they weren’t even friends, but the feeling was there all the same.

Cursing softly beneath his breath, he pulled on a pair of trousers and flung open the door to his room, trying to ignore the sounds of her tears. He hadn’t moved more than a foot beyond her door before he turned back on his heel. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his eyes like hard chips of flint. No matter what he felt for her, she was his wife. And he couldn’t stand to hear her sob alone in the darkness. He laid his hand on the door, almost hesitant to actually open the door. He could only imagine her reception if he barged through the door, intent on fulfilling his white knight urges. She’d probably throw something at his head. The thought made his lips curve slightly in an almost tender smile.

When he heard her whimpers slow and silence enter the room, he leaned his forehead against the door, feeling drained. His chest felt tight, as if he were the one who had cried. Which was ridiculous. He hadn’t cried in twenty years. Not since he had been seven years old and his father had killed his puppy. On the thought, Draco’s lips tightened. It was almost easier to remember his own painful memories. For some reason it was harder to know that such things bothered Ginny’s nights rather than his own.

He felt the presence at his back mere moments before he spun on his heel, his wand flying out as he raised it to hex the person. He clamped his mouth shut when he saw who it was, although his eyes narrowed and started to glitter dangerously in the darkness. “What are you doing here?” he sneered, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake up Ginny.

Gareth’s face was stony, and shared no emotion. Even his eyes were flat. “I heard her crying,” he said shortly. “I came to make sure that she was all right.”

“You heard her all the way from your little hut?” Draco asked disparagingly, referring to the tiny house that Gareth lived in that was on another part of Draco’s property.

Gareth stared at him in silence. Any other man would have cowered before such a look, but Draco had used the look himself upon occasion. He didn’t even flinch. Gareth’s eyes flicked toward Ginny’s door, and Draco’s eyes narrowed to slits. He could have sworn he saw a flicker of concern in the older man’s eyes. Which made him fighting mad. Gareth was in no position to covet Draco’s wife. “What are you doing?” Draco hissed. “My wife is none of your concern, Gareth.”

Gareth turned his dead eyes back to him. “You should take better care of your wife,” he said, his voice absolutely empty.

Draco nearly hissed at him, and restrained himself a breath before he actually did it. “I need to protect my wife?” he snarled. “I seriously doubt that. And don’t come in my room again.”

Gareth stared at him in silence. “I didn’t come in your room,” he said coldly. “Why the hell would I?”

Draco shrugged, even in his anger the movement managed to be graceful. “How the hell should I know? I don’t know what goes on inside your twisted little mind, and nor would I like to. But you opened my doors.”

“I didn’t open your doors.” For the first time, irritation abounded in Gareth’s voice. “I don’t even come near your doorway, Malfoy. I don’t want to contaminate myself.” He sneered at Draco in silence.

Draco gave him a cold look. “Have a care how you speak to me.”

“What are you going to do?” Gareth shot back, keeping his voice low as the other man had done. Although they hadn’t moved beyond Ginny’s door, they had no desire to wake her with their argument. “Are you going to throw me out, Malfoy? You know you can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever the hell I want,” Draco said curtly. Other than the fury glittering in his eyes and his cutting voice, he didn’t show his agitation. His body was relaxed as he leaned nonchalantly against the wall that separated Ginny’s doorway from his.

Gareth’s eyes glittered at him through the low darkness, but before he could speak, Draco did. “You’re in my home, bastard. I can do whatever I want.”

With a savage smile, he saw his blow hit home. Gareth’s body tightened like a wire, and his hands fisted impotently at his sides. There was a moment of hushed stillness in the hallway, then with slow, deliberate movements Gareth walked toward the stairs and downstairs.

Feeling unsettled by the memory of Ginny’s tears and wanting to wound Gareth further, Draco quickly moved after him. He stood at the railing and watched as Gareth slowly walked downstairs. “Why do you call yourself that?” he called softly, tauntingly. “We both know it’s not your real name.”

Gareth stopped at the foot of the stairs, and Draco held his breath, anticipating the other man’s response. Gareth didn’t look at him, merely spoke softly. “It is now.” Then he walked away, leaving Draco’s pleasure like ashes in his mouth.

Fuming, Draco spun on his heel. What was with all these feelings lately? He wondered, ill-temper making him want to stomp as though he were five years old again. But, mindful that Ginny was asleep, he tempered his irritation. Just as his fingers touched the handle to admit him back to his own room, he heard a muffled crash come from downstairs. Immediately he spun on his heel, his eyes flashing like stars in the darkness of the house. Despite his antipathy for the other man, he knew that Gareth wasn’t so ungraceful that he would ever break anything. And neither would his house-elves. If they had the audacity to break anything in his house, they would quickly find themselves not in his house anymore.

He flew down the stairs, heading for his study. As soon as he touched the door handle, it glowed a soft green. His lips compressed into a thin line. The handle glowed green whenever someone else had entered his office. He raised his wand, then shoved open the door. He saw a head turn quickly toward the door in surprise, and didn’t give it time to speak. “Petrificus totalus!” he shouted, and heard the loud thump as something fell heavily to the floor and lay unmoving.

He rounded the desk quickly, then stopped in surprise. The creature lying on the ground at his feet was none other than his friend Blaise Zabini. He narrowed his eyes, and then pointed his wand at Zabini. “Finite incantatum,” he said curtly, and watched in silence as Zabini stumbled to his feet.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy! What’s wrong with you?” Blaise growled, bracing one hand on the desk to steady himself.

“I thought you were an intruder,” Draco said mildly. “Which I’m assuming you are. What the hell are you doing in my house, Zabini?”

“Is that any way to greet a friend?” Blaise asked grumpily, plopping himself into one of the chairs that sat in front of Draco’s desk. To divert his gaze from the desk—he couldn’t look at it without remembering how gorgeous Ginny had looked seated upon it—Draco leaned down and picked up the book that Blaise had dropped when he had been petrified.

He glanced over at Blaise and raised one eyebrow. “Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy? What are you doing with this, Zabini? And why did you have to break into my house for it?”

Blaise didn’t even have the grace to look repentant. “There’s this girl that I’m dating—I wanted to make sure that she doesn’t have webbed feet or something,” he said defensively.

Draco rolled his eyes. He knew that Blaise was lying, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to call him on it or not. “So that’s why you broke into my house in the middle of the night? To make sure your latest conquest doesn’t have webbed feet? I don’t see how her webbed feet are going to affect anything unless you plan on marrying the chit.”

Blaise shrugged. “Don’t feel like shagging a webbed foot girl. That just doesn’t do it for me.”

Draco sighed heavily and rubbed at the rising ache between his eyes. “Zabini—“

“You’re awfully preachy,” Blaise said thoughtfully. “You’re not much fun lately. Has marriage softened you up?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said irritably. “Of course not.”

Blaise grinned cheerfully at him. “Well then, I don’t guess you’d have a problem with coming out with me tomorrow night.”

“And going where?” Draco sighed. It was always best to ask Blaise before even leaving. The man could come up with the oddest places for trysts with women, and Draco had no desire to fly to the middle of nowhere to meet up with a woman with only three teeth—again. He had taken his leave of the woman about three minutes after he had arrived, and it had taken him the rest of the night to get home. He wasn’t planning on repeating that experience.

“Nowhere bad,” Blaise said cajolingly. “Just Knockturn Alley.”

Draco sighed. Although his wife—damnable Gryffindor that she was—would probably have a problem with Knockturn Alley, he had nearly grown up there. He was a frequent visitor at his father’s side, and when his father was gone he often conducted business there. And besides, Knockturn was a damn sight better than some of the other places Blaise had taken him to. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “When were you planning on going?”

“Tomorrow night?” Blaise asked him, raising his eyebrows. Then he grinned at Draco. “Unless you’re not too. . .busy.”

Draco forced himself not to curl his lip. He didn’t like the tone in Blaise’s voice whenever he indirectly mentioned Ginny. But Blaise hadn’t said anything about her outright yet. “No,” he said curtly. “I won’t be busy.”

Blaise bounded out of his chair with an energy that made Draco tired just looking at him. Blaise held out his hand imperiously and waggled his fingers in Draco’s direction. “Can I have the book?”

Draco eyed him suspiciously, then handed him the book. “Fine, fine,” he grumped. “Just don’t go breaking into my house again, Zabini, or a lot more will happen to you than just being petrified for a minute.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Yada yada yada. You’re a big scary guy. I get it.”

“Shut up,” Draco muttered, rising from his own chair. Blaise eyed his bare chest for a moment, and Draco watched him with one raised eyebrow.

“Meet your satisfaction?” Draco drawled, and Blaise glanced back up at his face with a devilish smile.

“Looks like you just jumped right out of bed, Malfoy,” he said, his voice teasing. But beneath the teasing there was something that made Draco’s eyes narrow.

“Comes from being woken by an intruder,” he said slowly, watching his friend.

Blaise stepped toward the door and hesitated, as if he wanted to ask Draco something. He turned to face him again, and his lip curled. “And how is the little wife? Has the little Muggle-loving bitch already got you whipped?”

In a flash, Draco was around the desk. His hands fisted in Blaise’s shirt. With rage blinding him, Draco wasn’t quite sure how he dragged Blaise from the middle of the room to a wall, but a second later he was slamming Blaise back against one of the walls. “What did you say about me?”

“Holy fuck,” Blaise yelped. At his outburst, Draco snarled at him again, his knuckles digging into Blaise’s chest from where his hands were fisted in the shirt. He rapped Blaise against the wall almost absently.

Blaise’s eyes started to smolder. “Take your fucking hands off me, Malfoy,” he snapped. “I’m not a first-year for you to scare.” He shoved at Draco, who only slammed him back against the wall again, harder this time so that Blaise’s head rang from the impact with the wall.

“What did you say about me?” Draco repeated dangerously. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’ve gone soft, Zabini. I’ll kick your ass if you talk about me that way ever again.”

“I get it!” Blaise hissed, eyes flashing. “You’re the big bad, Malfoy. Let me the fuck go.”

Draco stared at him in silence with eyes that were so dead and still that Blaise had to suppress a shiver. The man did have intimidation down to an art. Finally Draco eased his hold on Blaise and took a step back. His eyes were still hard, and they didn’t move from Blaise’s face. Nice job, Blaise told himself in irritation. Now Malfoy’s pissed off at you. Not a nice prospect. Wincing at the bruises already rising from Draco’s hands, he bent to pick up the book that he had dropped when Draco attacked him.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing at Draco and not quite sure what to say. Draco still had that impassive face that he had learned from his father—a face that had always scared a younger Blaise to death when they were at Hogwarts. Obviously he hadn’t grown out of that phase too much, even though he was probably one of Draco’s only friends. Finally Blaise turned toward the doorway, the book clutched in one sweaty hand. He was nearly to the door when Draco called him.

He turned, involuntarily responding to the command that always seemed to accompany Draco’s words. It was as natural to him as breathing, and Blaise had always envied him for it. He eyed a stony-eyed Draco with trepidation, although none of it showed on his face. He wasn’t a Slytherin for nothing. “Don’t ever speak about my wife again,” Draco said emotionlessly. “Not her name. Not about her. Not anything. Understand me, Zabini?”

Blaise sneered. “Why does it matter to you, Malfoy? It’s not like it matters, anyway. You’re just with her for the politics.”

“She’s my wife,” Draco said coldly, his tone unchanged. “And as such she will be given the respect that is due the Malfoy name. Even from you, Zabini.”

“Fine,” Blaise snapped, Draco’s lack of emotion grating on his nerves—just as it was designed to do. “I won’t talk about her. Can I go now, master?” He made a mocking bow, his eyes narrowed with anger. Draco didn’t answer, so Zabini slipped out of the room, fuming.

The absolute nerve of Malfoy! Knocking him around as though they were in Hogwarts again, as if he had the right to threaten Blaise over some stupid Muggle-loving whore! He’d show Malfoy. He’d—He was abruptly jerked out of his thoughts when he was slammed up against a wall. His head snapped back, slamming against the wall, and he couldn’t prevent the little cry that emerged at the sudden pain.

He stared, and for one moment thought it was Draco again. A moment later he saw the subtle differences in appearances, and his lip curled automatically. Gareth’s hands were fisted in Blaise’s shirt, in the same position that Draco’s had been moments before. Blaise winced when Gareth’s knuckles dug into tender skin already abused by Draco’s hands. “Take your hands off me,” Blaise hissed at him, eyes flashing in the near-darkness of the hallway. He saw with irritation that he had almost made it to the front door before the brute attacked him.

“Don’t come here again. And don’t come around Virginia anymore, either.” Gareth said quietly, and Blaise had to shiver. Whereas he had been able to hide his fear of Draco, he couldn’t hide it from this man. The man positively oozed danger. And not Draco’s refined, aristocratic danger, either. This man was made for quick, savage fights in dark alleyways; made for using the knife and the sword instead of a wand. He was frankly terrifying.

Despite that nerves had seized him by the throat, Blaise said roughly, “Not your house. Not your wife.”

Gareth’s hands tightened on Blaise’s shirt so hard that Blaise was sure that it would rip. He was pressed so hard into the wall that he was sure that he would have crushed ribs. All this for a fucking book, he thought grumpily, vaguely noting that said book was lying open at his feet from where he had dropped it. He absently saw that it had opened to the page on Gregory the Smarmy before Gareth was shoving at him again.

“I don’t care,” he said curtly. “Don’t think you can come back here without me knowing, Zabini.” He put his face very close to Blaise’s, his eyes glittering dangerously. “Malfoy is a puppy dog compared to me, Zabini. I wouldn’t try my temper.”

“Oooh, the big bad wolf,” Blaise said sarcastically, then regretted it a moment later as Gareth’s eyes flickered.

“You only get one,” he said softly, and then Blaise found himself sailing through the air. He fully expected to hit the wall within moments of going airborne, but instead he skidded face-first into the gravel that led up to the front door. His curses filled the air as the gravel scraped away the skin on his face and hands as he tried to brace himself. He stumbled unsteadily to his feet, swearing loudly.

“Shut the fuck up,” Gareth said quietly, coldly. He stood in the doorway, his lips pressed into a tight line of anger. Blaise glared at him and called him a few uncomplimentary names, not even caring that Gareth obviously heard him. He didn’t even see Gareth’s arm move, but a moment later the genealogy book slammed into his chest with enough force to knock him back on his arse. Swearing, he stumbled to his feet again—this was getting really old—and saw that Gareth had closed the door behind him.

Livid, he clutched furiously at the book, his fingers digging into it in silence. “I’ll be back,” he hissed softly at the quiet house. “You’re not going to scare me away, bastard.” Then he turned on his heel and limped down the hill toward the gates so he could Apparate away.

* * * * *

When Draco trudged back upstairs, he unaccountably felt jittery and nervous. He paused in front of his wife’s doorway, but heard nothing. Cautiously, he touched his fingers to the doorknob and turned it silently, then peered into the room. It was hard to see anything in the dim of the room, but he could indistinctly see the lump of Ginny lying curled into a ball in the bed. He stepped into the room, and paused cautiously. When nothing jumped out at him and no hexes attacked him, he proceeded to the side of her bed, his feet moving silently over the carpet. She didn’t stir at his presence, even when he loomed over her.

As the moonlight slanted in through the windows, he saw the silvery tracks of tears drying on her cheeks. Something seized him low in the gut, and he pressed his lips together tightly in response to the feeling. He couldn’t stand the thought of her tears. They twisted him into knots, and he didn’t know why. Granted, he didn’t like female tears. They were a weakness, and he had no use for weakness. But her tears made him want to stroke and soothe, a feeling that he was wholly unfamiliar with. Almost as if someone else were controlling his body, he saw his fingers reach down and skate softly over her pale cheek, smoothing the dampness from her skin. “Sleep without dreams,” he whispered hoarsely, and she stirred for a moment. He froze, not wanting to be caught in such a…tender position. But she only sighed softly, then stilled again. When she had moved, her lips had brushed lightly over the inside of her wrist, which was right beside her mouth.

Draco froze at the gentle touch. He didn’t know why, but it stunned him down to his toes. That touch was enough to make him want to climb in bed with her, and she had barely even touched him. And she was asleep, at that! Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled his hand back. He stood for a long moment, staring down at her face. Asleep she looked almost angelic. Her features were smooth and unconcerned, her wine-red hair tumbled and in disarray. Whatever cares bothered her in her dreams were gone now, and he was oddly grateful for it. He accepted that he had bad dreams—he hadn’t lived the nicest of lives. But Ginny shouldn’t have to deal with such things.

He shook himself upon the thought. Fighting his own emotions, he spun on his heel and strode out of the room, closing it softly behind him before he went into his own room. He crawled into bed, telling himself resolutely that he wouldn’t think any more about the Weaslette tonight. But when he put his hand to his face, he could smell her tears on his fingertips, mixed with the scent of her skin.

********

Ginny sighed as she sat down wearily at the desk in her room. It had been a week since she had argued with Draco. A week of frigid silence between man and wife. She had carefully stayed out of his way, not wanting to put herself into the situation of having another argument with him. Arguments with Draco weren’t like arguments with other people. Draco found weaknesses and exploited them. Arguments with Draco were a battle—they left open, bleeding wounds that took time to heal. And she was working on healing her own heart. Draco’s touch had evoked memories that she had worked hard to suppress, and made her feel things that she had never felt. She was confused and wanted time to sort through her emotions. Luckily, Draco seemed inclined to give her that time, considering that he was avoiding her as well. The house-elves also seemed to shun her—she hadn’t seen one in the whole week she had been at Malfoy Manor. She hadn’t emerged from the house because she was supposed to be blissfully making love with her husband at all hours of the day—as newlyweds were wont to do. The thought made her lips curve bitterly. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

She stared down vacantly at the pile of papers lying on her desk. She had spent the last week getting familiar with the corridors in Malfoy Manor, and she had finally come upstairs to try to start working on the book she was currently writing. But as she stared down at the paper, she knew instinctively that she wasn’t going to be able to write anything. She was unsettled and jittery, and she couldn’t immerse herself in her own creation anymore than she could fly without a broomstick.

Sighing and cursing all Malfoys under her breath, she propelled herself from the chair and strode toward the door. Without thinking about it, she padded downstairs. Just as she was about to step out the front door, Gareth’s voice spoke unexpectedly from behind her. “I wouldn’t go out that way, Madam.”

Gasping, she spun on her heel, her wand in her hand without memory of how it had gotten there. Her heart pounding, she stared at Gareth for a long moment before her mind processed his identity. He merely raised his eyebrow at her, not intimidated by her slim wand pointing at his chest. Finally she lowered her wand and put it back in her pocket. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m just a little jumpy.”

“I can tell,” Gareth said dryly, moving toward her on silent feet. Again, she noticed that the man made no sound. It was a little eerie. Almost as if he were a phantom himself, much like the ones that lived here at Malfoy Manor. “You would do well to go out the door in the kitchen, Madam.”

She eyed him narrowly. “Hey, what did we say about this ‘madam’ stuff? It’s Ginny, and if you can’t manage that, then Virginia.”

He sighed gustily. “Very well. Virginia.” She noticed that every second he spent in her company he seemed to relax just slightly; his speech becoming less formal and his shoulders relaxing.

“And besides, why shouldn’t I go out the front door? Is something wrong with it?”

Gareth quirked his eyebrow at her. “You are attempting to show that you have a perfect marriage, Virginia. What new bride does not have her husband attached to her hip?”

Unexpectedly, the comment stung. She knew that she hadn’t married Draco for anything but politics. But the fact was that she was married. And like any woman, she wanted to be that bride who was fawned over by her new husband. Her lips pressed into a hard line, but she merely nodded curtly to Gareth. “You’re right. I’ll go out the kitchen.” She nearly walked away, and then hesitated. For one instant, Gareth had looked so—alone. And before she realized it, she turned on her heel to face him. “Would you like to come with me?” she said impulsively.

He blinked at her in surprise. “Come with you where?”

She made an impatient gesture in the direction of the front door. “Just outside. I was going for a walk. I can’t stand to be in this house anymore.”

His face settled into expressionless lines, but she could feel his surprise through her empathy. Finally he said, “Very well. I’ll come with you.” He stepped up beside her, and almost frog-marched her down the hallway.

She pulled her arm away from his grip. “Relax,” she said in amusement, slowing her pace. “We’re not in a hurry.”

He looked mildly surprised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I was going so fast.”

She smiled at him lopsidedly. “Yeah, well that’s because you’re a thousand feet tall.”

A small smile turned up one corner of his lips. Ginny watched it in fascination, because she had the feeling that this man rarely smiled. “It’s because you’re just short,” he said, amusement liberally lacing his voice.

A moment later she processed what he had said, and laughed out loud. “Am not! I’m short compared to you!”

“What I said,” he told her comfortably.

She grinned up at him as they entered the kitchen and found it blissfully empty of house-elves. “Everyone is short compared to you.”

He contemplated her statement for so long that she was sure he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he said thoughtfully, “I suppose you’re right.” This made her grin as she opened the door that led outside. She stepped quickly out onto the grass, a smile spreading as she did so.

She did a quick pirouette, then spun to turn her laughing gaze onto Gareth, who was merely standing and watching her. She made a beckoning motion with one hand as she moved backwards on the lawn. “C’mon, Gareth. Don’t be a stick in the mud. Can you skip?” Her eyes teased him for his incredibly stiff manner, and he relaxed imperceptibly.

“I do not skip,” he said solemnly. “I am a man. Men do not skip.” She coughed to hide her chuckle.

“Is that so?” she asked him, her smile flashing brilliantly. “We’ll see about that. I bet you a galleon that I can make you skip by the end of the day.”

His eyes narrowed, and she could have sworn that they smiled at her, although his mouth remained in a hard and even line. “We’ll see about that, my lady,” he drawled, and only made her smile spread.

“So we shall,” she responded cheerfully, spinning around to bounce down the small incline of the lawn in movements that reminded Gareth of nothing so much as a graceful doe.

Right until she tripped over her own feet and fell on her face.

Instinctively, he sprinted down the hill toward her, his heart hammering at the thought that she was hurt. But when he sprung to her side and crouched beside her, he could hear her muffled laughter mixed liberally with good-natured curses. When he suspiciously rolled her over, she grinned up at him. “And the good ol’ Weasley clumsiness strikes again,” she told him cheerfully.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought you were hurt!”

“Nope,” she said warmly, taking the hand that he warily offered her to help her to her feet. Once standing, she brushed herself off, and ignored the grass-stains on her clothes with an ease that told him she had long practice at doing so. “I don’t get hurt too easily, Gareth. I’m not breakable, you know,” she told him tartly.

“You’re also dirty,” he muttered, still waiting for his heart rate to return to normal.

“And washable,” she told him firmly. “Don’t fuss. You’re worse than my mother.”

He gave her a deadly glare. “I am no one’s mother.”

“Thank God,” she said, rolling her eyes expressively. “Because that’s just something I don’t want to envision, frankly.”

He nearly opened his mouth to respond to that statement, then thought better of it. The woman was like verbal quicksand. How was Malfoy able to be married to the chit? He thought in mild annoyance as he followed her as she trotted down the hill, only slightly more cautiously after her spill.

She was like a little, red-haired whirlwind, he thought, a little dazed. Although he had seen a glimpse of her character a few nights ago in the kitchen, he could never have imagined the reality of it. Although she was gorgeous—there was no denying that—she also had a wicked sense of humor and a playfulness that surprised him. Although he knew that she had married Malfoy because of politics, he hadn’t expected someone like her to be paired with someone so different than her. Where Malfoy was ice, she was fire. Where Malfoy broke the rules out of a sense of being better than the rules, she broke rules for the thrill of it. They were as different as night and day, and Gareth knew that she was utterly wasted on a git like Malfoy.

He immediately crushed that thought with a thoroughness that even surprised himself. She was Malfoy’s wife. No matter what reasons for the marriage, she was legally married. And Gareth didn’t touch married women. Not even women who were married to a scumbag like Draco Malfoy. His lip curled automatically at the thought of his employer.

He was abruptly jerked out of his thoughts when Ginny called for him. Sighing in resignation, he went down the hill to meet her at the bottom.

**********

From a window in the Manor, Draco watched with flinty gray eyes. He intensely disliked his wife’s familiarity with his butler. No, he hated it. He wanted nothing more than to go downstairs, punch Gareth into oblivion, snatch up his wife and carry her back upstairs and make love to her. His jaw tightened as he turned away from the window. In a rare fit on conscience, he knew that he couldn’t keep her from Gareth. After all, he had to go to work. If she wanted Gareth, she was going to have him either way. Just because the thought made him homicidal probably wouldn’t factor into her decision. The only way that he could conceivably keep her from something she wanted would be to lock her up. And he had a feeling that Ginny would fight him to the death before that happened.

He wouldn’t touch her because he didn’t want her, he told himself. Let Gareth sully himself with the Weasley. They were well paired. He sneered to the empty room, but it wasn’t as comforting as it usually was. Just the thought was like ashes in his mouth. He paced feverishly in an unusual display of outward emotion. Damn her! Somehow she had gotten under his skin—made him feel things that he didn’t want to, and shouldn’t. When he had accused her of regarding this marriage as more than political match, she had thrown it back in his face and accused him of the same. And wasn’t that true? Didn’t he lie awake at night, sheets wrapped around his heated body, staring at the door that separated him from her bed? Even when he finally managed to sleep, weren’t his dreams filled with feverish images of her wrapped around him, her gorgeous wine-red hair spilling over his skin, licking him with flames of fire?

He swore again, only less virulently this time. He raked his hand through his hair, mussing up his perfect coif. Draco kept his back to the window, refusing to see what they were doing. He stopped in the middle of the room, struck by sudden inspiration. He had been treating Ginny as he treated all the other Weasleys—like enemies. But all the other Weasleys—excepting her mother, whom he had never met—were male. He instinctively treated women differently, no matter how much he hated them. His mother had drilled courtesy into him—especially after she had heard what he had called Granger while they were in school. She had been appalled at his lack of chivalry towards women, and had given him a scathing set-down. Coming from his quiet, serene mother, a lecture containing the thought that she was disappointed in him was enough to make him mend his ways.

He had treated Weasley as he would one of her red-haired brothers, and what woman would like to be treated as a man? And a man that he hated, at that. He had alternated between molesting her on his desk and acting like the bastard that he really was. But women didn’t want to see that inner bastard, now did they? Women wanted to be wooed. And if he wanted any chance of getting the littlest Weasley out of his head and into his bed, he was going to have to woo her.

Just the thought was enough to make him curl his lip, then sigh. He was tired of losing sleep over her. He would set aside his prejudices, and hope that she would do the same. He turned to face the window again, steeling himself for whatever he saw. What he saw surprised him. Gareth was merely sitting on the hill, his arms looped around his knees and watching Ginny with something that resembled content. Ginny was a few feet away, lying on her back and staring up at the sky, talking and gesticulating animatedly.

Draco watched her for a long moment. Her features weren’t clear from this distance, but he could tell that she was smiling. His lips pressed into a hard line. By Merlin, he would make her smile for him.

**********

Ginny bounded down the stairs, a smile curving her lips in anticipation. Ever since she had come to Malfoy Manor, she had started to grow very fond of Gareth. She went outside all the time, and he always insisted on accompanying her. She had eventually wheedled a friendship out of him, and found that he had a sarcastic sense of humor that made her giggle. Despite that he had relaxed in her presence, he was often silent, merely listening to her chatter. Since she sensed that he was a brooding soul—much like Draco—she never pressed him to speak to her.

The one odd thing that she had noticed about Gareth was that he never carried a wand. She didn’t know if it was from personal preference or because he just didn’t have one, but it had piqued her interest. She had been hesitant to say anything for fear of offending him, but a few days ago she had tentatively broached the subject on one of their daily walks.

He had been silent for so long that she was sure that he was going to ignore her impertinent question. However, he finally said quietly, “I don’t have a wand. I don’t know magic.”

She had goggled up at him in silence. She could positively feel the magic pulse around him—he couldn’t be a Squib. “Why not?” she blurted out.

“Because my stepfather didn’t want me to learn,” he said shortly, with a tone in his voice that said he wasn’t going to talk about it further.

They had continued walking in silence while Gareth brooded and Ginny pondered. Eventually Ginny said quietly, “I could teach you, if you wanted me to. I’m no Hogwarts professor, but I’m learned enough to teach you some things. We’d have to go to Diagon Alley to buy you a wand, though.”

He turned his head to face her, his eyes glittering icily. “I don’t need your pity, Virginia.”

She glared back at him. “Who said I pitied you? You’ve obviously done quite well for yourself without magic. I don’t see that there’s anything wrong with you.”

He scowled at her, but didn’t say anything. Finally he said shortly, “Very well. If it wouldn’t inconvenience you, I’d like to learn some basics.”

Ginny kept back her smile of triumph and instead nodded solemnly. “Very well. We’ll go a few days from now to Diagon Alley and buy you a wand from Ollivanders.”

He turned his face away from her. “Very well.” His voice was stiff, but she could feel the tumultuous emotions running through him, so she didn’t comment.

And now she was finally going to take him to Diagon Alley. She hadn’t seen him this morning, which was odd. Usually he was waiting for her downstairs. Maybe he was just nervous. She smiled broadly. It was lovely to see such a self-assured, incredibly alpha man like Gareth get nervous. Assuming that he was still at his little cottage, she flung open the door and trotted cheerfully down the hill and toward his cottage in the distance.

As she walked, she glanced over her shoulder at Malfoy Manor. She loved the house. Despite that it was Draco’s house, it was absolutely gorgeous. And for some reason, she felt safe there. Which was probably why she hadn’t ventured far from it or its grounds since she had married Draco. She hadn’t even gone to see her family, and hadn’t received any owls from any of them. At first the absence of contact with them had hurt her, but she had quickly grown immersed in the little world that she was building for herself at Malfoy Manor.

Even as she had grown closer to Gareth, she had grown farther from Draco. He had started working longer and longer hours, and she rarely saw him. When she did, he was stiffly courteous to her, quickly vanishing into his own bedroom. She hadn’t expected the fact that he was avoiding her to hurt so much. And yet she was a little lonely with him. Despite that she liked Gareth and his company, he never really sparred with her the way that Draco did. She often wondered if she were insane that she missed Draco Malfoy’s company; but there it was.

Shaking off thoughts of her confusing husband as she reached Gareth’s cottage, she rapped smartly on the door. When no one answered, she frowned. She rapped again. “Gareth?” she called. “Gareth, it’s Ginny. Are you in there?”

He didn’t answer, although she could have sworn that she felt his presence inside. Frowning, she tentatively tried the door and found it unlocked. She bit her lip, then pushed it open and stepped inside, her eyes flicking over the room.

The room was sparsely furnished. There was a table, a couch, and one chair. The room was also meticulously clean. Almost as if he were never inside it. Frowning, she glanced around and saw a cracked door. She stepped toward it, and gently pushed it open. Then she stared.

The room was obviously Gareth’s bedroom. And unlike the living room, it showed signs of being lived in. Clothes were thrown across chairs, and she could see a razor lying across his desk. And sitting on the edge of the bed, with his head in his hands, was Gareth.

His hair was mussed, as if his hands had run through it repeatedly. She hurried to him and dropped to her knees beside him, worried. “Gareth? Gareth, are you all right?”

He raised his head to look at her, and his eyes were red-rimmed, almost as if he hadn’t slept, or as if he had been weeping. But since she couldn’t ever imagine Gareth crying, she opted for the former theory. “I don’t know if I can go, Ginny,” he said hoarsely. She barely noticed that he had called her by her shortened name.

“Why not?” she asked anxiously. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” he said hoarsely, scrubbing his hands over his face. She saw that he had a five o’ clock shadow—obviously he hadn’t shaved yet this morning. “No, I’m not all right, Virginia. I don’t think I can do this.”

“But why not?” she asked him, worrying at her lip with her teeth. “You said you could, Gareth.”

“I know what I said,” he snapped at her, his eyes flashing down at her. A few years ago, she would have cowered before him. Now she just stared up at him challengingly, and he eventually huffed out a breath and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t think I can do magic,” he mumbled, and had her blinking rapidly.

“What?” she asked stupidly, because she couldn’t imagine that he didn’t feel his own magic as strongly as she did. It fairly radiated from his skin.

“I can’t do magic, ok?” he shouted at her, rising to pace. “I’ve always known that.”

Ginny stared up at him in surprise. “Gareth,” she said slowly, “I know that you can do magic. You’re not a Squib.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked bitterly. “How do you know? Do you have radar or something?”

“Or something,” she mumbled, but when he looked sharply at her she silenced for a moment. “Look, just trust me on this, ok?”

“I can’t,” he said wearily. “I can’t, Virginia. I’ve known my whole life that I can’t do magic.”

“Have you ever gone to try to get a wand?” Ginny asked him, her gaze steady. He dropped his eyes away from her.

“No,” he muttered.

“Well then,” she told him firmly. “Then you don’t know or not. We’ll go to Ollivanders, and if nothing happens with any of the wands, then we’ll know that you can’t do magic, and I’ll apologize. But if something does happen, then I’ll teach you how to use your magic.”

“I can’t!” He shouted at her, raking his hands through his hair. “Don’t you understand, Ginny? My whole life I’ve known that I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t enough like my father or my mother. They were both amazing—brilliantly talented. And I was never taught, because I couldn’t do it.”

“Maybe you couldn’t do it because you were never taught,” she countered. “Magic isn’t something that you can learn on your own, you know. That’s why Hogwarts is around.”

“I’m a bit too old to attend Hogwarts,” he said coolly.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to teach you.”

He barked out a harsh laugh. “You’re going to teach me? No offense, Virginia, but you don’t look like a professor to me.”

“I never said I was,” she said equitably. “And besides, why are we having this conversation if you don’t think that you have magic? If you can’t do magic, then I won’t be teaching you anything. So I think that you believe somewhere inside you that you can do it.”

He stared at her in silence, then gave a little laugh. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

She beamed up at him. “If you want to call it that.” She rose from her place on the floor, brushing off her jeans. “Now stop moping and go get ready,” she ordered. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

He smiled wryly. “And aren’t we bossy today?”

“I learned from the best,” she said proudly, thinking of Hermione in amusement.

Gareth merely arched his brows, then shook his head in silence. He would never understand the woman. “Get ready,” Ginny reminded him, then strode out into the living room, hearing the bedroom door shut firmly behind her. Only once she was sure that he was getting ready did she allow herself a sigh of relief.

When he emerged precisely ten minutes later, he was groomed and looked more presentable. He arched his eyebrows at her again. “Do I meet your standards, my lady?”

She scrutinized him, tilting her head slightly to one side. Then she winked at him, subtly teasing him after his emotional storm earlier. “You’ll do,” she said lightly, then turned on her heel to exit the little cottage. She hadn’t moved more than a foot before he caught her elbow gently. “One moment,” he murmured, and she turned to look at him, curious.

He seemed to wrinkle his nose slightly, a gesture incongruous with the rest of his character and mannerisms. Then, before her astonished eyes, his hair darkened from icy blond to the darkest black, and his eyes darkened to a warm chocolate brown. She blinked rapidly. “Gareth? What on earth?”

He opened his eyes, then smiled wryly at her. “My father was a Metamorphmagus. I got a little bit from him.”

“But I thought you couldn’t do magic!” She protested, still staring at him in fascination. The different coloring made him look like an entirely different person. Although she was often reminded of his resemblance to Draco, she could see no similarity between the two men now.

“Being a Metamorphmagus doesn’t require a wand, even being half-Meta. It’s something you’re born with, and born knowing how to do. It’s not magic like you do magic.”

She sputtered for a moment, staring up at him. His mouth curved wryly. “I do believe this is the first time that I’ve seen you speechless,” he said dryly. “It’s an interesting phenomenon.”

She scowled and slapped his shoulder lightly. “Beast,” she muttered. “So, can you change your whole appearance, like Tonks?”

“Who is Tonks?”

“Oops, sorry. She’s an Auror. Family friend. She’s a Metamorphmagus too.” And a member of the Order. But she didn’t reveal the last bit of information. No matter how much she liked Gareth, he wasn’t one of the Order. And that meant that Order members and business were none of his business. Although Voldemort had been defeated, the secrecy of the Order had been preserved. Voldemort’s followers were still out there.

He shook his head in response to her question. “No, I can’t change my whole appearance. I can just change my hair and eye color, and only to these shades. I only gained a little bit of my father’s gift.”

“Who was your father?” Ginny asked in blatant fascination. Metamorphmaguses were rare, and she might have heard of him.

He stiffened; obviously the topic was a sore one. “You wouldn’t know him,” he said stiffly, then said curtly, “Are you ready now?”

“Absolutely,” she murmured. She turned and exited the cottage with Gareth on her heels, who closed the door behind them.

A sudden thought made her turn in surprise. “If you can’t Apparate, then how to do you get around?”

“I usually drive a car,” he said dryly. “I don’t have magic, Virginia. I live like a Muggle most of the time.”

Ginny’s smile spread like a small sun. “Really? Oh, my father is going to love you.” When she only got Gareth’s blank look in return, she quickly explained, “My father loves anything to do with Muggles. I’ve recently started watching Muggle movies,” she said enthusiastically. “They’re wonderful! I don’t know why Wizard movies aren’t so interesting.”

“Because Muggles have taken all the good ideas,” Gareth said dryly, and made her laugh.

“You’re probably right,” she admitted. “Well then. We certainly can’t drive a car to Diagon Alley, but promise me that you’ll drive me later.”

“If you’d like,” Gareth murmured, watching her with sharp eyes.

She continued on, unaware of his close scrutiny. “Well then, I suppose that it’s possible to Apparate while holding onto another person.”

“I don’t think we should attempt to prove your theory right now,” he said hastily. “Maybe Floo powder would be a better option.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she allowed grudgingly. She started trudging back toward the Manor, Gareth in her wake as usual.

When they reached the Manor and Ginny stepped inside. she immediately knew that Draco was home. Not just because there were dirty dishes that she hadn’t used, but also because she felt his presence in the house. She bit her bottom lip, suddenly feeling her stomach flutter. She hadn’t seen Draco for days. He always looked impeccable, while she was usually mussed and flushed from being outside.

She felt Gareth’s warm presence at her back, but barely heeded it. She bit her lip, feeling the tug of emotion that wanted to lead her toward Draco’s office. She thought briefly about hiding it, about pushing it away as she had pushed herself away from him for a week now. She had lain in bed at nights, staring at the door that separated her room from his, and wondering if she would see the knob turn as he came to her. Wondering if he would put aside his differences with her and come to her. Feeling her body weep for the touch of his. She felt as if she were addicted, as if he had injected her with some drug that made her crave the feel of his hands on her. She had cried into her pillow, cursing her traitorous body again and again. Yet none of it had made the yearning cease. And the worst was knowing that he stayed away because she had set the ultimatum—she would not be his whore. Even as she cursed her body for its longing, she cursed her hasty tongue.

Barely aware that Gareth ghosted along in her wake, she trudged through the house toward Draco’s office, feeling her stomach knot with something that seemed to be a mix between fear and excitement. Surprisingly, Draco’s office door was open, as if he had pushed through the door and forgotten to close it behind him. She slid against the wall so that he wouldn’t see her, then stared at him where he was sitting at his desk, filling her gaze with him.

He was an absolutely gorgeous man, she thought with a sad sigh. It was too bad that he was such an arse. Her gaze swept greedily over him—over the strong shoulders, perfectly sculpted cheekbones and intent gray eyes and over the windswept blond hair. But what caught her attention was his mouth. She nearly trembled while remembering the feel of his mouth against hers. His mouth was sensual, erotic. She wanted nothing more than to trace it with her tongue, to feel it against hers again. To feel his mouth press against her heated body.

She swallowed hard and lowered her gaze to the floor, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. She was dimly aware that Gareth was hovering behind her, his sharp eyes on her face. She knew that she should feel ashamed of what she was thinking and feeling, but it was so hard. He was an obsession; a craving she couldn’t get out of her blood. And he didn’t want her. He had made that abundantly clear last week, as well as this week by never being at Malfoy Manor.

She sighed heavily and allowed herself one last look at him before she resolutely turned away from the door. She walked away from the office and down the hallway, forcing herself from thoughts of her husband. When she was at the opposite end of the hallway and where Draco wouldn’t hear her, she said quietly, “Come on. Let’s go into the parlor. That fireplace is connected to the Floo Network.”

“You haven’t slept with him, have you?” Gareth’s voice was soft, and she spun to face him in surprise.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked him frostily, her eyes narrowing. Despite that she enjoyed Gareth’s company, she hadn’t known him long enough to ask such a question.

Undeterred by her death glare, he repeated himself. She stared at him for a long moment then said icily, “My private life is none of your business, Gareth.”

“But mine is your business?” he countered her, his eyes glittered coolly.

“I want only to help you,” she said stiffly. “To be your friend. If that displeases you, then you should go back to your little cottage, because my personal life is not for your consumption.”

He stared at her in silence, then said coolly, “Very well, Lady Malfoy.” He made a grand, mocking gesture for her to precede him. She strode past him, her eyes glittering fiercely. Her problems were hers, dammit. She didn’t want Gareth prying into the mockery that was her marriage.

She strode into the parlor and grabbed a handful of Floo powder, then turned to face him, her body stiff with anger. “I assume that you know how to go by Floo?” she asked him coolly, and he eyed her for a moment.

“No,” he said curtly. “I never have.”

She didn’t allow herself to show her surprise. By Merlin, she was still mad at the pompous git. “Very well,” she snapped. “Grab a handful of Floo powder and step into the fireplace.” He obeyed her, his spine still stiff as a board. She had to admire his posture, and idly wondered if he’d had a nanny who had concentrated solely on posture. It would certainly explain it. “Then throw down the powder and say ‘Diagon Alley’. Make sure you say it very clearly.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he muttered. He took a deep breath, and he reminded her in that moment nothing so much as Harry when he had first traveled by Floo powder the summer before her first year at Hogwarts. Unexpectedly, the thought stung, and she winced. Hopefully he didn’t end up in Knockturn Alley as Harry had.

He threw down the powder and said loudly, “Diagon Alley!” Then he vanished in a puff of green smoke.

Ginny let out a breath of relief. He had sounded as if he said it right. She started to step toward the fireplace when a soft sound from the doorway made her spin.

She caught her breath in surprise when she saw Draco leaning against the door frame. She opened her mouth to make a scathing comment before he could when she realized that he almost looked—relaxed. She had never seen him this way before, and it made her close her mouth. He sauntered into the room and stood close to her. She caught her breath at his nearness, and tilted her head up to stare at him.

“Where are you going?” he whispered to her, his eyes moving leisurely over her face.

“Diagon Alley,” she told him breathlessly.

“Why?”

She hesitated, then blurted out, “To get Gareth a wand.” To his credit, his only answer was the tightening of his mouth.

He lowered his head toward hers, and she caught herself holding her breath as she stared up at him. He lowered his mouth to within an inch of hers, and her lashes slid closed as his fingertips whispered over her bare arms. She shifted impatiently as he didn’t touch her otherwise, and moved closer to his bigger body.

He brushed his mouth over hers, a whisper of a kiss. She unconsciously made a little pout with her lips, and felt his chest move with a silent chuckle. He kissed her again, just another tantalizing brush of lips that made her want to desperately throw him down onto a couch and ravish him. “Don’t forget me while you’re gone,” he breathed.

“I couldn’t,” she blurted out, then her eyes flashed open in horror. Did I really just say that? She wondered miserably. But seeing the satisfaction in Draco’s eyes, she concluded that she obviously had.

But all he said was “Good.” Then he slowly released her, the withdrawal of his fingers from her skin a kind of caress in itself. She stared up at him, her pupils widened and darkened with desire.

He moved away from her and toward the door, then paused on the threshold to turn and look at her. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and she saw his pulse hammering in his throat. Obviously she wasn’t the only one who had been affected. “Come back soon, ma chaton,” he whispered, giving her a slow wink. Then he walked out of the room.

She let out her breath in an explosive gasp, and realized that Gareth was probably wondering where she was. She glanced down at her hand and realized that her hand had gone slack, spilling Floo powder all over the carpet. She cursed, but it lacked real feeling. She felt energized and drained all at the same time. The man was an emotional roller coaster. One she wasn’t sure she wanted to ride. She blinked at her own mental pun, then laughed a little as she scraped up most of the Floo powder from the rug and went to the hearth.

Stepping inside, she smiled a little to herself. He had called her his kitten. Perhaps it was foolish to be taken in by a simple endearment, but it had made her heart do a slow roll of pleasure in her chest. And smiling to herself, she shouted, “Diagon Alley!” and threw down her Floo powder.

********

When she emerged a moment later in Diagon Alley, she was faced with an irate Gareth. “Where were you?” he snapped. “I’ve been waiting for you for five minutes.”

She bristled, but forced back the snappish comment. She had no desire to fight with one of her only friends over something so trivial. “I got caught up,” she said briefly, then glanced up at him. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. Pax?”

He stared down at her for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” he grumbled, and she flashed him a bright smile.

“Because you adore me,” she sang gaily, then tugged him out the front door. Gareth glanced around Diagon Alley, blinking rapidly. When Ginny saw his obvious shock, she stared up at him in surprise. “Have you never been to Diagon Alley at all?” she asked incredulously.

“You’re a bright one, Weasley.”

“Don’t huff,” she told him tartly, then grinned. “Well this is going to be a lot more fun than I imagined. I’ll have to give you the grand tour.”

He shot her a wary look. “Will I survive it?”

“Indubitably,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll make sure of it. First let’s go to Ollivanders. That’s why we’re here, after all.”

She led Gareth down the street, excitedly pointing things out to him while he did his best not to gawk like a child. Finally they came to a battered building with an equally battered sign that read Ollivanders in a scrawling, unruly script. Gareth hesitated at the doorway, but with a firm look, Ginny pulled him inside.

There was a mother and her child there already. Ginny held Gareth back with a gentle touch on his arm, and they hung back around the doorway. Gareth glanced around the dusty building that looked nothing more than a library with small wand boxes instead of books. He forced down another flare of nervousness, and felt the tension creeping between his shoulders and up his neck. Ginny glanced over at him, and could see his shoulders tightening up. A well of compassion shook her, and she smiled sadly to herself before she laid her hand very gently on his forearm. At once she felt his tension ease from his body, drained away from his muscles and into hers.

Gareth glanced down at her in mild surprise, but before he could speak a grizzled old man handed a slim wand to the boy ahead of them. “Go ahead,” he said gruffly to the boy. “Give it a swish.”

Obediently, the boy did so, and red sparks promptly shot out of the end of the wand. They richocheted off a mirror, and sped toward Gareth and Ginny. Gareth barely had time to blink before he was pulling Ginny down, and the sparks shot harmlessly over their heads. He straightened up with a snap, a snarl on his lips. Ginny could have been hurt by the stupid child! But Ginny wrapped her fingers around his larger wrist and stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Shush. Don’t get all huffy. It happens.”

“You could have been hurt,” he hissed at her.

She smiled crookedly at him. “Part and parcel,” she told him quietly, as she saw the boy blush hard. She offered him a reassuring smile, and the mother glanced over at her shoulder at her with a relieved look. A moment later her eyes widened as she recognized Ginny.

“Harry, stay with Mr.Ollivander,” she whispered to her son, then quickly moved the small distance that separated her from Ginny and Gareth. “You’re Ginny Malfoy, aren’t you?” she whispered excitedly as she neared Ginny.

Ginny blinked at her. “Yes,” she said slowly. “May I help you?”

The woman waved that away impatiently. “No, no. I’m just so surprised to see you! And without your husband, too! I saw the Daily Prophet, after all. Your husband is simply divine, Mrs.Malfoy. However do you stand to be married to such a gorgeous man?”

Despite herself, Ginny nearly bristled. It shouldn’t have mattered that the woman was all but drooling over Draco to Draco’s wife. It shouldn’t have mattered. And yet it did. It mattered a great deal. “I somehow manage,” she said frigidly, her eyes gone hard in a look that Draco had grudgingly learned to respect.

The woman looked taken aback, then a crimson blush crawled over her cheekbones. “Oh goodness! I’m so terribly sorry. How rude of me. I sincerely apologize, Mrs.Malfoy!”

Seeing that the woman was actually contrite, some of the ice thawed from Ginny’s expression. “No harm done,” she said mildly, although her voice still held the hint of a warning bite. Then she winked at the woman, just to show that there were no hard feelings. “Truth be told, it is rather a trial to have a husband that’s more beautiful than you.”

The woman giggled. “I don’t know about that one, Mrs.Malfoy. You’re rather beautiful yourself.”

Ginny blinked at her in response, then laughed outright. “Oh my. That’s definitely a new one.” When the woman only blinked at her in confusion, Ginny decided to let the issue drop. Obviously the woman didn’t have eyes. Ginny was the same freckled, red-haired Weasley she had been when she had first started Hogwarts. Granted, she had breasts and legs now and was significantly taller, but there wasn’t much difference.

Ginny shot a glance toward the woman’s son, who was miserably trying another wand. When she glanced up at Gareth, she saw that he was alternating between shifting his wary attention from mother to son. She had to suppress her smile. He obviously wasn’t sure who was the bigger threat. She turned her attention back to the woman. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Not at all,” the woman said hurriedly. “I’m Melissa Blackpole. An offshoot of the Finnigans, actually.”

Ginny’s eyes lit up brilliantly. “Are you really? Oh goodness! You’re related to Seamus?”

Melissa smiled back at her. “Why, yes. He’s my cousin. Are you friends with Seamus?”

Ginny smiled, her eyes softening magically. “I am indeed. He’s been a good friend to me.” Her smile went brighter. “I’m very pleased to meet you, then. Any family of Seamus’s is always welcome in my home, if you’ve a yen to visit me.”

Melissa blinked rapidly. “Malfoy Manor?” she stammered, and had Ginny’s brow creasing in confusion.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Of course. Why? Is there something wrong with Malfoy Manor?”

“Well—honestly—it’s just that….”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Yes?” she said slowly.

Melissa stammered for another moment before Gareth butted in and said flatly, “She’s afraid to go to Malfoy Manor, Virginia. It’s not the nicest place.”

“There is nothing wrong with the Manor!” Ginny protested in a knee-jerk reaction. “It’s a lovely house.”
“Oh, aye, the house is,” Gareth mumbled under his breath, and earned a hard elbow in the ribs from Ginny. He grunted softly and gave her a dirty glare before turning his wary gaze back to poor Harry, who still hadn’t found himself an appropriate wand. Mr.Ollivander was starting to look distinctly frazzled, and Harry looked on the verge of tears.

Ginny looked at Melissa, who also looked upset that she had already offended the new Lady Malfoy. Ginny bolstered her shields, then took Melissa’s hands. She felt the quick jolt that she always felt when touching someone unknown to her, but Melissa’s emotions didn’t swamp hers, due to her shields. “I promise you that Malfoy Manor is a lovely place,” she said firmly. “I’d like to invite you to dinner sometime.”

Melissa gnawed anxiously on her lip. “I suppose so,” she said slowly. Just then Harry called excitedly, “Mum! Mum! Look, I found my wand!”

With a brief apologetic look to Ginny, Melissa turned on her heel and hurried to her son to praise him. She paid Mr.Ollivander and thanked him profusely then hustled her son out the front door. She gave Ginny a quick look as she passed her, then she was gone. Ginny blinked, her mouth hanging open in shock. The woman had very nearly snubbed her!

She was drawn unceremoniously from her thoughts when Mr.Ollivander stepped up to them. “Well now, Miss Weasley,” he said briskly. “Broken another wand, have you? You Weasleys are the worst at such things.”

Ginny very nearly rolled her eyes. “No, sir. My wand actually isn’t broken. My friend needs to get a wand.”

Ollivander made a noncommittal sound and sized up Gareth with his eyes. “I don’t ever remember seeing you.”

“That’s because I’ve never been here before,” Gareth said coolly, and Ginny had the satisfaction of seeing the inscrutable Mr.Ollivander look surprised.

“Well then,” he mused. “That is a quandary.” He skimmed his gaze over Gareth one more time, then mumbled, “I think I might have something.” Then he vanished into the stacks.

Gareth let out a heavy breath, and even with her shields strong Ginny could feel his heart hammering. She laid her hand on his arm again to soothe. “Calm down,” she said softly. “You’re going to be wonderful. And you’re going to owe me a Galleon.”

“What for?” he asked, scowling down at her and momentarily distracted from his worrying, which had been her aim.

She grinned engagingly up at him. “I daresay that you’ll skip for me when we leave here. And then you’ll owe me a Galleon.”

“I do not skip,” he muttered mutinously, but was secretly pleased when he saw her smile flash again.

Before she could answer him, Mr.Ollivander returned, holding a slim black box. “Try this one,” he said briskly, opening the lid to reveal a slender wand of light cherry. Hesitantly, Gareth reached into the box and withdrew the wand, holding it awkwardly. “Come come,” Mr.Ollivander said impatiently. “Go on. Give it a swish.”

Gareth took an unsteady breath, then awkwardly obeyed. Nothing happened. Gareth’s face fell, and Ginny saw his crushed expression before he quickly hid it. But obviously Mr.Ollivander’s eyes were just as quick as Ginny’s. “No need to be disappointed, dear boy,” Mr.Ollivander said briskly. “Quite frankly, I prefer that reaction from the wands. Much better than poor Mr.Blackpole’s. I don’t fancy having to repair my shop every night.” He took the wand from Gareth and replaced it in its box, then vanished into the stacks again.

Gareth turned to face Ginny, a panicky look on his face. Ginny considered a mark of his trust in her that he let her see the emotion. “Ginny, I can’t do this.” His voice sounded strangled, and his eyes were wild. “I can’t.”

Ginny knew instinctively that a kind word would only make him angry. So she said firmly, “Yes you can, Gareth. Now sit tight. Mr.Ollivander will be back in a moment. It took me five wand tries to find mine. Or my original one, anyway. I’ve had a few of them since then.”

Gareth barely noticed her little speech. He had just taken a step toward the door when Mr.Ollivander was back, lips pursed in thought. “Here now,” Mr.Ollivander said quickly. “Try this one, Mr.McAvoy.”

Gareth stiffened, and Ginny blurted out, “What?”

Ollivander glanced between them, then glanced back at Gareth, who looked as if he would have liked to wring Mr.Ollivander’s scrawny neck. “You haven’t told her who you are?” Mr.Ollivander asked him, arching one eyebrow.

“No, I haven’t,” Gareth said coldly. He glanced over at Ginny, who looked surprised.

“McAvoy?” she mused. “That name sounds very familiar.”

“We’ll discuss it when we get home,” Gareth said shortly, and Ginny clamped her mouth shut obediently. A moment later she wondered at herself. She had taken his directive without protest. She considered making a fuss, then discarded the idea. If Gareth didn’t want to talk about his past here, that was his prerogative.

Ollivander offered the wand to Gareth, who took it irritably and swished it. A second later a stream of red and gold sparks shot out of the end in a shower of brilliance. Gareth nearly leaped back from it, then halted himself. Through the shower of sparks, Ginny smiled mistily as she saw his face alive with wonder and awe.

“Very interesting,” Mr.Ollivander mumbled. “A powerful wand, to be sure. Eleven inches, blackwood with a dragon heartstring. Very good at charms.”

“What does that mean?” Gareth asked uncertainly. He seemed to have forgotten his pique with Ollivander for the moment. He looked like a child for a moment, his face so unsure and the edges of a triumphant smile curling his lips.

“It means, Mr.McAvoy, that you have a very powerful wand,” Ollivander repeated. “A strong wand for a strong wizard.” He nodded, almost as if to himself. “We’ll see great things out of you, Mr.McAvoy.” Then he took the wand quickly from Gareth and put it back in his box, then wrapped it in brown paper. “Seven Galleons,” he said briskly, and before a dazed Gareth could move, Ginny had already paid him.

She shot Mr.Ollivander a grateful look, who merely smiled vaguely at her before she pulled an unresisting Gareth out of the store. “I have magic,” Gareth said blankly. “I never thought I did.”

“I did,” Ginny murmured, watching him. Seeing him so off balance and so happy made her heart warm. I could love you, she thought unexpectedly. She immediately shook away the thought. She did not love anyone. Loving was painful, and she wanted no part of it. She was much more comfortable with the lust that she felt for Draco. But seeing Gareth so happy and dazed made her happy. Maybe it would be all right to love him as a brother, Ginny mused. Like Harry. After all, she had gotten over her crush with Harry. Couldn’t she do the same with Gareth?

She tugged on his hand, and he followed her docilely. They hadn’t gotten more than a few feet before he was around in front of her. He seized her unexpectedly and twirled her and twirled her with an abandon that made her clutch at him. She let out a little shriek of surprise, which he only laughed joyfully at. Once he had twirled her around, he clutched her close, almost crushing her ribs. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Gods, thank you, Ginny.”

She felt tears sting her eyes. She was pressed against him, and she could feel his overwhelming gratitude and happiness as if it were her own. “You’re welcome,” she whispered against the muscle of his shoulder, and he squeezed her tighter for a moment, then released her and gently set her back on her feet.

She pushed her niggling concerns about his name away, then linked her arm through his. “Come on,” she said with a smile. “Let me show you around.”

He nodded eagerly, a child’s enthusiasm shining out of his normally unfathomable eyes. Now that he knew that he could do magic, he seemed almost as if some overwhelming care had been dropped from his shoulders. He eagerly tugged her down the street, and Ginny allowed herself one private smile before she started to tell him about Flourish and Blotts.

7. excerpt from Ch.7

I know it’s been a very long time since we’ve had an update, and I apologize. But there will be a chapter out by the end of November, so be watching for it! :D This is an excerpt from Chapter 7, and I hope you enjoy it until I get out the entirety of Chapter 7. :) And just as a heads up: I’ve also rearranged and grouped the chapters to match those at Schnoogle, so the reviews from the former chapters eight and nine are gone.

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Ginny slumped down in her chair and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Again,” she said firmly. “Swish and flick. You’re not attacking the feather with your wand, Gareth.”

He gave her a half-hearted glare before he eyed the feather narrowly. He raised his wand and twirled it, then pointed it dramatically at the feather before shouting, “Wingardium levio!”

The wand trembled for a moment, then exploded, leaving Gareth with a faceful of disintegrated feather. Ginny eyed the strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes again and plucked a piece of feather out of it; then she reached to the table beside her that was stacked with feathers, and gave another one to Gareth. He placed it on the table before him and regarded it warily before picking up his wand again.

He took a deep breath, but before he could shout out his incanation, Ginny stopped him. “Hold on a second, before we kill another feather. Why don’t I show you?”

“I know how to do it!” he snarled at her, and she snarled back at him.

“Well obviously not, because with the feathers that you’ve already blown up you could very well feather a naked chicken!”

He glowered at her before irritably shoving his wand into her hands. She rolled her eyes at the obstinacy of men, then primly pointed her wand at the feather. “Wingardium leviosa,” she said calmly, and the feather began to levitate, floating gently toward the ceiling.

She glanced over at Gareth, and saw he was glaring at the feather. She handed him back his wand. “Leviosa,” she stressed. “You’ve got the first part right. Try it again.”

He transferred his glare to her. “If I’d have known how much a pain in the arse you would be, I wouldn’t have even gone to Diagon Alley,” he mumbled, and she smacked him.

“Well you’re not exactly a treat either! Now do it!” She pointed imperiously at the feather, and Gareth pointed his wand at it, his eyes irritated. “Wingardium leviosa!”

A moment later, the feather trembled for a breath, then shot straight up at the ceiling and hovered there, bumping against it impatiently, as if it wanted to break through the whole ceiling. Gareth stared up at it, gaping, and then glanced at Ginny as if to say, Well, what now?

Ginny frowned. In first year Charms she had never seen anyone’s feather go absolutely ballistic as Gareth’s seemed to be doing. Was that because Gareth wasn’t an eleven-year old, or because something was wrong with his spell? Ginny nibbled anxiously on her lip, and when the feather started to zoom around the room, she pointed her wand at it and commanded, “Finite incantatum.” Immediately the feather stilled, then floated peacefully to the floor.

“Why did it do that?” Gareth asked, baffled, staring at his wand. “Is something wrong with my wand?”

“I don’t think so,” Ginny said slowly. “I think that you’re putting too much power into it.”

“What does that mean?” Gareth asked her cautiously, seating himself in a chair. They had chosen the less-used parlor for Gareth’s lessons, and Ginny was grateful they hadn’t chosen a room that was used more often. Charred feathers littered the floor, and she reminded herself to clean them up before they left. No sense in giving the house-elves more work than necessary.

Ginny seated herself in a chair opposite him, and mulled over the problem for a moment. “Well, this is what my Magical Theory professor told me: magic is like this great big well inside of you. It’s everywhere inside you—in your fingers, in your belly, your throat. When you use your wand and cast a spell, you’re pulling that magic from yourself. That’s why you get so tired when you’re in battle—not only because it’s physically draining running around, and emotionally draining to see your friends get hurt, but also because you’re sucking out your magic a little bit at a time.” She had to pause for a moment and bite her lip. She had felt that drain from battle—she had seen friends fall before her, had wept tears that slid through the dried blood on her face.

Viciously, Ginny shoved away those memories. They didn’t fit with her life now. The war had gone on for two years before Harry had killed Voldemort. Two years of desperation and pain. She didn’t want to think on them anymore. Involuntarily, her mind conjured up the image of Dean Thomas’s face, and Michael Corner’s. Michael’s death had probably had hit her the hardest. He had died protecting her. He had harbored a silly crush on her from Hogwarts, and when they had been faced with a Death Eater, he had taken a curse meant for her.

Ginny shuddered as a cool wind brushed over her skin. She hadn’t seen the ghosts of Malfoy Manor since she had first come here, but she felt their presence. Cool fingers on the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched, and yet not at the same time. If she went back to that battlefield, would she see those who had fallen? Would she see Michael, blood still leaking from his mouth, a dazed look in his eyes before the spark faded from them?