When You Return

Summary: After 10 years overseas, Ginevra Weasley has returned, to a world where everything and everybody has changed, including Draco Malfoy, though he hasn't changed much. But for Draco, Weasleys and success do not go together, at least, not on a Weasleys own accord.

When You Return

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Chapter One
-> Welcome Home

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It had all been an experience, yes, but this would be just one more experience - returning home, to her family, and to everyone she knew before this life.

'Of course I'm leaving!' Ginny said, breaking free of his grasp and continuing to pile shirt after shirt into her suitcase. 'My work here is done, and there's no further use for me here. I'll be flying straight to London tonight, and there is—'

'Gin honey, please!'

'Nothing you can do to stop me.' she finished sharply, giving him quite an icy glare as she passed him to take her several bottles of perfume off the dresser table.

'Well what am I going to do?'

'What do you mean, what are you going to do?' Ginny questioned irritably, placing the perfume bottles quite firmly in the suitcase, then sweeping a pair of dark green robes off the white quilted bed, and putting that in the suitcase too. 'Just go on as you were before I came here!'

'Honey, I can't go on here without you. I thought I meant something to you.' Magnus said, walking closer towards the bed and then sitting down beside the suitcase. Ginny avoided his eyes, still packing her robes into her suitcase firmly.

'You were absolutely fine last night, with... with Signe Bergman!' Ginny snapped, snatching her necklace out of his hand and throwing it upon a pair of black winter robes. 'And don't even begin leaking out the excuses, Magnus, because I saw you! Of course I saw you, seeing that it's... it's all over the front page of the newspaper!'

'It wasn't me, Gin! I swear, it was her!' Magnus exclaimed, his blue eyes following her own soft brown ones, desperate for her to look back at him.

'Oh so she just squeezed in between you and your broomstick, did she?' Ginny proclaimed sarcastically, looking ahead at the wall in front of her. 'Likely story, Magnus. Who else have you had under your bed cover?'

'Gin, nothing happened between us! I'm telling the truth. I'd never lie to you, honey! Honey, come here.''

Ginny snorted, laughing shortly as she fastened the zip to her suitcase. 'It's okay, Magnus. I've had a lot of time to prepare for this. Me and Sweden's most famous Quidditch chaser! Mrs. Magnus Christensen! Ha! Yeah right.'

'Come on Gin, just stay a little bit longer, and I'll make it up to you, somehow!' Magnus pleaded, now grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer. 'I really do love you. All men make mistakes! You told me that yourself!'

'Yes, Magnus, but some make too many.' Ginny said, sliding her wrist from his grasp and taking her suitcase to the door. 'My boss offered me a place back in London a year ago, and I declined, to stay with my oh so beloved, oh so loyal fiancee!'

'But I am loyal!'

'You can have this back, dearest.' She slid her engagement ring off her finger, and thrust it into his hand. 'I think I've been leaving the taxi waiting.'

'Gin, you're being stupid!' Magnus shouted angrily after her, following her as she stormed out of the house. He stood outside the door, the ring clenched in his left fist, as she made her way down the entrance steps, her red high heeled shoes clicking against each step.

'Goodbye, Mr. Christensen.' she called sardonically, as the taxi driver took her suitcase, and opened the door for her.

'You'll come back!'

But the door was already closed, and the door was already shut; the taxi driver climbing into the front seat. He looked back at her, smiled somewhat sympathetically, then started up the car.

She opened up her handbag and pulled out the magazine Magnus had been so reluctant to let her read that morning. He had placed it in the cutlery draw in the kitchen - a stupid place to hide it. It was in Swedish, but Ginny had lived here long enough to understand it. Aktiv, Sweden's most popular Quidditch magazine.

She skimmed through the advertisements on the front page - an advertisement for a watch which told you were the snitch was. Well, that would be useful, if you were allowed to wear watches in a Quidditch game. And then she found it, on the page right after the contents. She read through it, translating it in her head as she went.

World phenomenon Quidditch chaser, Magnus Christensen, seems to have a more intimate relationship with seeker Signe Bergman than expected. It was not until last night that fans' suspicions were confirmed, after the hot, handsome, 26-year-old chaser was seen cornering Bergman between his top of the range Isolt broomstick, Sweden's fastest broomstick since 1998, and publicly displaying his affection for the 21-year-old seeker.

She read on, through the exaggerated story of Magnus' Quidditch abilities, and Signe Bergman's apparent secret love for Magnus, which she had kept disclosed to the public for the past three years. And then she saw her name. She knew she'd have to be mentioned in there somewhere.

The subject of 78% of Swedish witches' desires, Magnus Christensen, fell in love with Ginevra Weasley, from England three years ago. Better known as Ginny, or Gin, to her fiancee, Ginevra came to Stockholm three years ago as an auror, to help in the defence against dark wizards and witches in Sweden. A year later, Magnus announced their engagement, and they have been living together happily for the last two years. 'The day after Magnus met her, he came to Quidditch practice and said he was sure he now knew what true love was', says team mate, Axel Hall. But Signe now says that 'Magnus was never in love with her. It was just something he forced himself to do. Magnus and I have always had feelings for each other, and it broke both of our hearts to know we couldn't be together.'

Ginny scowled at the picture of Signe Bergman. She was poking her tongue out at Ginny, leaning back and laughing. Below was a picture of Ginny and Magnus, Magnus' arms wrapped around her waist. A tear splashed onto the photograph, before she shut it and stuffed it back into her bag.

---

'We really should cover up that fire place. Nobody travels by Floo powder anymore. It is quite out of date.' Narcissa said distastefully. 'It was such a horrid way of traveling anyway. People always came out the other end looking like they hadn't washed for a week. Your father and I never traveled by Floo powder.'

'And I have never traveled by Floo powder either, Mother. I think the existence of it was quite for the use of those such scum as the Weasleys.'

'Yes but I do remember how Mr. Zambini would always turn up by Floo powder. It was rather off-putting. And you would always want to go to his house the same way.'

'Naturally, I would have been curious.'

'Yes, but we soon rubbed that out of you. Now when is Pansy arriving?'

'She should be soon. Her mother has found a photo album from school, and she thinks it might interest you.'

'Yes, her mother and I had quite a nice time at school. I fell in love with Lucius at first sight.'

'As I have heard.' Draco said roughly, before she could continue. It was, however, unnecessary, for at that moment appeared two women, one plump with curly blonde hair, her face smeared with so much makeup that her eyes looked rather small, and a thinner, younger girl, with longer, less curly blonde hair, a rather stuck up nose. She was not slim, but of a full build. However next to her mother she looked a decent amount slimmer.

Draco took her hand and pressed it to her lips. It was no scarce knowledge of Pansy's infatuation for him, however he failed to return her feelings for him, as much as he tried. It was not by his means that they were engaged, but his parents, and her parents. It was something which had been ordered quite forcefully of him, just like most of the other happenings in his life.

'Draco, darling, I was walking with Mother down Diagon Alley, and I found the most beautiful wedding dress. You will come back there and buy it for me, of course, won't you?' she asked in her high-pitched, squealing voice.

'Yes, I suppose I will have to.'

'I should have been very displeased if you had not. But you so usually forget to offer to take me places that I thought I better ask it of you myself.' she said, playing with her diamond engagement ring, which was stuck quite firmly on her chubby finger.

Draco avoided her eyes at this moment, for she was quite incorrect to say he forgot to ask her out to places. It was rather the fact that he avoided it, for he would much rather spend the little time he had before their wedding in liberation of his clingy fiancee. 'I would not want to displease you.' he said instead.

'I know you wouldn't!' she said chirpily.

'Draco, come over here and have a look at this picture of your father.' Narcissa said, her consistent drone ringing through her voice still, though she was smiling and holding out the photo album for him to see. He peered over her at the photograph. It was of his father, smirking at the camera, his silver blonde hair hanging over his shoulders, and his arm curled around his mother's tiny waist. She was half cut out of the picture, every now and again standing on the tip of her toes so that people would see her face. 'Isn't he such a spunk?'

'What do you expect me to say?' Draco asked irritably. 'I am neither female nor gay, Mother. And even if I was to be his daughter, I would not be saying the same thing.'

'Temper, Draco, temper. Don't go unleashing your anger when you have guests over.' She said somewhat teasingly. As he left the room, he heard Narcissa say quietly to Mrs. Parkinson. 'Excuse him, he's been so delicate since his father died. Oh I miss him so much, Georgina!'

Draco didn't miss him. He was, in fact, happier now that he was dead, and gone. It had taken a long time for him to grow out of his admiration for his father. When he was younger, he used to want to be just like his father was and do everything that his father did. Now, he would rather die than live under the identification as 'Lucius' son'.

'Draco, where are you going?' Pansy asked, grasping onto his hand and following him.

'For a walk.'

'I'll come.'

'I want to go alone, Miss Parkinson.'

'Draco we're about to get married and you still don't call me by my first name!'

'I would like to go alone.'

He pulled his hand from hers, quite easily, for she was not strong, and left her at the bottom of the staircase, not looking back at her until he had reached the top. He only saw her back as she disappeared back into the living room. He would not go for a walk, and instead, went into his room, closing the door behind him and turning the key from the inside.

His mother had always treated him like a little boy. For a short while, when he was ten years old, he thought that maybe if she had another child, then she would treat him more grown up, and treat the new child like a baby, just like he thought all mothers were supposed to. By the time he was thirteen, he knew his mother would not have another child. It was just him, Draco, and it always would be.

It was snowing, and there was just one month left before it were Christmas. The grounds of Malfoy Manor were covered in a thick layer of snow. When he was younger, he used to want to roll around in it, and build snowmen, like Blaise Zambini did at school. He had always asked Draco to join in, but he didn't want to, because he didn't know how to build a snowman, because his parents wouldn't let him play in the snow.

From his room he could just see the empty road past the lawns in front of his house. He'd never understood why the lawns were covered in bright and colourful flower beds, because his mother did not like flowers, and his father did whatever Narcissa wanted. Now he knew it was all to look good, and to match their position in society. It was dark now, and the snow looked grey. Draco preferred the snow during the day, when it was white.

He left the window and made his way across to his bed. His room was large, furnished green on the most part. He leant back, his gaze settling above him, where all he could see were the velvet bed hangings.

---

Ginny was to stay at the Leaky Cauldron that night. She hadn't talked to her family for years now, except for the occasional letter from her mother, which she was always late to reply. She knew a lot had changed in the last ten years she'd been overseas. For one thing, she had a great deal of unacquainted family members, but she could never remember their names from her mother's letters.

'Ginny Weasley?' the bald, toothless man who answered the door seemed to much in awe to stand aside to let her enter.

'Yes, it is. How are you, Tom? It has been ages since I last saw you!'

'Yes, why, what a surprise! Come in, Miss Ginny Weasley. But I guess you're married now!'

'No, I'm not married.' she said, smiling forlornly. Tom seemed to find this funny, for he laughed, and slammed his fist down squarely on the bar counter.

'Surely you are married! Well, if not, I'm sure you will be some time soon. I guess you'd be surprised to see me still around. Thought I'd be dead, wouldn't you have?'

Not wanting to say that she had, in fact, assumed he had by now passed away, she told him that the Leaky Cauldron was not imaginable without him as the landlord.

'Thank you, Miss Ginny. Now, I'm quite busy right now, so if I give you a key you'd be able to find your room alright wouldn't you?' Tom asked, having now walked around to the other side of the counter and was rummaging through a box of keys. 'You'd know your way around here by now, unless you've forgotten.'

'No, that's okay, Tom. I'll find my own way up, thanks.' He handed her a key, reading the number 13, bid her good night, and she made her way up the stairway to the rooms above.

The Leaky Cauldron had always been rather damp and gloomy, but it wasn't something you noticed when you were with friends and family members. Now she noticed it. It wasn't so much a lack of cleanliness, but something which hung over the building. Maybe it was the colours. Everything was painted black, or was dully coloured.

Thinking that it was too early to go to sleep now, at 8:30, she put her suitcase inside the room, which hadn't yet been made up, took off her black coat and her dress, which was of Muggle-make. She couldn't go waltzing into an airport dressed in her robes. Muggles seemed to find anything at least a bit suspicious about you and use it against you, so that you couldn't fly.

Taking a simple pair of black robes from her suitcase, she made her way to the bathroom, slipping her legs through first and lifting it to cover her chest, then slipping her arms through the sleeves. They were tight fitting robes, showing off every accentuated curve of her figure. After brushing her auburn red hair again, she went back downstairs.

The Leaky Cauldron was quite empty, but it usually was at this time. Give or take another half an hour and the place would be full. Two wizards were sitting at a table in the corner with a gaunt blonde witch, who was smoking a pipe and tossing a galleon in the air with her other hand. Each wizard was holding cards in their hands, every now and again glaring at each other over the top.

Ginny seated herself down at an empty table, and waited, occupying herself by watching Tom's barn owl preen itself on the window sill across the bill. She ordered a butterbeer from Tom when he next passed, and waited for more people to enter, hopefully a more friendly looking group of people than the three individuals sitting in the corner.

It was only fifteen minutes later when the door swung open, and a tall, thin man, with dirty blonde hair came in, wearing black robes. He made his way over to the counter, where Tom was standing, writing something down with a quill, which had a broken feather. Ginny couldn't help overhearing their conversation.

'Mr. Tom, I was wondering if I could come in tomorrow instead of Saturday to take the photographs.' the man said, pulling up a chair, taking a camera out of his pocket and placing it on the counter.

'Oh, yeah, sure. That's alright with me. Just come after seven, because I have an old friend coming to visit me at six.' Tom said, looking up at the man.

'Sounds good to me, Mr. Tom. Would I be able to book a room for tomorrow night too? Then I can take some pictures in the morning.'

'Yes, Mr. Creevey. That can be organized.'

Ginny leant to the side, trying to get a better view of Mr. Creevey's face. If that was Colin, he had definitely changed since she'd last seen him. Maybe it was his younger brother. No, it can't have been, because he was never as interested in photography, and Colin had always wanted to take up a career in that area.

Mr. Creevey continued to fidget with his camera, and after a while, Ginny stood up and walked over to him. 'Colin?'

'Y-yes?' he turned around, and then grinned rather like he always had, nodding his head twice. 'Ginny? Is that really you?'

'Yes! It's been years, Colin! How are you?'

'I'm g-good, Ginny! And how are you? I haven't spoken to you for ages. Seen you, of course. I've seen you in magazines. I guess you'd be married now, G-Ginny? Married to that Quidditch chaser?'

'No.' Ginny laughed, sitting down next to Colin, who glanced down at her feet rather nervously before looking back up at her. 'We broke up last night. He seemed to have affections for one of his team mates.'

'I'm s-sorry to hear that, Ginny.' he said quickly, his gaze averting back to his camera before dashing back to her face. He was acting rather awkwardly, she thought. He had always had a slight stutter, but he seemed nervous, and looked as if at any second, he would dash out of the Leaky Cauldron.

'Don't be sorry. So, how's life for you now? Are you a photographer, now?'

'Yes, I am. I'm a photographer for the Daily Prophet.' he said, grinning embarrassedly, and looking back at his camera. 'I'm doing quite well, if I may say so myself. I-I...' he cut off, scratching his chin awkwardly. 'I-I'm getting a lot of money. I n-never thought I would.'

'Congratulations!' Ginny said, smiling at him, her head slightly tilted to the side. 'Well, you were always good, and if it's the Daily Prophet you're working for, then I'm sure your paycheck is quite heavy! So are you married yet?' She asked, seeing it seemed to be what everyone was interested in, or maybe it was only if the person in question had been engaged to a famous Quidditch player.

'N-no.' Colin said, blushing profusely. 'The right person hasn't come along yet, I suppose.'

'I know what you mean.' Ginny said, frowning at the thought of Magnus. She wondered what he was doing now. Had he gone to see Signe as soon as she had left?

'Y-you're an auror now, aren't you?'

'Yes, seems to be the perfect job. Lots of money, and I only have to do something about once every three months!' she laughed, pushing forward her empty butterbeer bottle and leaning back slightly.

'But d-don't you get bored?'

'No. There's lots to do when I'm overseas.'

'I g-guess there is.'

Not being able to find anything else to say, Ginny stood up and sighed. 'Well, Colin, I'd better go back up to my room now. I'm pretty tired from the flight back. I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast.'

'Y-yes, I hope so.' he said.

'Good night.'

'Good night, G-Ginny.' he said, and she walked behind him and began to walk towards the stairs. 'G-Ginny.' she stopped, and turned around, one hand on the stair railing. 'B-by the w-way, y-you... you look very pretty tonight.' he added quickly.

'Thanks!' she smiled, turned back around, and went back to her room.

---

Pansy had come knocking on Draco's door ten minutes ago. He had at first pretended to be asleep, but when she unlocked the door with her wand, and shook him, he could no longer ignore her.

'Draco, is there something wrong?' she asked, her high-pitched voice softer than usual.

'No, Ms. Parkinson.'

'I feel that to get married, and live happily, you have to share a deep love, that each person returns.' Pansy said, taking his hand in her own. 'My parents weren't deeply in love, and they haven't been happy for their whole lives. I even sometimes think that Mother is happier now that Father is dead.'

'I wish my mother was the same.' Draco said, his eyes still closed. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to open his eyes. He wanted to stay in the world behind his eyelids, where his mother, and the memories of his father, did not disturb him.

'At least they loved each other.' Pansy said, and she took his other hand in her's. 'My parents found each other completely intolerable.'

'All that was between my mother and father, Ms. Parkinson, was lust.' he said.

'Draco!' she cried, releasing his hands and clutching his face. 'Just call me Pansy, please!'

'Please let go. I would hate to go to breakfast in the morning with nail marks down my face.'

'Lust is a product of love.'

'Love can exist without lust.' Draco said, as Pansy's hands softened at the sides of his face. She began to massage his neck, her long fingernails scratching softly against his skin.

'But it is not a love worth living for!'

'That opinion depends entirely on a person.' he said, lifting his back up by his shoulder blades in comfort as her fingers edged further down his back.

'But we share the same opinions, darling!'

'What kind of love would that be?'

'Our love!' she exclaimed, kissing him on the neck thrice, her fingers still massaging his neck.

'I would hate to think so.' he said. He still had not opened his eyes, for he did not want to. He did not want to look at his fiancee, because she was just another piece of his bad memories.

'But Draco, there is no love between us!' Pansy stated, speaking more quietly than before.

'Then create love between us, if that is what you so truly desire.'

She felt her hands carefully unbutton his robes and slide behind his neck, beginning to untie the black threaded lace behind his neck. The coldness of the room bit into his bare skin as she pulled the top half of his robes down, sliding her spread palms up his chest and onto his shoulders. Reluctantly he sat up, opening his eyes halfway, and her lips slammed onto his, as he began to unlace her pale pink robes.

He knew she would take what he said the wrong way.

Disclaimer: I disclaim... It all belongs to JK Rowling, except for my plot.

A/N: I should have explained this in the first chapter, instead of leaving it to the second, because it was of course going to cause confusion. I'm not sure if I'll end up putting it in this chapter (for I haven't started), or it will be said later, or if I say it at all, so I'll explain this right now, here. Ginny is 27, or 28. I probably should, but I can't be bothered, counting it. Magnus was two years younger than her, she came to Sweden three years ago, but she's been overseas in other countries since she graduated from Hogwarts. I hope that helps :)

When You Return

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Chapter One
-> Belated Apologies

---

Ginny had never been to wake up early. She would have to had been shook at least five times before she even began to open her eyes, and usually it was so that she could bash whoever was disturbing her with her pillow. But this morning she woke up early, and though she buried her face in her quilt, and tried to resume sleeping for half an hour, she could not get back to sleep, and left her bed, dragging her bare feet across the room to the bathroom.

In Sweden, her bathroom had been, she could describe it as this now, luxurious. After having awoken to a welcoming, scented, bubble bath, big enough to spread out her whole body, the rusting shower in the corner of this bathroom was not at all pleasant to her eyes.

Maybe she had gone to sleep too early the night before. She didn't particularly like the idea of her having broken her sleeping pattern, because the more sleeping hours she got, the better. But she had become so uncomfortable talking to Colin, who spoke to her in a way which suggested she were Lord Voldemort, reincarnated.

Her red hair had grown long - halfway down her back. When she was younger she never let it grow longer than an inch below her shoulders, or rather, her mother didn't. She was very consistent with cutting all her childrens' hair when it grew a fraction too long for her liking. Which reminded her, that she needed to contact her mother as soon as was possible, for she would be most displeased if Ginny hadn't notified her of her return.

She should have sent an owl before she'd left Sweden. But she didn't own one, and there would have been no way she would use Magnus' owl, even if her mother did find it ravishingly beautiful. Thinking about how irritable Magnus' owl had been everytime she had wanted to send a letter, she leant over and turned the shower taps. Not much water came out at once, and it took at least five minutes to warm up enough for Ginny to even consider stepping inside, but after undressing, she took her shower.

---

Draco had been halfway through his breakfast when Blaise Zabini had apparated into his dining room, causing him to drop the scone he was halfway through eating on the lap of one of the three new pairs of robes he had purchased two days ago. Blaise ignored his cursing, and cut straight to his explanation of why he had dropped in so early.

'Women are impossible to keep happy!' he said, pulling out a seat next to Draco and sitting down. His robes were messily stitched at the collar, with different coloured thread, so that Draco had a hard time preventing himself from pointing it out. 'One second they're whispering I love you in your ear, and the next, they're storming out the door in a rage!'

'When they wake up and realize who they had sex with when they were drunk the night before.'

'Exac-- Listen here, Mr. I-Have-A-Wand-Up-My-Aristocratic-Arse Malfoy! Just because I'm not slipping galleons in their bras before I take them home does, in no way, mean that they are... any less... interested in me!'

'At least the wand up my arse is worth more than a galleon.' Draco said, smirking, for his friend was not, and had never been rich. You could say he was more a member of the working class, though he had always had the ambition of becoming rich and well-known.

Blaise ignored Draco's last comment, and buried his face in his hands. 'She just left. She threw my comic books against the wall and told me I was a liar.'

'Well, that's what you bloody well are.'

'Look, mate, you're not helping.' Blaise said, scowling angrily at Draco, who had finished his last scone and pushed his plate forward. Blaise covered his eyes again, and muffled, so that Draco could hardly make out what he was saying, 'She said I'd told her I was an auror, and that I had a lot of money. But I don't remember that!'

Draco didn't bother asking Blaise who 'she' was, because then he'd have to spend the next twenty minutes listening to Blaise describe the way her hair hung over her shoulders, and how her lips curved when she smiled. He didn't offer any advice, either, because he knew that the next Friday night, Blaise would be whining over a new woman.

'But I'm going to get her back!' Blaise said determinedly, clenching one fist. Now that was something Draco hadn't heard before. Usually, Blaise would give up trying to get advice of Draco, and resolve to the drawing room, where he would take some of Lucius' old firewhiskey, and spend the rest of the day muttering to himself about how his comics were ten times better than Amadeus Girtrod's.

Draco didn't know what he was supposed to say to this, so instead, he laughed, taking his wand from his pocket and levitating the Daily Prophet towards him from the other side of the room. He opened it up, so that he couldn't see Blaise, and began to read the page he had opened up on. Halfway through, he decided he was not interested in the common allergic reactions to Floo powder, and turned to the next page, which did happen to interest him.

Magnus Christensen, world-famous Quidditch player, and model for Gretel's Quidditch gear, has broken up with two year fiancee Ginevra Weasley. Magnus met the red-headed auror three years ago in Sweden, and has thereafter been described as 'lovestruck'. But it seems Magnus was more lovestruck by team mate Signe Bergman, as his affections were clearly publicised last week at Stockholm's Quidditch stadium.

But after Ms. Weasley called off their engagement and left immediately to England, it seemed Magnus has given Bergman the cold shoulder, and is much more interested in getting his ex-fiancee back. 'I don't know why he cares so much about her,' says Bergman, Seeker for the Svensk Snidgets, aged 21. 'She's got nothing going for her.'

And below was a picture of Christensen on his broomstick, flying past the stands in triumph, waving one clenched fist in the air, and holding a bunch of flowers in the other, which he handed to a red-headed woman in the top stand, before zooming back down to fly past his cheering audience.

Draco, speechless, shoved the newspaper towards Blaise, pointing toward the article.

Blaise replaced his elbow, and his inquisitive brown eyes landed on the picture. He nodded, eyeing Draco, as Christensen handed Ginny a second bunch of flowers. 'Not bad! She's a fine good-looker!'

'It's her!' Draco said irritably, poking the picture aggressively. 'That rud--'

'You know her?' Blaise asked in awe. 'You should introduce her to me sometime.'

'No, you bloody moron!' Draco said angrily, his fist clenched at the corner of the newspaper. 'It's that ruddy Weasley girl!'

Blaise pressed his nose to the paper, his brows knotted in concentration. 'It is too! Fancy that!'

'And you were suggesting being introduced to her.' Draco said disgustedly. 'A Weasley.Well I agree with this Bergman woman. She has nothing going for her - she's from a family of peasants.'

Blaise, who seemed to have taken offence by this comment, having been the son of two people who were, in fact, paupers. 'Well, if she's an auror, she won't be too bad off now.'

'True. And she's got no kids.' Draco said, though still wearing a disgusted expression upon his sharply articulated face. 'But the only thing going for her is that she can marry off her surname.'

---

Ginny had finished breakfast, sitting opposite to Colin, who had surprisingly not stuttered once, and seemed very capable of a fluent conversation. She had come to the conclusion that Colin must have been surprised to see her the previous night, and he had now gotten used to her presence.

'Where are you off today?' Ginny asked, as a pretty blonde woman took their plates.

'Back home to develop these photos.' Colin said. He had a professional air about him, like an executive businessman. Except he didn't wear black business robes, but instead wore light, dusty brown robes, which Ginny thought suited him quite nicely. 'What about yourself? I suppose you have a lot of people to catch up with.'

'Mostly family members.' she said, smiling. 'As you would understand. I'm sure I wouldn't be able to count all my family members by now, even if I knew them all.'

'Yes, well I see a few of them sometimes.' Colin said. 'Luna brings three of them into work sometimes. She works with me, in case you didn't know. She's a journalist - she writes the stories, I take the pictures.' he laughed, but Ginny was frowning.

'Luna?'

'Well she and Ron are married, now Gi--'

'Ron's married?' Ginny's hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes had widened; her eyes peering up at him curiously and fearfully.

'For seven and a half years. I went to the wedding myself, actually.' Colin said thoughtfully. 'Luna tripped over her robes, and dropped the ring, and dropped her champagne glass over your brother's lap at the reception party.'

Ginny, whose guilt had overcome her too much to keep listening, stood up abruptly. The thought of Colin having been at Ron's wedding, yet not her, was tearing at her, pulling out anything possible in her memories which she had to regret. 'I'm sorry, Colin, but I need to go now.'

---

Ron was feeding his one-year-old son, Lancelot, his lunch. 'I don't know why the ruddy hell she called you Lancelot.' he muttered, giving him another spoonful of the unpleasant tasting, smelling, and looking baby food. 'When you're older - old enough to know that your name is a bloody joke, I just want you to know, mate, that I had nothing to do with naming--'

But he was stopped in mid-sentence, for someone had just apparated in the middle of the kitchen, which startled him, causing him to drop the spoon down the baby's front.

'Ron! I am so sorry I missed your wedding!' Ginny cried, throwing her arms around his neck, and then letting go, staring at him desperately. 'Congratulations on everything, and who's-- oh, Ron! He's adorable!'

'Apologies a bit overdue.' Ron said grumpily, and Ginny's insides tore, for it did not look like Ron was ready to forgive her just yet, if he ever planned on doing so. 'If you hadn't gone off and done a Percy, maybe you would have been there.'

'I'm nothing like Per--' but she stopped. Maybe she had done just what Percy had done thirteen years before. He had abandoned the family, refusing to have anything to do with them. And she had done that too. A tear slipped down her flushed cheek, and she wiped it away. 'I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to just leave. I got caught up in everything. In being a mediwitch, and in becoming an auror...'

Ron didn't say anything. She could see his bottom lip trembling, and at one stage he opened his mouth to say something, then shut it just as quickly, clumsily giving his son another spoonful of the gruesome baby food, after having wiped the spoon down the front of his robes.

'What's his name?' Ginny asked, desperate to start another conversation less dynamic.

'Lancelot.' he said stiffly, as a dribble of the green food slid down Lancelot's chin. He peered over at Ginny, who had bent down to wipe the baby's face, but had stopped and screwed up her nose. She raised one mock eyebrow.

'Lancelot?' she asked in disbelief, a teasing smile playing along her thin lips.

'I didn't name him.' he said grumpily. 'Luna did. She said she always wanted a son called... Lancelot.' He looked at the chubby boy, who had a thin layer of red hair on his head. 'I doubt Sir Lancelot had red hair. That's who she named him after.'

'How's work for you then?' Ginny asked, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down, wanting to change the subject before she got her moody brother into ranting over the namesake of his son.

'Me and Parvati get all the reports from paranoid lunatics who think there are dark wizards after them.' said Ron gruffly, putting the lid back onto the jar of baby food and levitating it across the room and into the cupboard. 'When I'm not slowly explaining to them that there are no dark wizard after them, I get to sit in my office filling out forms for more lunatics stuck in Azkaban while listening to ruddy Parvati discussing what the stars are telling her.'

'Parvati's an auror?' Ginny asked, surprised, for Parvati had never seemed to her the type to become an auror.

'Oh yeah. Surprisingly, she can be quite the serious type.' Ron said. 'But that's not often. She's only serious when she's barking at me to be more considerate of my customers.'

'Which you should be!' came a stern voice from the other side of the door. Molly Weasley entered the kitchen, a wand in one hand and a broom in the other. 'Ginny! Oh my, Ginny! What are you doing here?' And before Ginny could say anything, her mother had thrown her daughter into a suffocating hug. She let go, fanning her face with her wand-hand.

'I came back home.' Ginny said simply, smiling cautiously, for she did not know whether her mother would throw her into an hour long lecture on family values or think no more about it, and ask her what she wanted for lunch.

'See Ron, I told you she would come back!' Molly said, still fanning her face rapidly, her cheeks flushed. She let out a sigh and held her arms back out, tears welling up in her eyes. 'Oh, Ginny darling, come here!'

When You Return

---

Chapter Three
-> Success and Money

---

Ginny yawned, rubbing her palms together for warmth, as she sat in front of the living room fire in the Burrow, her knees bent. She wore a bright orange sweater several sizes too big for her. Across the front read Chudley Canons. It clashed horribly with her hair, and she promised herself never to go along to a Quidditch game with Ron if this is what he was going to wear.

Ron's three older sons, Harry, Jake and Matthew, sat at the foot of the sofa, each of them in their pajamas, watching their mother perform a story, using the living room floor as a stage. After introducing the characters as the heir to the throne, Harry, the brave knight Sir Jake, and the subject of every girl's love interest, Matthew, she had moved onto the storyline, with Ron grunting smarmy comments, Arthur chuckling at Matthew's facial expressions, and Molly balancing Lancelot on her knee.

'But the royal Weasley family was cursed!'

'Yeah, the red-haired, freckled curse which forbids you to have daughters.' Ron grunted, frowning.

'Ronald, be quiet, you're ruining the story!'

And so on went Luna, waving her arms around frantically as she acted out their story. Though the three older boys remained interested throughout, by the time it was finished, Ron was slumped back in his chair snoring, Lancelot was fast asleep, dribbling down the front of Molly's robes, and Arthur was fiddling with one of his plugs, Molly scowling at him through the corners of her inquisitive brown eyes.

'Off to bed now, you three.' Luna said, whisking them away with her hand. They ran off upstairs, Jake threatening to kill them all with his meter-long jeweled sword. She slapped Ron's hand, and snapped fussily, 'You, wake up!' He muffled something submissively and sat up, his eyelids sagging as he stared ahead at the fire.

'Ronald, you'll need to take Harry to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy him some Quidditch robes, as you promised him.' Luna said, opening her eyes wide and glaring at him, as if she weren't too happy with the promise he had made to his son.

'I have work tomorrow.' Ron said through a yawn he had failed to stifle.

'You'll have to take an hour off work then. I can't take him!'

'Don't have time.'

'Ronald!' Luna cried impetuously. Arthur left the room, humming, and Ginny heard his footsteps increase in speed when he was out of sight.

'Luna, I can take him.' Ginny offered. Luna rounded on her, still glaring, making Ginny flinch. Then she smiled, her eyes flickering back to their normal dazed selves. 'I don't have anything to do here anyway. Work hasn't started yet, and--'

'That would be lovely of you, Ginny. Thank you so much.' Luna said, turning her head to face Ron and passing him another glare. 'I'm sure Harry would love the opportunity to get to know his aunt better.'

---

Draco sat at the head of the dining table, two pieces of toast and an egg in front of him, opening one envelope after the next. Each one he threw aside in a disgruntled fashion, then ripped open the next one. To the left were the letters he seemed to not want to deal with at the moment, and to the right was a neat pile of letters addressed to his mother.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

On the 20th of December, there will be a formal dinner held to celebrate the beginning of this year's Quidditch World Cup - the first in fourteen years. Until now, it has been argued about the safety in the World Cup being resumed, and after ten year's debate, it is felt that it it safe to continue in this tradition.

As you are a leading sponsor of the Quidditch World Cup, you are most welcome to attend, bringing along with you whoever you would like (limit of 2 guests in addition to yourself). Dinner will begin at seven in the evening, but you are most welcome to arrive at any time past five.

He read on, his eyes scanning the page. If it was for all those on the second floor, that would mean that Ron Weasley would be there, accompanied his strange, insane wife. But on the other hand, his mother had always said that a formal event cannot be held without a Malfoy present, he would just have to attend.

'Draco, are these for me?' Narcissa asked, taking her pile of letters with one slender hand, with long manicured fingernails polished a deathly red. She tore one letter open and sat down, reading each letter speedily from the date in the top left corner, to see if it had reached her within a suitable period of time, and to every title the sender had listed below his or her name.

Draco peered over his invitation at the letter his mother had just put down. In the top right corner was a picture of a blonde with, her arms spanned wide, dripping with jewelry. Underneath it read Rich Witch - for witches who love their riches. He grunted, rolling his eyes, which made Narcissa peer up at him questioningly.

'I am going out to lunch with Ms. Goyle, Draco, and Gregory should be there.' she said, after receiving no explanation for his dismissive grunt. Draco caught the drift that it was an invitation to go along as well, but stood up and looked down at Narcissa.

'Unlike Gregory, I have grown out of being taken out for lunch by my mother. I doubt I will find as much entertainment from arranging paper umbrellas into shapes of unicorns at the age of twenty-nine as I did when I was eight.' Draco said, smirking. Narcissa eyes stung him with an icy glare. 'I would not be able to go anyway, because I have a much more delightful day planned with Ms. Parkinson.'

Narcissa Malfoy did not catch the sarcasm in her son's voice.

---

Of course Harry Weasley's knocking on Ginny's bedroom door did not wake her up, for she was the deepest sleeper in the family. The seven year old, red headed boy, continued knocking for five minutes, too shy to go anywhere near her, as if scared she might eat him if he went too close. It must have taken a lot of courage for the boy to walk towards the bed and tap her on the shoulder.

But that still did not work.

It wasn't until Molly had come past with a laundry basket and seen her grandson poking Ginny with his father's wand that Ginny was woken up. 'Harry, give that back to your father! What's he doing leaving it around where you can find it anyway? No, don't wave it! Oh, dear, just give it to me and I'll give it to him!'

And it wasn't until Ginny had spent forty-five minutes in the shower, Harry once again being sent up to get her, and unsuccessfully being heard over the running water and her singing from the other side of the door, that Ginny came downstairs, still humming the tune to Polyjuice Persona by the Weird Sisters.

'I'm going to work now, Ginny. Harry, you behave yourself.' Luna said, grabbing her bag from the kitchen table hurriedly. She stopped beside Ginny on her way to the fireplace and whispered in her ear, 'Get the cheapest robes. They're so expensive these days, and he'll just grow out of them.' She handed Ginny a key - engraved on it the number 382.

'She's failed her apparition test six times.' Ron said teasingly when his wife had left. 'The last time she ended up somewhere in Africa, in the middle of some tribal ceremony. She says she doesn't want to try again.'

Ginny laughed. Ron rolled down Lancelot's second Chudley Cannons sock, stood up, and clapped his hands together. 'Well, I'll be going now, in a more stylish manner than my wife.' He looked around the kitchen one last time, and then disapparated into thin air, Lancelot giggling and clapping his hands to imitate the sound.

'Matthew, please stop chewing on Grandad's quills! Oh dear, look at you! Your mouth is green now!' Molly dragged Matthew through to the kitchen. He was holding his mouth open, and his lips and tongue were green. She grabbed a towel and began wiping his face, as the four year old stared at Ginny through the corner of his eyes.

'Luna found a Muggle day care.' Molly said, putting the tea towel back on its hook by the sink and letting Matthew run off again in search of his brothers. 'She sent them all there for a few days. Of course when Ron found out it was a Muggle day care, he hit the roof. Silly, really. Now I'm left with them all day. I don't know when I'm going to get the chance to relax like old ladies are supposed to.'

Ginny laughed. Though wrinkles had formed on her mother's face, she still had red hair, though she could see roots of grey creeping in from her forehead. She was still plump, and had a rosy complexion to her round and friendly face. But Ginny knew that, unlike Arthur, whose hair was still as red as it had always been, Molly was fighting the effects of aging, for Ginny had seen the four spell books on her mother's dresser table the night before when she was looking for towels for the next morning.

'Arthur was heartbroken when he retired.' Molly continued, cleaning up Lancelot's face with a wave of her wand, now that she had found it on the top shelf of the kitchen, where she had obviously put it so that the boys couldn't find it, and forgotten that she'd placed it there. 'I think he's getting used to it now anyway. He tells little Arthur all about Muggle whats-its, and he's absolutely fascinated by it all.'

'Arthur's your nephew, by the way. He's ten now.' Molly notified Ginny, catching the clueless expression on her daughter's face. But Ginny sensed a cold chill in her voice at that reminder. Katie had been pregnant before she had left for medi-witch schooling in Italy, so Arthur must have been George's son.

'That reminds me.' Molly said, leaning back against the counter. 'We're having a Christmas party. Every Weasley is coming along, so that means you as well. I haven't sent out all the invitations yet, so you can write them out tomorrow, and you can take them to the post office.' she said this all rather triumphantly, as if this was what Ginny had to do to be forgiven by her. Ginny, was rather grateful that her task wasn't worse.

'I'll do that for you, Mum. Now, I'm going to get Harry -- is he named after Harry Potter, Mum? -- and I'll leave.' Ginny said, standing up and reflexively brushing her hands over her lap. Molly told her that Harry was in fact named after Harry Potter, and as she said this, Ginny saw her mother eye her Henrietta robes with a mock frown - Henrietta being an extremely expensive wizarding clothing brand. Ginny left the kitchen, calling out 'Harry!' as she went.

Harry came downstairs rather shyly. He was tall, like his father, his hair bright red, like his father's, with a thick coat of freckles over his face, just like his father had. In fact, the only thing that resembled Luna in any way was his silvery eyes, shaped like two full moons, except that he did not look as permanently surprised as Luna. He was wearing dark brown robes, so dark that from a distance they would look simply black, and his hair clashed so horribly that he looked like an obsessed fan turned up to a Chudley Cannons Quidditch game. She rethought this, and decided that Harry probably was an obsessive fan of the Chudley Cannons, just like his father.

'Will you promise not to tell Ron--Dad...' she corrected. 'And Mum if we take the quick way to Diagon Alley?' she whispered. He shook his head, staring up at her, which made her take back her previous thought about his eyes not giving him a permanently surprised expression, and she took his arm and disapparated.

They appeared in the centre of Diagon Alley, just outside Gringott's, among a bustling amount of people. She glanced at Harry, who was grinning widely in ecstasy, his mouth gaped open. And then she raised her head, so that she was looking into two grey eyes.

'Surely a worker of the International Federation of Magic would not be illegally apparating with a minor citizen.' came the familiar drawling voice of someone she had definitely not managed to forget about during the past ten years. 'You would be in a lot of trouble if I told someone about that.'

Draco Malfoy stood next to Pansy Parkinson. She supposed they were now engaged, and she thought it was a rather good match, for it would save just two more people from being married to such unpleasant people as those standing in front of her. Just like Molly had, Draco eyed Ginny's robes, however his eyebrows - darker than his silvery blonde hair, seemed to be so raised that Ginny thought they might disappear.

Pansy Parkinson was wearing mauve robes, frilled at the sleeves and hem, and a ghastly mauve pointed hat. Along with that she was wearing a look of distaste at the mere sight of Ginny, her chin held high so that if Ginny had wanted to look at her, she would get a perfect view up her nostrils. Already, at this time of the morning, Parkinson was holding countless amounts of shopping bags, Draco having refused to carry any of them, for his hands were completely free.

'Good morning, Malfoy.' Ginny sniffed, gripping onto Harry's shoulder and taking a step to the side. 'Unfortunately, I am in a hurry, and I can't stop to talk.' She pushed Harry in front of her and was just about to walk right past and into Gringott's when he said something which Ginny could not refuse to answer.

'I heard lover-boy gave you the flick goodbye.' he said smugly. 'Is that why you came running back here?'

'As I saw it, lover-boy gave me a reason to give him the 'flick goodbye'.' she said edgily, cursing herself for getting into yet another argument, which everybody knew was her weakness. 'At least I've done something in my life, unlike you, who's been sitting in your office for the past four years without a case!'

She saw Malfoy's eyes gleam with annoyance, for he hadn't had a case to work on for exactly the last four years, because with Harry Potter around, wizards and witches were too scared to do anything wrong, and if one did, Ron Weasley and Patil were put on the case.

'I suppose you can't stand the fact that Weasleys are actually succeeding. I have to say I rather sympathize for you. You must open the Daily Prophet and wince at the sight of Weasley Wizard Wheezes advertisements, walk into work and sulk because my brother gets all the cases, enter Gringott's and puke over the side of your cart, not because you're going too fast, but because Bill Weasley's name is written in a huge gold plaque on the wall of the entrance hall, and run into me at Diagon Alley to see me wearing Henrietta robes!' She stopped there, her mind racing, not because of what she had just said, but because she had almost mentioned every one of her brother's, except for Charlie. And Charlie was dead.

She gave Malfoy one more piercing glare, turned back around and took her nephew's hand, and stormed into Gringott's, not looking at the huge golden plaque complimenting Bill for his service to Gringott's internationally. 'Vault 382 and 491.' Ginny said, shoving both keys towards the goblin sitting before her - one Luna's and the other her own.

'Would you like to upgrade your vault, Miss Weasley? You have enough money inside to upgrade to a high-security vault.' She shook her head, and he got out of his seat and led them both through the huge doors leading down into the depths of the wizards bank.

Harry vomited over the front of his robes when they stopped in front of Luna's vault. The goblin opened it, standing as far away from Harry as possible, and Ginny took Harry inside, hoping that Luna and Ron didn't mind their son seeing their family fortune, which, Ginny thought, was quite large, taking up two whole corners of the vault. Not knowing how much she was supposed to take, she filled one of the maroon velvet bags in her pocket to the top and planned to give Luna back the change.

'Vault 491.' The goblin, Gricht, said as they left the cart, and Ginny waited for him to open it, Harry standing at her heel. Gricht stood back, and Ginny stepped in. Her eyebrows traveled north, and she placed one hand over her mouth, for the vault was so full of coins that she had to tiptoe through as to not let the piles tumble over. 'High-security vaults are twice as large, Miss Weasley.'

She quickly gathered up enough galleons to fill three velvet bags. 'Where did this money come from?' Ginny asked, and Gricht walked to the side of the wall and began tapping it with his fingers, until a small steel flap opened and he pulled out the end of some parchment.

'Yesterday came seventy-five percent of your income, from Gerrod Kipling of the International Federation of Magic -- twenty-five percent went out to Sweden. At least fifty percent of income must come to your home country, when you are living overseas, Miss Weasley.'

She nodded, and dragged Harry out, cursing herself for thinking that the twenty-five percent of her income was her whole income, and meanwhile thinking about retiring early, before she had too much money to fit in her vault. She told Gricht to upgrade her vault before leaving, and then left Gringott's, a green-faced Harry following behind her.

'Mamma! I want to go to Weasley Wizard Wheezes!' a scrawny boy whined. His crooked-nose mother was gripping his wrist tightly, and had to pull him quite forcefully into Madam Malkin's. 'You need new robes before you go back to school, Gary!' she snapped.

'Arthur's popular at school because Uncle George owns Weasley Wizard Wheezes.' Harry said, for he too had watched the boy. 'Auntie Katie thinks that he's too young to go to Hogwarts, but Uncle George wanted to send him early.'

'I'm sure you'll be popular at Hogwarts too.' Ginny said, as they entered the Quidditch supplies shop. He looked unsure of this. 'Because you're dad helped Harry Potter defeat You-Know-Who.'

He grinned and hurried over to the children's section of the store, where two models of children's broomsticks were attached tightly to the walls, held to the wall by steel clasps. 'Dad got me a proper broom!' he said. 'He told Mum that the kid's brooms were stupid, and he says I'll grow into my broom, so that I'll be a famous Quidditch player like Uncle Harry.' This made Ginny smile.

A huge poster of a man on his broom was attached to the wall, the man somersaulting simultaneously so that the word 'Isolt' could be seen on the end of it. Harry pointed up at it. 'Was that your boyfriend?' he asked, and Ginny looked up at it herself. She glared at it, as if expecting the poster to glare back. 'Dad told me you were going to marry Magnus Christensen. My friend Jeff says he's met him. I don't believe him.'

'He was my boyfriend, but he was in love with someone else.' Ginny said, smiling.

'Like Angelina.'

Ginny was about to ask what Angelina he meant. Angelia Johnson had been going out with Fred before Ginny left for Italy, but maybe Harry meant someone else, and she wasn't so sure that he was the best person to ask.

Harry's eyes had now landed on some Quidditch robes in the corner on display, and was gazing at them, his eyes lit up. 'But it's too expensive.' he said, as Ginny came up behind him. 'Mum would never buy them for me. Look, they're thirty-four galleons. That's mighty expensive.'

Ginny glanced at the cash register, and back at Harry, then, seeing as she was still nervous about having so much money, which she had never had before, she took the robes made for eight-year-olds, because he was tall, and went to purchase them. 'A present from your Aunt Ginny.' she said, watching his face light up. 'To make up for the past seven years I haven't bought you birthday presents.' He took the bag, with his new navy and silver Quidditch robes, and left the store in a very good mood.

---

'These ones, darling!' Pansy said, pushing a small scrawny boy off his stool, who was waiting to be measured, as she walked past. 'Aren't they absolutely divine?'

Draco definitely did not find them absolutely divine, in fact, he found them absolutely ghastly. Pansy took the white robes off its hook and held it in front of her. Surprisingly, they bore no frills, but instead, around the neck line, the hem, and the sleeves, were different coloured material flowers. She pulled out the label, and said, 'See, they're by Henrietta! That Weasley girl was wearing Henrietta robes! I don't know how she managed to afford them!'

'She earns more than me.' Draco said grumpily, for although he did not know exactly how much Weasley earned, he did know that an auror working for the IFM (International Federation of Magic) earned more than an auror working for the Ministry of Magic in Britain.

Pansy opened her eyes wide and questioningly, then blinked and smiled, fluttering her eyelashes, which were heavily coated with blue mascara. 'But you don't need to earn much, darling, because you were born into enough money to last you a hundred more generations!' That was true, but it was not good for a Malfoy's ego to know that a Weasley -- a Weasley woman to add to that, was earning more than him.

'Did you see her hair?' Pansy said disgustedly, browsing through the wedding robes once again to make sure the floral effort was still her favourite. 'A horrible colour! And it was a ragged mess; looked like it hadn't been brushed for days!' Draco, in fact, had not noticed that. He had been too occupied in thinking of an insult for the boy next to her, but it had been hard, for he had been wearing perfectly complimentary robes.

'Could I buy a pair of robes for that Quidditch World Cup dinner?' Pansy asked, to Draco's horror, keeping the horrible white robes and making her way towards the evening dress robes. Draco translated this - he would be buying Pansy evening dress robes.

She pulled out a stringy red dress, gazing at it lovingly. 'Darling, this is divine! Wouldn't it suit me?' He didn't answer her, but looked away. He thought it would more suit someone with a more petite figure, like Weasley. It would go with her hair too. He shook this thought out of his head.

'What's wrong, sweetie?' Pansy asked in her sing-song girlish voice. 'If it's that Weasley girl, don't worry, because you're in a much more powerful position than her, and you have much better connections.'

He handed over a pouch of galleons from his pocket, and went to wait by the door.

'Hello, Mr. Malfoy! I'm Gary Stutters, and I saw you in the newspaper two weeks ago!' the scrawny boy said, holding out his hand and grinning. His mother was talking to Madam Malkin, and he had obviously finished being fitted for his Hogwarts robes for his second semester. 'When I grow up, I want to be just like you!' Maybe Pansy was right, Draco thought. 'And I want to own a joke shop like Mr. Fred and Mr. George Weasley!'

He took this back, shook the boy's hand gruffly, and left the store in a very bad mood.

---

Colin Creevey took his next batch of photographs from the large basin of potion. Each one soaked up the glutinous pink potion as he took them out, the people inside coughing - most of them Dedalus Diggle. After seconds of choking, they began to act as normal. Colin smiled. The next one was Ginny, coming down for breakfast. He had taken it before she had seen him, and now that he had taken it out, she was leaning on the staircase pillars, smiling and laughing, then twirling around, so that the hem of her robes flew inches above the ground.

'Are you nearly finished?' Luna called from her desk. She was taking large bites of her turkey sandwich, a glass of pumpkin juice in front of her, which had been clumsily charmed so that it refilled whenever she put it down, so that now it stood in a puddle of orange juice. 'I've finished the Quidditch World Cup story, so tomorrow we'll have both these articles in the Prophet.'

'It's a strange time to be holding the Quidditch World Cup.' Colin said, taking the full pile of Leaky Cauldron photographs to Luna's desk cubicle, which was covered in pictures of her and Ron, and her four sons. 'They had to lengthen school holidays for it.'

'Yes, but they're summer break gets shortened.' Luna said, laughing. 'We've got one of the top boxes. Ronald's already bought the tickets. But they're not the best seats, because we face the corner of the stadium. I suppose they're better than most people's seats.'

'Well, I suppose boss'll be asking me to take the pictures for the Prophet.' Colin said, sitting down in his own seat. His desk was opposite to Luna's, but not so decorated. Instead, certificates were pinned up, awarding him for winning photography competitions.

'Suppose you'll be taking Padma.' Luna said, taking a gulp of pumpkin juice.

'No, actually. We ended everything. There was just, nothing there.'

She snorted, which was rather rude and inconsiderate. But that had never stopped Luna, and she had never been much of a romantic.

'I think I'm in love with someone else.' Colin said, ignoring Luna.

'Oh? Who's that?'

'Ginny Weasley.'

---

'And we apparated into the middle of Diagon Alley!' Harry said loudly, clapping his hands. Ginny looked down at the ground, pretending to scratch the side of her face. Molly glared at her sternly, and Ginny shook her head, and said quietly that Harry was just making up stories. 'And he was standing next to this ugly woman! She looked like this--' he pushed his nose up with one finger. '--like a pig, see?'

It was at that second that Ron apparated into the room, which caused Lancelot to clap his hands again in imitation, giggling and squirming in Molly's arms. Ron strode up and took Lancelot in his arms, and Harry ran up to him excitedly. 'Look, Dad! Dad!' he ran back to the table and pulled out the robes Ginny had bought him, then ran back. 'Auntie Ginny got them for me! Look, look, they're by Gretel Quidditch Supplies!'

Ron's mouth dropped open, and he looked over at Ginny in awe. 'Gin, you didn't have to get him those! They would have cost a fortune!'

'Thirty-four galleons, Dad!'

Ginny blushed, and Ron took the robes into his arms, running his hands over the material in awe. 'Thirty-four galleons? Ginny! Where did you get the money to buy these?'

'I... kind of didn't know I had it.' Ginny said. 'Oh, and here's your money, because I didn't use it.'

'Ah, Gin, you take it.' Ron said, pushing the bag back into her hands.

'No, Ron, it's alright. I don't need it.'

'Take it, Ron. It's the least she can feel she can do.' Arthur said, as he sorted through his mail. 'Here, Ginny, this is for you.'

Ginny stood up and took it, wondering who in the world would be mailing her, because not many people knew she was here yet. She tore the envelope open, and unfolded the letter.

Gin,

I'm sorry. You don't know how much I regret everything I did, and you don't know how much I would do just to have you back.

Ginny, think about it, because you'll never meet another man who loves you more than me.

Come home.

- Magnus

'Who's it from, Ginny?' Ron asked. He had now sat down, Lancelot on his knees.

'Just a newsletter editor asking me if I want to keep my subscription.' She said, after having taken quite a while to answer. She scrunched the letter into a ball and threw it into the fire, and watched as it became nothing more than a pile of ash.

When You Return

A/N: Between the 6th December and 20th December, Ginny has met up with everyone except for Bill.

---

Chapter Four
-> This Is Love

---

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole: 6th December 2008

Dear George, Katie, Arthur, Frank, Guy and Timothy... Dear Mr. Lovegood... Dear Fred... Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bell... Dear Bill, Fleur and Agnes... Dear Harry and Hermione...

Ginny shook her hand, two specks of green ink flying through the air to land beside Hermione's name. She didn't know how all these people were going to fit in the Burrow on Christmas day, but nobody else had commented on it, so she kept her mouth shut as well. She crossed off Harry and Hermione's name on the list of guests her mother had written up for her, and read the next name.

Dear Percy, she wrote. There wasn't really a point in sending an invitation to Percy, unless her mother was still hoping for him to have a change in heart and come back to his family. Maybe what she was thinking was what her family would have thought about her - that she wouldn't come back. Regardless, she finished the card, placed it in one of the creamy, floral envelopes, wrote Percy's name on the envelope, and put it in the pile with all the other cards.

'Mail.' Ron grunted, chucking two letters onto the table, in front of Ginny. 'Luna, Luna, Luna, Dad, Luna.' he read, placing the pile on the kitchen counter and sighing. 'Why is there never any mail for me?'

Ginny slid her two letters towards her, across the table. With her right index finger, she carefully tore the envelope of the first, pulling the letter out and unfolding it. Ron took the list of guests for the Christmas reunion, and began reading them, muttering things under his breath at certain names, and grunting loudly and disapprovingly at the end. Ginny guessed he had reached the last name - Percy's.

Dear Miss Ginevra Weasley,

Your work as a highly-qualified auror will resume on the 2nd of January, 2009.

Ginny groaned.

'Work?' Ron asked.

'Yes. How'd you know?'

'Macmillan made it known by all of level 2 that an auror from the IFM would be beginning work in the Ministry, and so everyone had to polish their shoes and behave so that you don't go dobbing them into the president of IFM. Not in those exact words, of course, because he added a thousand more complicated words like he always does.'

Ginny laughed, imagining herself strutting down the level 2 corridor, and hearing every staff member become dead silent at the sound of her red Henrietta high heels clicking against the marble floor. But they probably had carpet floors.

Your office will be situated on level two of the Ministry of Magic, and you will be expected to be at work Monday-Friday at 10am.

Yours sincerely,

Ernest Macmillan
Minister of Magic

'Ten o'clock on Monday the 2nd of January.' Ginny said, yawning. 'I'll hate having to wake up so early.'

'Ten o'clock?' Ron asked, appalled, he took the letter from her hands and read it himself. 'I have to be in by eight!'

'Yes, but remember, Mr. Ronald Weasley, that I am part of the International Federation of Magic.' she said, pursing her lips, raising two skeptical eyebrows and holding up her chin, which reminded Ron spectacularly of Professor McGonagall.

Ron grunted, stretching out his legs underneath the table, and folding his arms behind his head. After a while, he seemed to decide this wasn't a comfortable position to sit in, and resumed to as he had sat moments before. 'Have you got tickets for the Quidditch World Cup, Gin?' Ron asked. 'I would have bought you a ticket, but I bought them before you came back. We've got one of the top boxes.' He said, grinning widely.

Magnus had been vibrantly ecstatic about the debates over whether the Quidditch World Cup was safe to be resumed. Ginny thought it was all rather silly. You-Know-Who was dead now, so what was the big deal about holding another tournament?

'I'll buy a ticket sometime. I'm sure I'll be able to get a good seat, seeing I'm a member of the IFM.' she said, winking teasingly. She began to tear the next envelope, Ron muttering imitations under his breath, a mocking expression playing across his freckled face.

Dear Ginny,

I have been asked to attend the opening event for the Quidditch World Cup, which is limited to specific guests involved in the sponsorship and management of the tournament. I have been asked to accompany Morag MacDougal as a photographer - she representing the Daily Prophet, a sponsor of the Quidditch World Cup.

I am sure it will be an event quite unlike any other, and it would be in the best interests to a person's reputation to attend, as well as being quite an entertaining night. It is on the 20th December, and I would be pleased if you would accompany me.

Yours,
Colin

'I have been invited to the opening event for the Quidditch World Cup.' Ginny said, turning the invitation over and scribbling her response:

Colin,

I would love to come with you. It sounds like fun, and I will speak to you soon about it.

Love Ginny

'Well, Miss I'm-An-IFM-auror, I happen to have been invited as well.' Ron said triumphantly. 'The Ministry aurors have donated money for defence purposes.'

'Really? Well that's convenient; you can take me.'

'Nice try, Ginny, but no.' Ron said, standing up lazily and stretching. 'I'm not going. I'll be watching my son's Quidditch game, for the Kids Quidditch Club. It means a lot to him, that I come.'

---

Stockholm, Sweden: 20th December 2008

Magnus Christensen wiped his forehead with his shirt as he made his way across the Quidditch stadium. His wet hair was tangled and ruffled -- a silent blonde mass of thick hair, cut professionally to look like he never got it cut. He was a failure with his wand, but a legend on his broomstick, and the world loved him. Life was good for him.

'That turn was nice there, Magnus, but you're still grabbing that quaffle rather clumsily.' his coach said. Magnus didn't believe the uptight bastard had ever complimented any of the players in his whole three years coaching.

Signe had now come up behind him, her shirt gripping tightly to her small framed body, a few sizes too small, Magnus thought. Her hand brushed his arm flirtingly, but she didn't look at him, but just at Coach Hansen, her cold blue eyes peering up at him as he spoke, and her long eyelashes clinging to the skin under her thin brows.

'Quidditch Cup starts soon, and I'll be kicking off players instantly if I see any reason for it.' he said gruffly. 'That includes world-famous models. I don't care if your picture's on the front of Witch Weekly.'

Magnus didn't look up at him, because he knew the coach wouldn't be looking at him. He waited for Hansen to finish his speech, then walked past him and through the stands, Signe following him, her feet dragging against the stairs as she walked. The sun was only just invisible, and a sliver of silver moon had already taken its position in the sky.

'Signe, what we've got, we have to end.' he eventually said, looking up at her, exasperated. His ocean blue eyes peeled widely opened as he waited for her reaction. She didn't say anything, but opened her mouth hopelessly, and shook her head. 'It will never work!'

'Are you still in love with that red-head British girl?' Signe asked accusingly, snatching a cloth from her bag and beginning to wipe down her broom. 'She's gone now, Magnus! She's not coming back for you!'

'How do you know she's not going to come back here?' Magnus exclaimed brutally, sitting down at the seat opposite her, seperated by the isle leading down to the field. 'Of course she'll come back for me! Every other girl comes back for me!'

'She doesn't need you!' she proclaimed, and she stuffed the cloth back in her bag. Her hair was short, ending just below her ears, and blonde. She was beautiful, yes, but he wasn't going to keep her. 'She has lots of money already, so she doesn't need you!'

'We were in love, Signe! Of course she needs me!'

'You were in love before, Magnus. But she doesn't love you anymore.' Signe said coldly. 'Forget her.'

'Don't be stupid.' Magnus said, because he didn't know what else to say. He looked down sulkily, like a little boy who's mother wouldn't give him Bertie Botts', and didn't say anything to her.

'She isn't pretty anyway.' Signe said dignantly, and she stood up from her seat and stepped towards Magnus. 'I think, well it's only my opinion, but I think I'm prettier than her.'

Maybe Signe was prettier than Ginny. Magnus turned this through his head, but his mind still rested with the same opinion. Signe was like him - both a player in Quidditch, and a player in love. He didn't want that. He wanted someone to love him, and be loyal to him; faithful to him. Signe had been with Axel last Friday and hadn't come back to his own apartment until the next morning. There was no doubt about what happened there.

Her hands slid down his shoulders to the sides of his neck, and she bent down to kiss him on his cheek, which was flushed red from playing Quidditch. He ignored this gesture, slumping lower into his seat instead.

'Honey, forget her.' she said slowly, coming to face him. He looked up at her, scowling. She was gazing at him hopelessly, almost pleadingly, her blonde hair hanging loosely over her face, so that a strand lay upon her bottom, rose pink lip. He stood up, so that his face was inches from hers. Ginny was shorter than him; Signe was nearly the same height. He had preferred Ginny's height, as it made him feel more powerful; more superior.

She blinked, smiled, and placed a kiss on the corner of his lips, and then her tongue slid into his mouth, so that he couldn't resist her pleading gestures any longer. One arm slid around her waist, the other still holding his broom, and he deepened the kiss, pressing her so tightly to his body that her stomach was against his own.

---

Malfoy Manor, England: 20th December 2008

'Oh yes, Hannah Abbott wasn't it? I remember you from school!' Pansy said, pulling a fake big smile and patting Hannah on the arm. 'Of course we weren't good friends then, but that was a long time ago! Oh, I remember that time I gave you that hair strengthener, and really, it was cursed to make your hair fall out!' She laughed shrilly, arching her b ack and looking up at the ceiling as she did so.

Draco, catching the look on the Minister's and his wife's face, took her pudgy arm and pulled her away, leaving both Mr. and Mrs. Macmillan without a last word. She wore her provocative black dress robes, which cut unattractively into her back, showing layers of bare fat on her stomach and back. Draco winced, wishing that he had stopped her at Madam Malkin's, and told her to buy a less revealing set of robes.

'Why did you do that, darling? I was having fun talking to Mrs. Macmillan!' Draco did not answer her, but instead took her to a group of conversed witches and wizards standing relatively close to the food table. 'Oh look, it's your mother, over there. Who's she talking to right now?'

'Mrs. Crabbe.' Draco said, taking wide strides towards his thin, tall and petite mother, who looked relatively small compared to the large build of Mrs. Crabbe.

'Draco, look at you!' Mrs. Crabbe squealed, taking small hurried steps towards him and placing both of her hands on his arms. 'You've become so big and handsome!'

'Just like his father.' Narcissa said monotonously, placing one hand on the edge of the beverages table, while she held a champagne glass in the other hand. 'Draco, I wish to find Regina Greengrass. Have you any idea of where I should find her?'

'She is over there, approaching the Minister.' Draco said, freeing himself from Mrs. Crabbe's grip and standing a bit further away. Narcissa wandered off, her sky blue robes rippling as she walked, accentuating her narrow curves.

'Neville Longbottom Hall...' Mrs. Crabbe said, sighing. 'If Vincent had died fighting You-Know-Who instead of fighting with him, there might have been a Vincent Crabbe Hall.' Two tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away, patting Draco's arm. 'If only he'd have let me draw a small line with my quill on the side of the wand he needed to hold, he wouldn't have killed himself--' she let out a rasping breath. '--with the killing curse!'

Draco was not the type to sympathize. It was one of the few things he could not do. He peered frantically around the room, allowed Pansy to calm Mrs. Crabbe down, and left in the opposite direction.

'Mr. Malfoy, fancy a pumpkin juice?' Ernie asked pompously as he passed. He handed Draco a glass of the orange substance, and Draco drank it unwillingly, as he had never liked pumpkin juice. 'It will be not long before the Weasleys arrive, and I shall resort to the Ministry lounge upstairs. I am sure that by the time I come back down, the place will have been torn into pieces.'

Macmillan was perfectly correct, Draco thought. Messieurs Fred and George Weasley had a new entrance joke for every event they were invited to, and though it pleased most, it did not do the same for him, and neither, Draco acknowledged, did it please Macmillan.

'I was almost inclined to reject them as sponsors.' Ernie said. 'But as Finnigan pointed out, what kind of an idiot would turn down that amount of money when it's shoved in front of their nose?'

Draco did not answer this. He didn't know which option was more idiotic - accepting the Weasleys as sponsors, or turning down their vast fortune of money.

'Ah, Mr. Creevey!' Ernie said suddenly, beckoning for a tall, thin man to come towards him. Mr. Creevey nodded, gently touched the arm of an auburn haired woman beside him, who was speaking to Hannah Abbott, said something in her ear, and came towards, them, his partner following him.

Ginny Weasley.

'I suppose you remember Colin and Miss Weasley from school, Mr. Malfoy.' Ernie said, taking another glass of pumpkin juice as the round saucer-shaped plate levitated past them.

'Yes.' Draco said stiffly. 'Yes, I do.'

'Well Miss Weasley has just come back from Sweden.' Ernie said cheerfully, and she smiled, but not for long, and she resumed scowling at Draco. 'Interesting life you leave, eh?'

'Yes, very. I must admit.' Ginny said, once again smiling for a limited time.

'Italy as well, I hear.' Draco said. 'You fought Voldemort's followers there, I hear.' He ignored Ernie's hiss at Voldemort's name.

'Yes, but I wasn't officially an auror then. I hadn't finished my training.'

'Even more complimenting to yourself.' Draco said gruffly.

'Colin's a photographer for the Daily Prophet, Mr. Malfoy.' Ernie said. 'And speaking about your job, Colin, I need that camera to start clicking. There are a lot of important people here.' His eyes glanced towards the door, and he grimaced. 'Ah, it is time for me to go upstairs.'

'Introducing...' came a loud booming voice, and Draco took a step to the side to see past Colin's head. 'Fred and George Weasley!'

The hall burst into tumultous applause, cheering and clapping at George's words. 'It is with great regret that I announce that you will all leave tonight in no worse condition than when you entered.' More applause, mixed with an assortment of disappointed yells. 'However, we will be signing autographs from eleven til midnight!'

'Could I have your autograph early?' Ginny asked, George having now walked up to them.

'You can have it anytime.' George said, flicking his hand carelessly. 'This party looks a bore.'

'How do you like first page of the Prophet, Mr. Weasley?' Colin asked, turning around his muggle camera to show George the pictures he had taken of their entrance.

'You're too good, mate.' George said. 'Ah! Harry!' He greeted, holding his hand out to the raven haired man who had just entered. 'Always fashionably late, you are!' He raised his hand to his forehead and bowed, then left with Harry towards the beverage table.

Draco winced at George's clothing. It was entirely dragon skin, and though it was the most expensive material available, it looked absolutely horrible. He wore three different shades of green dragon scales, and, peering over at Fred, he noticed that he was wearing three different shades of red dragon scales.

'Darling, dance with me. Look, Mr. Fred Weasley and Mrs. Hannah Abbott have started a trend.'

'Then I won't be following it.'

He winced at her clothing as well.

'Look, even your mother is dancing, with Harold Greengrass.' Pansy said, pointing his graceful mother out. And with that, she dragged him to the center of the hall.

---

'I didn't know you were such a great dancer.' Ginny said. 'At our graduation dance you kept stepping on Laura Hantling's feet.'

'I've had practice.' Colin said, and she laughed, imagining him practicing in front of his bedroom mirror at home.

'Colin, you've changed a lot.' She said quietly. 'I mean, since we were at school.'

'You've changed as well.' Colin said. 'I'm sure a lot more than I.'

He was probably right, Ginny thought. She peered over at Fred, who was dancing with Hannah Abbott. She had always been rather chubby, with bright blue eyes and shoulder length blonde hair. The only thing that had changed about her was that now she never smiled.

'Ginny...'

'Colin.' She said brightly, smiling up at him.

'You've used a Teeth-Whitening Charm.' Colin said teasingly, and she laughed.

'How did you know?'

'Because it is beginning to fade.'

She closed her mouth quickly. 'I've never been very good at them.'

'Funny, because you were always good at charms.'

She had always been good at charms. But she had chosen a career in defense against the dark arts.

'All kind of charms.' Colin said, looking into her eyes, so that she wanted to look down at the ground for the rest of the night. But she didn't, and instead, looked back at him, until he said, in a whisper, so that nobody else around them could hear, 'I love you.'

---

'This lounge is for Ministry workers, Mr. Weasley.' Ernie said sternly, standing up from the corner of the room, where he sat in a large red armchair, smoking a pipe.

'I know, but of course you wouldn't mind, would you?' George said, patting him on the shoulder and taking a glass of firewhiskey for himself. He took a large gulp, so that his throat tingled and burned, making him cough. 'Now, mate, you know smoking's bad for you. Whoever thought we'd be following a Muggle trend, of all things?'

Ernie didn't answer, but instead took a large mouthful of smoke, then breathed it out the side of his mouth, George waving his hand in front of his face. 'I'll have you taken away by Ministry guards if you don't leave, Mr. Weasley.'

'Would you care to join me downstairs?' George asked. 'We can maybe dance together, you know, hand in hand, heart to heart, to the Valkyries. Just a couple of songs.'

'No thank you.'

'Oh come on, I'm just being friendly, because you don't have anyone else to dance with.' George said, pouring another glass of firewhiskey and this time taking it in one full gulp. 'Seeing your wife's dancing with my brother.'

Ernie turned his head in one swift second, glaring at George. He then put out his pipe and stalked off downstairs, leaving George alone in the Ministry lounge. He took the firewhiskey bottle, made himself comfortable, and took a swig from the bottle.

---

Draco stared ahead, past Pansy's face, because he didn't want to look at it right now. His mother had now sat down, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of champagne in her hand. She was speaking to Regina Greengrass, both of them wearing digusted looks on their faces. Parvati Patil was dancing with Potter now. Now, that was a name he had never grown out of hating. Potter was married, to Hermione Granger, so Patil shouldn't be looking at him in that way.

'Darling, I can't wait until we get married.'

Why was Weasley dancing with the Minister's wife? That wasn't something proper. Where was the Minister? There he was, coming down the stairs. Draco watched the plump man come down the stairs, his flabbery face wobbling. Where was the other Weasley anyway? Ginny was dancing with Creevey. Her head was now resting on his shoulder; they had become closer and closer as every minute passed. He groaned, then released himself from Pansy and made his way to the spare seat next to his mother.