Bewitched Times

Adrial

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 6
Published: 01/08/2005
Last Updated: 22/05/2008
Status: in_progress

Set nine years after the war's end, the wizarding world is thriving and at the top of her game is Ginny Weasley. Successful and admired, she's itching for a bit of the happiness that's been spreading around her friends and family. But can she swallow her pride and accept it in the form of someone she'd never even considered?

Chapters

1. Bewitched Times - Prologue

2. Face to Face

3. Twist of Fate

4. The Assignment

5. Breaking News

6. Uninvited

1. Bewitched Times - Prologue

Bewitched Times

By: Adrial

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, my friends.

AN: Hello all! Thanks in advance for reading. I started this fic a few years ago, right after HBP so a few of the facts won't line up with all the amazing information we received in DH (eg: for all you Fred fans, he will be making a cameo); however, I hope that won't deter you from reading. It's set far after the war, about 9 years, and takes look at how the Wizarding world has coped with the tragedies of a war that left few unscathed. I'm bringing some good times to their lives, no worries!

Hope you all enjoy and I appreciate any reviews!

~Adrial

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In flat number 6 of one of Wizarding London's trendiest apartments for the “up and coming” witch or wizard, the television showed an obnoxiously made-up anchorwoman, her bottle-blonde frock popping off the screen almost to the point of blinding the dazed viewers at home. From between two shockingly red lips, brief summaries of the stories that were trailing along at the bottom of the screen like cheesy advertisements tacked onto the back of an airplane poured out in reams of monotony. Her co-anchor's plastered look of utmost interest was given away by the way he would jolt as if doused by cold water whenever she'd ask him for his opinion on the “pressing matter at hand.”

Beyond the 2-D blond atrocity, a lonely coffee table strained beneath the weight of a heap of randomly placed and apparently forgotten objects—months old magazines, coffee mugs half full of stale, black liquid, an open notebook with a candy wrapper jammed into the valley between pages, napkins and plastic silverware dotted here and there around white take-away trays that smelled of long-ago dinners and obvious neglect.

The walls were stark white, save for a sloppy looking painting hanging in a failed attempt to give the space some interest. However, the splashy watercolor did manage to set off the mismatched pillows strewn about the floor and the patches of spilled red-wine that were only half-hidden by randomly placed rugs that looked suspiciously like place-mats.

Belinda-what's-her-face droned on about a scandalous story concerning black-market kitchen appliances knicked from some warehouse in Bristol, but the soundly snoring body sprawled out on the couch seated directly in front of the grave-yard table heard not a word of the commentary.

At first glance, one would have mistaken the occupant to be an over-turned basket of laundry, but upon closer inspection, would see that attached to one end of the mass of clothing was a bundle of fiery red hair. It framed a pale, freckly face with delicate features that were brutally marred by a trail of drool dangling precariously from the corner of two pink lips. Clutched between slender fingers was the remote control, aimed directly at the bubbly anchor as if threatening to mute her if she continued to babble about dodgy blenders and egg-beaters.

In the distance, the phone rang as it had been for the past twenty minutes straight. Again and again, the answering machine popped on with the cheery voice beseeching the caller to “Leave a message at the beep!” Around seven pissed off messages later, however, the phone suddenly lay as still as the lazy sleeper ten feet away.

Silence filled the cramped flat afterwards, save for more startling news stories, until the floor shook outside with heavy footsteps and suddenly, as if the world was ending that very moment, someone began to brutally assault the front and only door with two balled up fists.

“Ginevra Weasley!”

The body on the couch rolled over drearily and moaned. The knocking persisted, now accompanied by the jeering ring of the door bell.

“Bugger the hell off!” Came the grumpy reply as the mess of clothing and red hair stretched with a jaw-splitting yawn.

However, the caller seemed to be disinclined to obey and continued to beat the door so hard that the hinges squeaked.

“Open the Goddamn door, Ginny! It's three o'clock in the bloody afternoon and, if you haven't forgotten, your brother is getting married in an hour and half!”

That seemed to do the trick. As if the couch had regurgitated its lone occupant, arms and other assorted limbs went flying onto the floor with a muffled yelp.

“Alright….I'm up! Stop with the damn knocking, would you?!” Struggling to her feet, Ginny Weasley tried to grab hold of something to heave herself up with. Her hand landed with a disgusting squelch into one of the unfinished take-away meals, and she groaned. After another attempt, she caught onto the edge of the couch and pulled herself into a slightly wobbly but still standing position.

Once she managed to get her bearings, she padded over to the door and threw it open with such force that she nearly toppled over. A blinding pain broke out in the middle of her forehead, and she groped for something to hold on to. When she was sure she'd be having a face-to-face confrontation with the stiffly carpeted floor, she felt strong arms wrap themselves around her slender waist and hoist her upright again.

“My God, Gin…What the hell's happened to you?” Two blue eyes took in the appearance of the fumbling young woman who was trying desperately to free herself from the vice-like grip on her body.

Ginny righted herself and tried to pat down the mass of fiery tangles that surrounded her head.

“What d'you mean, Colin? Don't I look alright?” She gestured to her three-sizes too big flannel pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers as if she were modeling some grand fashion statement—Purely Pissed Fashion by Ginevra Weasley.

“Was it Jeffery again? Christ…come over and sit down before you collapse.”

Ginny immediately scowled and shook off the hands of long time best friend and, coincidentally, her boss, Colin Creevy. No longer scrawny and obnoxiously over-zealous, Colin Creevy had grown into one of the most adored entrepreneurs of the “New Age.” He tackled success with ease and gracefully shook off his immaturity for business savvy and charm along the way.

“I can manage on my own, thanks.” She looked around helplessly, throwing aside cushions and papers, haphazardly in search of something.

Colin shook his head exasperatedly, “I can see that.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a long, thin object and gave it a flick.

“Accio Ginny's wand.”

Summoned from beneath an over-turned TV guide, Ginny's wand flew into his palm and he handed it to her smugly.

She grunted in false gratitude and made her way into the tiny kitchenette that consisted of a small stove and a shiny black refrigerator. The fairly spotless countertops revealed that the path of her misery had halted with the living room.

Pulling various ingredients from the shelves that flanked the walls, she threw them into an old iron cauldron and set them to boil with a wave of her wand.

“What are you doing?” Colin sniffed the air. It smelled of dried owl dung, and he knew whatever it was would probably cure an illness as soon as it would cause one.

Ginny rolled her eyes, “I'm getting rid of this sodding head ache. What are you doing?” She added sarcastically.

Colin stood and pushed her aside from the green, bubbling mess she was preparing. As he took over, adding more or less of the set out ingredients to the mixture, the liquid contents began to take on the pale, blue hue they were meant to and he filled a large mug with a generous amount. Ginny took the proffered potion wearily and downed it without coming up for air.

Colin watched his best friend with tightly pursed lips. When she finished and smacked her lips with a nasty scowl, he took the mug and placed it in the sink.

“Are you going to tell me what brought you to this despicable state or not?” He casually asked and drew up a seat next to hers at the counter.

Ginny mumbled something and ground her teeth violently

“Didn't quite catch that,” Colin said.

“Jeff's an arse!” Ginny exclaimed and promptly burst into tears. Colin wrapped his arms around her shaking frame and let her finish before speaking.

“Oh, Gin…was it that secretary?”

The reply was a sniffle and jerk of her head up and down.

“I knew he was a prat from the start. You never should have gotten involved with him, you know. All that money and obvious obsession for luxury. He must have seen you as another trinket to add to his collection—“

“Colin, just let me be depressed for a moment, alright? You can rub it in my face later.”

“Unfortunately, Gin, we don't have a moment. Your brother isn't going to take it lightly if his only sister doesn't show up at his wedding on time.”

Ginny started and immediately leapt off of the stool, making a mad dash down a short hallway that lead to her bedroom.

“Holy fucking shit…I look like hell! Colin, grab my dress from the wardrobe and do a gentle pressing charm, would you? I've got to find those sodding heels…did I leave them at your pl—Oh! Never mind! I found them!” She tossed the shoes onto her bed and dashed into the bathroom. As the water ran, Colin waved his wand over her simple, strapless gown. The color, thank Merlin, was a beautiful ocean teal and would do wonders for Ginny's hair—he doubted whether Hermione would appreciate the hue, though. It was a far stretch from earth tones and tweed.

Instantly, the minor wrinkles faded and a minute later Ginny was dashing from the steamy bathroom, her wand blowing her hair dry while she used her free hand to brush her teeth.

“Phank-oo!” Came her toothpaste-y reply as he handed her the gown. Five minutes later, she was hopping into her shoes while Colin struggled to zip up the back of gown without ripping it in half.

“Ginny, would you stop that bloody dancing around?”

She obliged and gave him a split second to finish up before reaching for her wand and using it to twist and curl her long mane of red into an up-do that left her face framed by light, fiery curls. Then mascara, lip gloss, a little blush and…

“Tra-la!” She struck a silly pose for her bemused friend and accepted his hand as pulled her over to the door way.

“You look magnificent, Gin. Now, take this—“ He thrust a gaily wrapped package into hands, “And I will see you at the ceremony, alright? I've got to pop by the office beforehand. Oh,” his eyes lit up as he remembered, “Don't forget that you're heading to the Le Vin de Ciel tomorrow for the elf-made wine tasting. I want a full article ready on Monday.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and took the wedding gift, feeling immensely grateful for having such a wonderful friend at that time.

“Right, right, can't wait to get paid for getting pissed off elf-wine.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and breathless thanks before disappearing with a CRACK.

Colin sighed and ran a hand through his light blond hair. With a wave of his wand, the trashed living room re-collected itself in a more habitable fashion and began to smell less like a moldy rubbish bin. As an afterthought, he transfigured one of Ginny's many ancient magazines into a vase of golden sunflowers and sat them on the coffee table with a satisfied smile.

“Oi, Ginny, my friend. What would you do without me?” But the cheerily restored living room did not answer for its owner and Colin shrugged before squinting his eyes in concentration. A second later, he was gone, leaving the cheery voice of Belinda-whatever-her-name to warn the empty flat against purchasing blenders from a man in a dodgy black trench coat and scraggly beard.

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Ginny's arrival at the Burrow was barely noticed amongst the noisy hysteria that was going on. Stacked to the ceiling as if in some crude imitation of a skyscraper, was box after box of wedding gifts, all wrapped in various flowery, marital-type wrapping and stuck here and there with frilly, pink bows. Ginny glanced at the swaying tower reproachfully and opted to place her own gift in a smaller pile beside it.

Beyond the gifts were flailing witches scurrying all over the place as if knocked in the face by a jiggly-legs jinx, and Ginny smirked in spite of herself. There was Fleur, chasing her nine year old daughter, Annabelle, around with her tiny flower girl gown, and on the other side was Fleur's sister Gabrielle, eyeing her teal gown as if it were going to come alive that instant and strangle her. Standing in the kitchen were Katie and Angelina, cradling tiny infants in their arms and dressed semi-formally in their wedding-attire. Somewhere off tracking down their mischievous namesakes, were Fred and George Weasley, being watched with bemused expressions by their wives.

On the mismatched tables and furniture were mounds of familiar teal fabric beneath tape measures and pin-cushions. In the middle of the sitting area, her mother stood, shoulders draped with fabric as she carefully instructed her wand in sewing up the side of the dress a very exasperated witch was donning.

“…going to kill him for making me rip my dress!” The usually even-tempered faced Hermione spat, glancing apologetically at Mrs. Weasley who, once again, was trying to get her to calm down lest she poke herself with the furiously moving sewing needle.

“Oh, dear, no use crying over spilled potion is there? I'm sure he didn't realize—“

“Travel by broomstick, he says,” Hermione ranted, trampling over Mrs. Weasley's next words of comfort, “When he bloody well knows I can't stand flying. And in my bridesmaids dress no less! And just look at the state of my—Oh! Ginny! Thank Merlin!”

Ginny, having been watching the exchange with a bemused expression on her pretty face, smiled warmly at her longtime friend.

“Hello, Hermione. You're in a cheery mood today, aren't you?” She stepped up to kiss her on her cheek and did the same to her mother.

It certainly wasn't like Hermione to become so frazzled and short-tempered—well, at least not so worried about her appearance as she seemed to be. Ginny really couldn't blame her, though. Her wild brown hair was in complete disarray and seemed to be nearly strangling her red-hued visage as she steamed in anger.

“I just wanted today to go so smoothly….” She wrung her fingers together in obvious anxiety and sighed.

“Relax, Hermione, you're not the one getting dumped on my brother. Luna's the one who should be having a coronary.” She winked playfully and ignored her mother's cluck of disapproval.

Hermione laughed softly and relaxed, letting Mrs. Weasley's wand work its magic until she finally stood and wiped her brow, exclaiming, “There! Good as new, dear.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Weasley! You're a lifesaver!” Hermione swiftly but carefully stepped off of the stool and pecked Mrs. Weasley's cheek.

Ginny nodded her head as if in agreement. “Yes, yes, absolutely lovely, Mum. Shall I take Hermione upstairs have a look at that hair?” Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed Hermione by the elbow and practically dragged her out of the room and upstairs to her old bedroom.

Once safely stashed inside, Ginny's body sighed with relief. Something about being in her hold room with her walls plastered with posters of quidditch players and trendy singers all smiling winsomely around at her made her feel so at ease. Her bed, still covered in her old favorite quilt embroidered by her mother with sunflowers and daisies that smelled real when she crawled between them at night, sat in the corner beside her old school trunk.

She glanced around at her dressing table with bottles of hair potions tucked neatly onto one corner and old Teen Witch volumes on another.

“Ginny?” Hermione broke into her reminisce and touched her forearm gently.

Ginny sighed and plastered on a cheery grin, whipping out her wand in the process. “Honestly, what was he thinking? Broom-flying when you're to be in a wedding?” She began instructing it to smooth out the frizzy curls as Hermione's eyes sparked with indignation.

“Yes, well, he'll be taking the couch tonight, won't he?” Ginny grinned impishly as Hermione's hair began to take on a more reasonable appearance.

Sighing, Hermione shrugged. “Well...that's to say he'd actually be coming around any more after today.”

Ginny let go of her wand promptly. “You didn't chuck him did you? Oh, Hermione…” She retrieved her wand and shook her head wearily at Hermione's guilty wince.

“Well, I had to! It's only been two weeks and he's driving me mad!” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Taking me out to dinner every single night, talking about all these interesting trips he's been on to different countries, deciphering runes for the ministry, helping set up orphanages in Scotland—“

“Oh, yes, Trevor Rightman is the world's biggest prat if I've ever heard of one. Imagine,” She began, twirling Hermione's hair into an up-do like her own, “Spending loads of galleons on you every chance he got! And the nerve of him, being a genious git who cares about needy children. It's a damn good bit of luck you got rid of him before he started donating to charities or something.”

Hermione scowled. “Oh, leave me alone. I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I can't seem to find interest in anybody I date. Not even that bloke who owned ten libraries in Luxembourg…”

Ginny patted her friend's back in a compassionate manor, but bit her tongue when eager words like “Why don't you just give it up and admit that you're in love with someone else already?” or “Ever fancy setting up a date with the one you've been gone on for ages instead of wizards you know you'll end up chucking before the starters have even been finished?”

Instead, she held up a mirror for Hermione to “ooh” and “aah” at her lovely reflection, giving herself satisfied smile.

“Lovely, Gin. You're a miracle worker.”

Ginny shrugged modestly. “Anything for you my darling. Now, as we're on the subject of fuckwit losers, let us bring to the table one Jeffery Brighton.”

Hermione let out an audible gasp. “It was his secretary wasn't it? Oh, Gin—“

` “How is it that every one seems to have cottoned on that he was shagging his secretary but me?”

Hermione gave her friend a sympathizing look. “Well, Gin...you have to admit. You never really listened when we tried to tell you.”

And that was the problem with having sensible, caring friends. They always saw the obvious before you did and when the tried to tell you, you shrugged them off as jealous hags and made a total arse of yourself in the end.

“I know…I'm a joke.”

Hermione grabbed her hands and squeezed them affectionately, “You, Ginny Weasley, are not a joke. You're the best journalist this side of Britain. You've got a lovely flat and thousands of adoring fans. And, you're smart, witty, lovely to be around, and the best girl friend I've got.”

Ginny nodded to each one of Hermione's list of her attributes and suddenly, her chest expanded and her chin lifted in to the air. She was right. Ginny Weasley was a wonderful friend and successful journalist who could do without snotty, cheating pricks like Jeff Brighton and would go on to make loads of galleons and—

“Ginny, if you don't stop now, we'll never fit that fat head of yours through the door.”

Snapping out of her reverie, Ginny smacked Hermione on the shoulder playfully and laughed.

“You're supposed to be boosting my morale, `Mione!”

Chortling, Hermione grabbed her friend's arm and headed towards the door. “I'll do just that after we marry off that brother of yours—with lots of wine and wizard-bashing at my place, alright?”

Ginny's mood soared. Great, she would be back in the swing of things in no time. One more night of pissing herself with a good friend couldn't hurt could it? And besides, it was rare she ever got Hermione to drink more than a glass of wine—this was an Occasion if there ever was one and she'd be damned if she was going to let anything get in the middle of it.

And then, like a ton of owl dung dropping on her head, she remembered. Occasion. Wine. Elf-made wine tasting column due on Colin's desk first thing on Monday morning.

“Oh, bugger!” She exclaimed as she followed Hermione into the foyer where the rest of her bustling family was gathered, ready to Apparate to the Lovegood estate or floo with their respective families.

“What is it?” Hermione said as she greeted Fred and George with smiles and hugs.

“I'm supposed to be in Surrey tomorrow tasting elf-made wines and chatting it up with snotty old cows for a story due Monday—Hello, Fleur!” She beamed at her sister-in-law, whom after nine years of getting used to, seemed to finally be growing on her. She did have an incredible sense for fashion and had become one of her favorite tag-alongs whenever she felt the urge to run up her charge card.

“'ello, my dear! `ow is the jurn-oh-leez-eem going?” She smiled brightly, apparently pleased with her pronunciation of the highly difficult term. Fleur had barely changed since Ginny had first met in her third year, watching her fearlessly compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament. She was a remarkable vision in her light yellow sundress, standing next to her equally stunning daughter. Some thought the loss she suffered during the War had ebbed her veela glow, and as she stood there, her hands latched on to Annabelle's tiny shoulders like a life preserver, Ginny thought if anything, she looked more human and beautiful than ever.

Ginny smiled back and shrugged, “Never better, actually. I'll be expecting a promotion any day now.” Fat bloody chance, she thought. Not when she was producing top-notch articles for her editor at a fraction of what other witches like herself were getting just because he happened to be her best friend.

“Right then, shall we be off? I expect the others will already be there. Only—twenty minutes to go!” Molly Weasley's face burned a bright, feverish hue as she started calling out orders to everyone, “Arthur pass `round the floo powder would you? Fred and George, please stop teaching your sons how to turn flower arrangements into spaghetti! Angelina, dear, would you mind catching your Billy before he knocks over the—oh, Merlin. I'll have to fix that later, then. Off we go!”

Fred, George, and their wives, Angelina Johnson Weasley and Katie Bell Weasley each gathered their respective children and a reproachful looking Annabelle and took turns floo-ing to the location of the wedding.

The remaining members gathered together and after a moment, several CRACKS sounded and the living room was left empty as ever, with an over-turned coffee table lying comically in the center.

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The Lovegood estate was truly magnificent, Ginny observed as she peered down the petal-strewn aisle. Directly behind the altar lay a ten acre lake, sparkling gaily in the spring sunshine on the perfect May afternoon. Guests had gathered along the water's edge preceding the ceremony, sipping glasses of white wine and Ginny casually wondered where she could find one for herself.

She hadn't joined the wedding party right off, as she was keen on taking in the lovely scenery where her quirky brother was to say his vows. Apparently, The Quibbler, however nutty and maniacal in context, seemed to have quite a thriving stint in the wizarding world. Its owner, Xeonophilius Lovegood, Luna's pleasant, if not a bit odd, father now stood mingling with his guests, pointing out the ginger colored fairies that were responsible for the sparkling glow in the air that he'd had imported from Tibet.

“Never mind that Winky Widgets could have contaminated their wings, but they seem to be doing lovely don't they? And just look at my lovely Luna's friends! Never realized she she'd been so popular over the years…Oh, yes, I'm very proud of my daughter. Though, have you heard about the threatening invasion of Gobble Gunders in our sewer system? I'd second guess myself next time I went to flush if I were you…”

Smiling bemusedly, Ginny left the mingling guests and set off for the sprawling mansion that sat behind them all, a testament to a very successful business. Inside, she asked a friendly witch with an abundance of curly blond hair to direct her to the groom's room, and she smiled as she headed off in the proper direction.

At the large mahogany door, she knocked thrice and waited. After the sound of scuffling robes, the door was cracked and tiny sliver of her brother's face could be seen.

“Oh, thank God it's you, Gin.” He threw the door open and let her in. “I was scared it'd be that crazy old woman again—she's had me going through baby names all morning. Ahh, bless you, Harry.” He'd taken a proffered glass of amber liquid that smelled much like firewhisky from his old friend's hands gulped it down with fervor.

Smiling a bid stupidly, he exclaimed, “There's a reason I made you best man, Potter.”

Ginny giggled and sidled up to the bemused looking Harry to give him a hug and quick kiss. Fred and George were seated in another corner of the room, heads bent over some tricky looking paper work—no doubt the plans to expand their business yet again.

“How's he holding up?” She muttered, watching as Ron immediately set to pacing up and down the length of the room.

Harry shrugged and ran a hand through his ever-messy locks. “As good as could be expected. I've got a bucket all ready just in case his nerves get the better of him.” He nodded toward a silver bin in the corner.

Ginny sighed and said, “Well, I can't stay long. Luna will be needing her third bridesmaid won't she?” Harry smiled and kissed her cheek once more. Ginny walked up to her smartly dressed brother and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Ronald—calm down. You look fantastic and you love Luna more than anyone. This is nothing to be nervous about. You get to spend the rest of your life with a beautiful, caring witch who has enough patience to put up with you. You should be dying of happiness.”

Ron's blue eyes seemed to come a bit more into focus at her words.

“Right. Luna. Beautiful. Patient. Bloody sodding hell, I think I'm going to chuck up all that stupid pudding her grandmother made me eat this morning…”

Laughing despite her brother's obvious predicament, she left Harry to deal with him.

“Good luck, Ron. I love you,” She added and quickly kissed him on his cheek before leaving.

It wasn't very hard to find the bride's compartments, as the smell of perfumes and sounds of giddy giggles were coming from a door just a few down from the groom's.

Ginny braced herself to squeal and smile to the point of hurting herself and opened the door.

“Ginny! Oh, I was worried you'd never find the place. This house is so big, I even get lost some times.” Luna Lovegood, now Ginny's age at twenty-five and looking lovelier than ever in a lace and beaded white gown, was seated amongst several laughing witches. She was almost shocked the infamously eccentric witch hadn't turned up wearing a burnt orange pants suit or something made from gurdy roots.

Mrs. Weasley had taken to playing the part of nervous mum for Luna since, sadly, her own mother was not alive to see her daughter married. Luna seemed to be enjoying the attention, really, and her usual glazed expression had melted away as she had spent months pouring over the details of her wedding.

Hermione and Gabrielle stood off to the side in their matching gowns. Beside Luna, an elderly woman with salt and pepper hair galore and huge blue eyes that pounced on those in their path like two hungry predators, was rapidly rattling off a list of names as if she were expecting Luna to pop out a child as soon as the vows had ended.

“What about Connor? Now, that's a fine name for a young chap, isn't it? Or Louisa for a girl. Lovely, isn't it Luna, my love? Oh, if only your mother were alive. She'd have been so proud…”

Ginny suddenly realized what crazy woman her brother had been afraid of encountering before and steered herself in the opposite direction. Seeking refuge in Hermione and Gabrielle—well in Hermione at least—Ginny made quick work of relieving Hermione of her half-drunk glass of sparkling grape juice and downed the rest in one swig. Each of the three bridesmaids were holding a bouquet of crisp white lilies bespeckled with matching teal crystals that seemed to have been enchanted to vibrate a cool, blue hue. Ginny wondered where her lovely lily bouquet was.

“Have you seen Ron, then?” Hermione quipped, fiddling with her bouquet thoughtfully.

Ginny, having triumphantly discovered her bouquet on the dressing table they were standing beside snorted humorously.

“Yes…quite the mess, that one.”

Hermione chuckled. “D'you remember the first time they met in our fifth year? I never thought I'd seen a more mismatched pair, but—“

“Look at us now,” Luna said, smiling serenely as she came up beside them. Hermione paused for a moment and then laughed genially, beaming at Luna in her gorgeously laced gown. The beading was so fantastic; Ginny peered in to have a closer look while exclaiming at how beautiful it was to Luna's obvious, yet nonchalant, delight. When she'd finished tracing the floral pattern with her eyes, she lifted them, sensing an awkward moment in her midst.

Sure enough, Hermione's smile was almost undetectably strained and her honey colored gaze wasn't shining at all. Ginny wrapped an arm around her best friend and squeezed imperceptibly. It hadn't come as a surprise to anyone when Ron and Hermione had silently split up not long after the War had ended. Yet, seeing him married off to someone else must have stung just a bit for her dear friend in spite of how thrilled Hermione was for him.

As Ginny stood there, holding her friend and smiling happily at her soon-to-be sister-in-law, she fell backward into her memories. She'd been there that day in the midst of battle, tending to the wounded and any who stood a chance against the number of curses and spells that were constantly soaring in all directions.

Her hands were bloodied and shaking as she tried desperately to wrap bandages around a weeping witch's ruined arm. The cries of the fallen or injured barely shocked her any longer, yet simply rolled along the muddy, tousled robes flung around her body to keep out the piercing cold of dawn. She squinted against the sun and strained to keep focused on the patient at hand.

But in an instant, as if the entire world had halted, the cries faded away. Spells stopped in mid air and the rolling black blanket of clouds that had marked each day for the past two years with eminent danger suddenly disappeared. Shadows stirred as the brightest of sunrises spilled out from the heavens, staining the frigid battlefield below in hues of red and gold.

And there he was, standing on top of the grassy hill that separated the battlefield from that the place where Lord Voldemort had finally fallen. The crowd drank in the sight of their new savior, the boy who lived yet again, who stood there—a beacon of hope borne from the ashes of war.

He slowly began to descend the grassy knoll upon which he stood, his face and arms covered in shredded robes and bloody wounds, his legs quaking while trying to support his weight. Ginny's body ached to run to him and tend to his injuries. Madame Pompfrey had been long since killed by a curse gone astray, but she still had all her potions and healing manuals…

But all she could do, like every one else, was stare as the sea of silent witches and wizards parted for him to pass. And then, after an endless minute, he finally stopped abruptly in his tracks. Hermione and Ron were there, their eyes shining with relief and pain and everything they'd been feeling since the first day they'd met the man who now stood before them with two wands clutched tightly in his hand. Without speaking, he unclenched his grip around one of them and lifted it into the air where it lay suspended on its own. In one flick of his own wand, the other exploded into a thousand pieces of green ash.

And then Harry crumbled, his body sprawled out on the blood-splattered ground in silence. Ginny dropped her bandages and ran over to the three of them. Ron and Hermione heaved their friend from the ground and Ginny helped them into one of the medi-tents that were stationed nearby. They laid him to sleep on a comfortable bed that Hermione procured out of the tip of her wand. His face was pale as ever and stretched thin over his cheek bones, but as she leaned close to press a gentle kiss to the scar on his forehead, she felt the warmth of his breath against her chin and felt her heart sigh with relief. At that point Ginny knew that nothing would ever be the same.

Shortly after, he was whisked off to St. Mungo's for proper treatment for the various curses he'd sustained on his body and physical injuries as well. There, flanked on either side by Hermione and Ron, Ginny had stayed with him, her hand grasped firmly around his unharmed one. The skin on his wand hand was still charred and bloody from the battle of his wand versus Voldemort's. And so they remained, until one afternoon she felt his green gaze upon her and glanced up to see the smile she'd been longing to see for three weeks. Ron and Hermione flew to his side, but he kept his eyes on hers, his hand gripped tightly around her own. Letting each other go once again, that's what they were doing.

Silently, Ginny nodded as tears streamed down her face. Things could never be the same between them. It was time for a fresh start, and that didn't mean digging into the past for some silly school affair—it seemed like ages ago when he dropped her hand at Dumbledore's heart-wrenching funeral and set out to embark upon his journey without her. And now, as she let go of his, allowing him to recover and start anew, she allowed herself to do the same.

Around a month or so later, after Harry had sprung back to life right before their eyes, Ginny suspected the same had happened to Ron and Hermione when they quietly broke off with each other. They decided that the friendship between the three of them was enough to sustain them now, and the worry and fear for Harry's life no longer capable of gluing their relationship together.

So, fast forwarding to three years later, Colin Christopher Creevy had become one of the most successful entrepreneurs to date, having built the foundation for the most widely received and adored wizard publication since Teen Witch. Based on the bright future that lay ahead for their world, the Bewitched Times paved the path for wizards and witches alike to take a step toward the unknown. Colin had answered many questions about his daring new investment and whether he planned to do away with the ancient wizarding traditions they all knew and loved with the utmost confidence in his endeavor.

“I've got one interest with this magazine and one alone—that is to give our people the confidence and tools they need to grasp onto the new life that He-who-must-not-be-named's demise has promised us. No longer will we fear what's next to come, but hold onto our past while taking on our future. Keeping traditions and beginning new ones, my friends, is what the Bewitched Times is all about. Allowing ourselves to heal and be healed as well as consider our mistakes and learn from them. No longer shall wizard and magical creatures live alongside each other in disharmony. We must learn to love our fellows as our own, for only then will we truly find a common peace amongst our world.”

Empowered by the new “wave into the next era of magic,” the magical community had celebrated its newest novelty. Bewitched Times became a household commodity, alongside the Daily Prophet, and with Ginny Weasley as his top journalist, Colin couldn't have asked for a better staff of dedicated workers whose job it was to feature new, exciting ways to enjoy the magic they all possessed. They began by funding the restoration of the Ministry of Magic to its previous glory and more.

The Fountain of Magical Brethren was rebuilt in pure gold and set on display in the lobby once more, now twice the size of its predecessor. And, most symbolically, the centaur, goblin, and house-elf were no longer gazing up at the wizard and witch with awe and reverence; their marble eyes were pointed off into the horizon. Witch and wizard as well both gazed off at the same point as if the future of their world lay just beyond the front doors of the ministry.

“Ginny…come on. We're about to start the ceremony.” Hermione interrupted Ginny's thoughts for the second or third time that day and Ginny shook her head gently. The queue of bridesmaids was lining up at the door, with little Annabelle leading the way.

Ginny peered over her shoulder and spotted the ever-calm bride standing beside her father. She looked totally at ease, and Ginny snickered to think of her brother quaking in his new suit with anxiety beneath a trellis decked out in white lilies and giddy gold fairies. Smiling, she walked over quickly and gave Luna a warm hug for good luck.

“Doing all right there?” She asked genially. Luna nodded complacently.

“I'm more worried about Ronald, actually. I haven't seen him this nervous since he proposed. It took three waiters to resuscitate him after I said yes.”

Ginny chortled having re-enacted the scene at many family get-togethers just to spite her dear brother.

“Can't tell you how glad I am to finally have a sister who's, hopefully, not going to reproduce any more boys that have inherited their Uncles' flair for juvenile delinquency.”

Luna smiled softly, her eyes glazing over in what Ginny mistakenly presumed to be tears of happiness. She expected Luna to then say something like “You're the best sister I ever could have wished for!” or “I can't believe I'm about to marry Ronald Weasley!” but in true Luna fashion, she nodded and said, “Just think, Gin. What if the Gobble Gunders had gotten into the plumbing today! We wouldn't be having a wedding at all, given the contamination—“

“Right then! Everyone queued up and ready to go?” Mrs. Weasley popped her head in for a moment and gave them a watery smile. She'd no doubt been to see her ickle Ronniekins down the aisle before wishing the bride-to-be good luck.

“You look stunning, my dear,” She said and wrapped Luna in a warm hug. Looking slightly as if receiving this many hugs in one day had never occurred to her, Luna patted her back gently and smiled when Mrs. Weasley finally released her.

“Right…well…off I go!” Mrs. Weasley waved and dashed back down the corridor.

And so they marched, little Annabelle leading the way as she merrily tossed white rose petals in her wake. As Ginny took her place beside Hermione at the altar, she beamed at her brother with love and pride. He gave her a wink, then the music began and his nerves seemed to slide off of him like water as Luna appeared like a shiny, white angel at the end of the aisle. Her arm was tucked into her father's and he beamed at the smiling guests as if he'd been waiting his entire life for this moment—and, Ginny thought, he probably had.

Fairies lit up the sky around them as dusk settled across the lake. Ginny listened to their vows with a lump in her throat and tears welling up in her eyes. Yes…this was what all that fighting had been for, she thought. This moment right before her, where her best friend and brother now stood, citing their love for each other and sealing it with a kiss.

As Ron and Luna embraced and cheers exploded around them, she cast her gaze over to the best man. Harry's eyes were shimmering as he watched his best mate become the happiest man alive. And she knew, too, that he was thinking the same thing she was. That it had all been worth it, all for happiness, all for love.

Hermione nudged Ginny to begin to follow the recession, and she did so, tucking her arm into Harry's as they went. Hermione was giggling at something Fred said into her ear, and Gabrielle looked particularly flushed when George bowed to her and tried to get her to waltz with him down the aisle.

Ginny sighed to herself. This was what she wanted one day, this happiness, this love. She knew it surely wasn't going to come in the form of any more Jeff-something-or-the-other's, but in her gut, she felt it coming soon.

Harry helped her into the white carriage that was to carry them into the sky and over the Lovegood's expansive estate before landing in the heart of their private botanical gardens where the reception was being held. In her seat, Ginny gazed out at the sun-kissed waters and leaned her head into the wind, watching doves soar overhead on the back of the wind.

Something stirred inside of her chest, and she felt as free as she ever had in her life. The carriage glided over green pastures and she could see the gardens in the distance, already teaming with mingling guests who were taking advantage of the fully stocked bar and buffet-style banquet.

Something, she thought, was definitely about to change in her life.

“What're you looking so cheery about?” Harry smiled at her bemusedly, and loosened his white bow tie until it draped open on his collar.

She turned in her seat and looked seriously into his eyes.

“Well, to be honest, I'm not sure exactly…but it's like something big is about to happen, Harry. D'you know what I mean? When you just…I don't know....feel it inside? “

“Has someone been channeling the spirit of the great Sybil Trelawney?” He chuckled softly. Ginny rolled her eyes at him and took to watching the scenery.

Harry's laughter stopped and he dropped her gaze and turned towards the other end of the massive carriage. Hermione was sandwiched between Gabrielle and George, trying to keep him from annoying the flustered Parisian any further. A flicker of something shot through his eyes, and Ginny smiled.

“Something big, it seems, is about to happen for the both of us.”

-->

2. Face to Face

Bewitched Times

Chapter 2

“Face to Face”

By: Adrial

An: Hello everyone! It's been a while but I've finally gotten the second chapter up! Yay!

: ) Thank you to everyone who reviewed the prologue. Now the fun really begins! I'll try to keep the updates more consistent but college life is hectic as many of you may know. I hope you'll bear with me! And I'll hope to have the next chapter of To Be or Not to be a Malfoy up soon.

Enjoy!

~Adrial~

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Hermione was on her fifth glass of champagne when she began humming the wedding march merrily to herself. She tried not to slop all over her dress as she ravenously worked her way through the box of chocolate biscuits that they'd found on Ginny's doorstep when they arrived an hour before. Both of them had indulged in a few glasses of wine at the wedding so neither was in any shape for Apparition or floo-ing. Harry had gladly offered to drive them home (he took his Auror duties seriously and never drank more than a glass lest he be called in for duty at any moment).

And as he laughed as Hermione awkwardly put one foot across, on top of, and behind the other towards flat number 6, Ginny's own feet were skidding to a halt, her face now screaming a furious shade of scarlet. Lying not three feet before the trio was the most exquisite bouquet of (clearly Engorged) sunflowers Ginny had ever seen. However, the gilded warmth emitting from their large, velvety petals was instantly frozen beneath the icy glare set upon them by the furious redhead. Oblivious to the cold reception they were receiving, the flowers continued to thrust their alluring and repulsive scent towards Ginny like many twisted knives, inadvertently causing her anger to swell to gargantuan levels.

Harry had cleared his throat awkwardly upon catching a glimpse of the murderous look in Ginny's hazel eyes.

“I'm going to assume—”

“I suggest you don't.” Ginny ground out her threat between clenched teeth and didn't even bother meeting his eye.

Harry had not waited for a second warning and had Apparated away seconds later, leaving Hermione grasping for air where his arm had been latched around her own.

The chocolates had been straining to peak out from the forest of yellow petals and neither would have known they'd even existed if Hermione hadn't tripped over her own feet in her eagerness to pluck a bloom for herself and landed face first into the bouquet. She'd emerged with the corner of the box stuck firmly in her cheek.

Hermione giggled when a biscuit missed her mouth and landed on the floor, instantly crumbling into a pile of sugary dust. Ginny emerged from down the hall where'd she'd left her friend to slosh herself on her own for a few minutes while she changed into her night things. Upon viewing the sight of Hermione amidst the graveyard of yellow petals that her lovely bouquet had been instantly reduced to, she sighed in content and plopped down on the sofa.

“At least the bloody imbecile remembered what my favorite flower was,” She felt around in the cushions for any more discarded biscuits and threw them onto the coffee table while she added, “Lucky for him though isn't it? That it wasn't roses…else he'd have had to waste twice his precious galleons on a lost fucking cause.”

“What a funny word that is—Gal-ee-ONS,” Hermione tipped her head back to receive the last drops of her bubbly and frowned when her tongue met dry air instead.

“Damn…” She lifted the bottle from the floor and narrowed her eyes to slits at it, “Have I really drunk this entire bottle of *hiccup* champagne?”

Ginny did not reply; her eyes were glued to her fireplace across from them. Hermione followed her friend's line of sight and saw that the hearth was glowing a pale shade of blue. Sparks flew suddenly from the artificial logs that had been placed for show lest any muggle visitors come to call, and Hermione crawled closer to get a better look. The drink had made her usual intellectual curiosity more keen to that of a careless child and she laughed excitedly when a delicate white paper crane suddenly flapped its way out of the blue sparks.

“Oh, look at the little paper bird someone's sent you!” She exclaimed and rose shakily to her feet to try to snatch the bird out of the air, “Oh, please, let's keep it! I don't want it to end up like the *hic* pretty flowers—Ouch!”

Ginny snorted as Hermione nursed her stubbed toe and casually held out her palm to receive the snowy messenger which unsurprisingly fell obediently into her hand. She reached for her wand and tapped the bird twice. Instantly, the paper began to unfold and the tight, hurried writing of her best friend appeared. She groaned.

“Oh, bugger…right when I was about to convince myself I'm too deserving of a break to work tonight…”

“Who's it from?” Hermione, slightly sobered by her injury, knelt next to her friend and took the note from her hands.

“My dear boss,” She ground out the words and grumpily stomped over to the briefcase she'd thrown haphazardly next to the coat rack the night before. Hermione reached across the table to read the note that had irritated her friend so. Her brown eyes skimmed hastily and she finally exclaimed, “Oh, Ginny, that's fantastic!”

She smiled widely and her eyes began to swim with coherency once more. Ginny sighed in regret. Now that Hermione was thinking straight, she'd have no hope of getting her to agree with her on the point that calling in “chucked” to get out of work was a perfectly acceptable excuse.

“It's the grand opening of Le Vin de Ciel! Can you believe what this is doing for elf-welfare?! You've got to go! It took five years for my S.P.E.W. organization to finally convince the ministry to stop wizards from accepting the revenue for Elf-made wine sales and finally give the rightful owners the credit.”

Ginny gave her a half-hearted smile, “Right—It's excellent, really.”

Hermione was too elated to even hear her. “I'd planned to go myself, actually, but I'm supposed to be conducting a lesson in tactful defenses for a handful of new Aurors Monday and I need tomorrow to prepare...”

Ginny ignored her friend and began to brew a sobriety potion before Hermione remembered that she was too pissed to have a snowball's chance in hell of waking up before sunset the next day.

“Are you listening to me, Ginny?” Hermione absently stuffed another biscuit into her mouth and plopped onto the couch with her legs propped upon several pillows. She massaged her head and tried to shake the blurriness out of her vision.

“God…I can't believe I've drunk this much…” The tip of her nose was rosy and Ginny noted with a pang of alarm how her cheeks had taken on a tell-tale tinge of green.

She emptied several more ingredients into the same cauldron Collin had used for her that morning and waited for the contents to turn periwinkle in hue.

“…and you wouldn't believe who gave the ministry the funding for the project, in the—” Hermione's sentence was cut off as she let go of an enormous and quite impressive belch.

“Here you are, my darling,” Ginny swooped over to her and set a mug of the bubbling potion into Hermione's hands. She held back her hair from her face as Hermione greedily downed half of the cup before tearing it from her lips with a scowl in its place.

“Merlin…what the bloody hell have you given me?” She shoved it away and Ginny laughed and urged her to take it back.

“If you want to have an ounce of intelligence left in you tomorrow then you will definitely want to finish this potion.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and instantly regretted it for it made the world around her sway alarmingly and Ginny's face became a pale blur of freckles and red hair. Her stomach rolled grumpily in the sea of champagne she had drowned it in, and she let her head fall back onto a pillow.

“Make it stop spinning…ugghh…”

Ginny swallowed back her amusement and urged more of the potion between Hermione's lips. When it was finally more or less gone, she cleared up the mess they'd made with a few flicks of her wand and turned the lights off. Hermione's gentle snores soon sounded and she was happy that she'd decided to mix a few slumber components into the potion she'd made as well.

Her bed felt so warm and inviting that she doubted she'd ever feel enough initiative to get out of it ever again. Sleep came and went throughout the night as she dreamed of elves dancing about with wine glasses in their knobby little hands while silver paper cranes waltzed airily about their heads. She watched the spectacle from a field of enormously sized sunflowers, straining to part the petals enough so that she could see more clearly.

The elves were becoming increasingly harder to watch and the silver cranes became specks of glitter in the distance as the golden petals crowded in around her, reducing the deep blue sky overhead to fragments here and there. Suddenly, she felt the air around her become thick and hard to breathe for it was so congested with the scent of the giant flowers. Gasping, she beat away stems and leaves, fighting for breath, watching the last traces of sunlight slip away like the glittery specks she knew existed beyond her petal-strewn tomb…

“OY, GINNY! RISE AND SHINE!!!”

“Ahhh!!” Ginny's eyes sprang open and she scrambled to gain her bearings. In her haste, she tangled her legs quite awkwardly in her bedding and landed in a mess of hair, limbs, and sheets on her bedroom floor.

A snickering laugh sounded from up above and Ginny struggled against her linen-chains to free herself.

“What-the-bloody-hell-is-going-ON?!” Finally able to wrench herself free, she rose to her feet to assault whomever responsible for waking her up so rudely.

“Oh, please do calm down. I was only trying to wake you up!”

Ginny met the beseeching green eyes of her co-editor, Morgan Falley, and instantly felt like ripping her own hair out. Morgan was a petite, semi-attractive witch with dark brown hair that was almost mahogany in hue and giant green eyes that lit up whenever she laughed. Ginny regretted the fact that her laugh was more akin, however, to a fatal screech and tried to resist covering her ears with her hands as Morgan cackled with bemusement at her co-worker's unkempt state. She, instead, ground her teeth and tried to pull reign on her temper.

“Wake me up? You probably woke all of bloody Europe up, Morgan!”

Ignoring her co-worker's obvious fury, Morgan set to rearranging Ginny's sheets with a casual air about her as if she was used to this sort of outrage.

“Are you quite finished?” She said, smiling, when Ginny had taken a pause in her fit of verbal abuse to replenish her supply of oxygen.

“NO.”

“Right then. Now, Hermione left an hour ago; she said to say thanks for the potion, though. And if you haven't noticed, Ms. Ginevra, it is well past twelve o'clock in the afternoon and we've got a front page article due on Collin's desk in less than twenty-four hours.”

Ginny was left open-mouthed. She let Morgan's words soak into her brain for a moment before finally deciding that she had the right to have blown her out of bed in such a fashion.

“Rough night?” Morgan's stern expression softened into one of sympathy at the defeated look that had appeared momentarily on Ginny's face. She, of course, had been thinking that the cause for such despondency was her nasty split with Jeffery the other day because she, like all the others who had tried to warn her about him, had known immediately that he was more than capable of cheating on her.

Ginny decided to let her assume what she wanted to assume about her mood even though the real cause for her disappointment was not having a reason to lash out at Morgan right then. She wasn't her favorite co-worker, but they got on well enough around the work place. It was usually when they were put on assignment together that Morgan's lofty and frivolous nature began to irk Ginny to no end.

“Just give me fifteen, alright?” She massaged her temples and sighed gratefully when Morgan gave her a sympathetic frown and made her leave.

She quickly showered and dressed in casual robes while directing extra clothing into an overnight bag with her wand. She and Morgan were to stay the night at the renovated manor in juxtaposition to the elves' expansive vineyard. She'd heard that the centuries-old establishment had only finished its extensive remodeling a week prior to its opening to the public. Their stay was complimentary, of course, or else Ginny would have never spent the thousand galleons per night fee that the owner of the manor charged for their luxurious accommodations.

She hadn't researched much of the background of the business aspects of the winery; the focus of her piece was to be the controversial breakthrough in elf proprietorship. She remembered the uproar that had been caused when S.P.E.W. (now a small branch of the ministry thanks to many years of hard labor and Hermione's sheer determination) broke out with its plans for all wizard owned wineries to forfeit their profits into the rightful hands of the elves that they used to create their infamous wines.

But, the wizards could not be expected to leave their estates empty-handed, of course. So they struck a compromise with the Elves. They would run a resort for visitors on the vineyard and make a profit that way while the Elves cultivated their fortune in the field and received all the proceeds from wine sales and a portion of the resort's earnings as well.

Tonight, the opening of Le Vin de Ciel would mark a triumph in the Wizarding community to establish amicable terms with its former servants. Ginny was already thinking absently of opening phrases for her article as she and Morgan stepped out of the ministry-issued car that had driven them to their destination. Smiling at the doorman, she removed her sunglasses and stepped back to take in her surroundings. She instantly found herself quite thoroughly shell-shocked. The grandeur of the vineyard was more than anything she could ever have dreamed.

“Wow…” Morgan breathed. Each woman craned her neck up to drink in the overwhelming sight of the mansion sitting before them. Ginny felt a chill skitter fleetingly up her spine as her eyes roved over the tall windows that covered the face of the building, each crossed with magnificently carved iron bars. The twenty foot doors that seemed to have rarely welcomed many visitors were each adorned with matching iron decorations; webs of anonymous figures twisted in cold metal obscured the dark wood like vines creeping over a tomb.

The sprawling stone staircase that separated the aforementioned doors from the two open-mouthed witches below was flanked by black, marble statues, each of a faceless wizard with its knees bent toward some unknown and hands crossed over an intricately carved crest. As Ginny stepped forward and traced her fingertips over the torso of the statue nearest to her, the strange depiction struck her as eerily familiar and she withdrew her fingers with a spark of anxiety. Morgan interrupted her thoughts, however, by bouncing on the balls of her feet and gesticulating wildly.

“Ginny—forget that old thing, look at that!”

Ginny tore her eyes away from the peculiar design of the crest and twisted round to follow Morgan's manicured index finger in the direction of the grounds below.

The four story behemoth that loomed behind them was seated on the summit of a massive emerald hill that was surrounded by endless, rippling green rows of grapes that made up the spectacular vineyard. Apart from the expected, they saw forests that surrounded the estate like massive walls that ensured privacy and gave the place a secluded feeling, as it were its own island. A chain of stables off in the distance caught Ginny's eye immediately and she gazed in awe where clusters of stallions in shades ranging from the richest mahogany to the purest of whites roamed leisurely in the summer sun. The warmth of the scenery seemed to thaw the icy chill she'd felt overcome her body in the presence of the manor that seemed to have been painted in shades only solemnity could wield.

Near the stables was a sizeable, two story structure that Ginny guessed housed the products of the beautiful landscape around her. Next to it was a noticeably smaller building that undoubtedly was home to the fifty or so elves that had been working the vineyard for centuries without pay. With the sun shining at its peak hour overhead, the dazzling landscape seemed to shimmer like some uncovered treasure trove, one that Ginny intended to explore as thoroughly as she could during her stay.

“…Miss…Pardon me…May I take your luggage for you?”

Ginny was released from her trance and nodded absently at the doorman who graciously took her bag and briefcase from her hands. She met Morgan's eyes and felt their excitement echo in her own.

“We are so going to make up some excuse to stay here for an extra week, Gin…How about you tell Creeves that it's about damn time you took a week's vacation after working for him for five years without so much as a day off.”

“What are you raving about? I've taken loads of vacations.”

Morgan gave Ginny a beseeching glance and an opportunity to elaborate. Ginny bit her lip and visibly began to rack her brains for any memory of a full day that she hadn't been locked away in her office or off on assignment. Suddenly, her eyes lit up like stars and she crossed her arms over her chest with a satisfied smirk.

“Ah ha! I took off a day last December!”

“That was for Christmas, Gin!”

“Oh…right.”

“Come on, the doorman is staring and we've been standing here for ten minutes already. I'm ready to take a look at what Malfoy's got locked up inside of this old tomb.”

“EXCUSE ME?” Ginny's feet instantly stopped moving towards the door as her eyes widened to the size of tea saucers. Morgan stared at her friend skeptically for a moment.

“What's wrong? Didn't you know that this was Lucius Malfoy's estate before the—well, you know.” She couldn't believe that Ginny Weasley, the queen of analyzing details, had failed to discern the owner of the vineyard they were about to write a major story on.

Ginny swallowed over a dry throat. She couldn't believe she was about to step into a building that Lucius Malfoy had once called Home. And even more so, she couldn't seem to grasp the fact that the home of one of the most brutal Death Eaters of all time was about to bear the ground beneath a pinnacle point in the bright and positive future for the magical community.

And then there was him. She hadn't thought of him for nearly a decade, and now she felt as if she were a trespasser on his uncharted territory, vulnerable prey under his watchful eye. She clutched her arms over her chest in subconscious defense and cleared her throat.

“Erm…It's just…ironic, isn't it?” She tried to seem casual but Morgan sensed her deep discomfort and threaded her arm through Ginny's empathetically.

“Now, now, Lucius has been gone for ages, Gin. Nothing to be alarmed about…”

Ginny hated it when Morgan spoke to her as if she was a child, but for the moment, she was glad to have someone assume her emotions for her. It left her without much explaining to do. Once again, Morgan had failed to sense the true reason for Ginny's discomfort. She knew fully well that Lucius Malfoy had died in the War; she'd seen his crumpled body sprawled over a bloody carpet of grass as she walked through the battlegrounds in search of survivors. It was there that she'd witnessed a scene she would never forget; the instant in time that had haunted her ever since no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Other that that, what was truly causing her discomfort was that she had a fairly good guess as to whom the estate had been handed down to after his death.

As the possibility of seeing him face to face after so many ears threatened to overwhelm her, Ginny was shaken from her reverie once again. Morgan clutched her forearm excitedly and let out a giddy squeal.

“Oh, my gosh, Gin! Look! It's him!”

Ginny sucked in her breath in alarm and tightened her hold on her purse strap. Morgan was pointing to the back of tall gentlemen who had just emerged from behind the looming front doors. His mouth was moving, and he seemed to be speaking heatedly for every now and then an angry jolt in the pitch of his voice would be carried down to them with the breeze. A balding gentleman appeared beside him, and his face glowing a pale shade of pink in the fierce summer sun. Ginny felt her eyes linger on him for only a moment before flashing over to his companion whose light blond hair was slicked back and perfectly placed and whose broad shoulders appeared straight and confident in his casual stance.

Ginny felt her pulse quicken. After all these years…She truly thought she'd never see Draco Malfoy again. Just then, the man that they stood gawking at turned slowly around. But instead of the familiar pale face that she'd memorized so often before, green eyes peered out from a less-angular and rounder visage. The man they thought had been Draco had his stature and build, but as he walked nearer to them they saw that his features were missing Draco's icy gaze and ever-present sneer. His jade colored orbs seemed to glow on his suntanned face with warmth rather than instant repugnance despite the traces of the argument he'd clearly been engaged in previously. Ginny, after allowing her relief to wash over her, was suddenly confused as to who this Draco look-alike could be.

Before the stranger could reach them, however, the doorman who had taken their bags previously cleared his throat implicitly and with a swooping gesture, began to guide a reluctant Ginny and starry-eyed Morgan up the sprawling flight of stairs that separated them from the blonde-haired stranger.

“I know what they say about mixing business with pleasure, Gin, but I think I might have to quit my job and run off with this guy—screw the damn article,” Morgan announced through her teeth as she grinned exuberantly.

Ginny was just relieved that she wasn't about to come face to face with the man she'd been avoiding for nine years. When they finally reached the top of the staircase, the warm green eyes of their mystery man lingered over her for a moment as he took in her appearance. She squirmed uncomfortably as his eyes flashed in obvious pleasure but she wasn't sure if she'd imagined it or not; the sun was so bright, he might have been squinting to make out who she was. Whatever his motives, she was pleased that as she extended her hand to receive the one he'd held out for her, his handsome face broke out into a grin.

“Ginevra Weasley, am I correct?”

Ginny, startled for a moment that he knew who she was, must have shown her bewilderment for the smiling man shook his head apologetically and explained.

“I've done some work with journalism and advertising over the past few years and your name was one of many I heard while on assignment. Quite talented, you are. So you'll forgive me if I say that your reputation seems to precede you, Mrs. Weasley.”

Ginny resisted the urge to blush at this flattery and tried to gather herself to respond. He had an accent that she couldn't quite place and when she found herself unmistakably growing attracted to his seemingly charming personality, she quickly scolded herself.

Get a grip, would you? You've fallen for that cheeky grin before, haven't you? And all it's gotten you is one thoroughly obliterated ego. She covered her genuine smile with a firm nod of agreement.

“What reputation would that be? And it's Miss Weasley, actually.”

“Well, Miss Weasley, you've been the face of Bewitched Times for five years. Honestly, Collin Creevey makes for an excellent CEO but you…” He paused for a moment, “It's your gift for writing that has made it such a smashing success.”

Is this guy for real? Ginny thought to herself and searched Morgan's eyes for some kind of help. She wasn't sure whether to say thank you or giggle like some silly school girl. Morgan was too busy with her eyes glued to the tall specimen standing before them, however, to worry much about Ginny's own floundering.

“Forgive me, Mr.—erm…”

“Adrien Cordier. I'm afraid I'm not around Britain very much, as I happen to own several wineries throughout France which is my original home. Unfortunately, as it seems, I was needed here to persuade the owner of this lovely estate to open its doors for this remarkable event. ”

Ginny tried to ignore how impressed she was and simply said, “Right, Mr. Cordier—I can't take all the credit for our success. There are hundreds of hard working witches and wizards that care just as much as I do for the future of our kind. I simply put their labor into writing.”

“Well, beautiful and modest, I see?” Adrien laughed lightheartedly and shook his head. The balding man that both had forgotten during their interlude seemed to grow annoyed at being ignored and coughed rather conspicuously to gain their attention.

“Ms. Weasley, as my client, Mr. Cordier, has so rudely failed to introduce us, I take it as my honor to introduce myself. I am Reginald Scott—Mr. Cordier's personal assistant and also part-time care taker.”

Ginny laughed politely at his joke and accepted his hand. Adrien stole a moment to glare at his companion and Ginny took the opportunity to introduce her own.

“This is my co-editor, Morgan Falley.”

“Hello…” Morgan's eyes were glazed over as she eyed Adrien like a first year salivating over a Hogwarts feast.

“My pleasure, Ms. Falley,” Adrien cast a hasty smile towards her before returning his attention to Ginny.

“I suppose you two would like to get settled then? I'd be willing to give you a tour of the estate before the other guests arrive, if you'd like…” He eyed Ginny hopefully as he threw open the front doors and led them into the largest foyer either had ever seen.

“Erm…that would be lovely.”

Adrien beamed and walked briskly to a glossy countertop that sat in the middle of the magnificent foyer. Chandeliers hung like miniature constellations from the gold-leafed ceiling above them and fresh bouquets of tropical-looking flowers and plants thrived in porcelain vases placed around the reception area. A cheery witch sat behind the counter that Adrien approached and she quickly handed him a pair of golden keys after he spoke for a moment.

“Right his way,” He announced and soon Ginny and Morgan were looking in awe at the luxurious suite they would be sharing.

“It's not our best room, and I beg your forgiveness. Had I known you would be here, Ms. Weasley—“

“Ginevra, please,” Ginny smiled.

“Ginevra…If I had known you would be among the guests, I surely would have told my dear cousin to save the best in the lot for you and...forgive me,” He looked apologetically at Morgan who seemed a bit put off that he'd already forgotten her name.

“Morgan.”

“Right, Morgan,” Adrien broke out in a sheepish again. Ginny smiled appreciatively and let him know that they would be perfectly comfortable where they were.

But as soon as he'd opened his mouth to speak once more, a buzzing sound filled the room. Adrien groaned almost imperceptibly and frowned in apology as he reached for something invisible in the air and suddenly extracted a cherry-wood wand. Striking twice in the air with the tip of his wand, he waited for a moment and the voice of the receptionist they'd just seen promptly filled the room

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Cordier, but your cousin wishes to have a word with you—a few words, actually.”

“Well tell him he'll have his chance as soon as I'm finished showing Ms. Weasley and Ms. Farley to their room.”

“I would love to do that sir, but it appears that he's in one of his moods and you know that there's absolutely no talking to him when—”

“ADRIEN!”

Adrien sighed and massaged his forehead with his wandless hand. With the other, he waved thrice and the sound of the receptionist's voice faded away.

Heavy footsteps were pounding towards the door and Morgan, suddenly forgetting her annoyance at Adrien for mucking up her name for the second time, gripped Ginny's forearm in alarm.

“Forgive me, mademoiselles. My cousin seems to lack any capacity for manners.” Adrien began to walk towards the door as if to head off the oncoming hurricane that they could hear tearing down the hall. But as soon as his hand touched the doorknob, in stormed the very subject of Ginny's earlier alarm—the solemn face that she'd never forget no matter the time.

“Ahh…Speak of the Devil himself.” Adrien tried to mask his annoyance by nodding respectively toward the entrance of his red-faced cousin, Draco Malfoy.

“Adrien, how many times must I ask you to keep your bloody witches out of the suites that have been reserved for actual guests?” His hands were clenched in fists of rage that were also mirrored in his flashing gaze of grey. Even in his casual attire of slacks and a dark blue oxford, he looked the picture of aristocracy and power. Ginny tried to stop herself from staring, but the urge to identify this Draco with the one she'd known so long ago seemed to overwhelm her.

Ignoring his cousin as he scrambled to respond, Draco's eyes flew towards the two young women who were standing stalk still and silent at the sight of him. His icy gaze fell fleetingly on Morgan for a moment that made her feel like covering herself with a blanket by the way his eyes seemed to be piercing right through her very skin.

“Draco, I—” Adrien began but was stopped by the tangible drop in temperature as Draco's eyes finally fell upon the auburn-haired witch that stood before him, only meters away.

Ginny didn't know what to do. She felt like a deer caught in headlights. Her hazel eyes were locked in place on Draco's as they stared at each other as if seeing the other for the first time. She dug her fingernails into her palms and tried to remain composed. Maybe he had succeeded where she had failed in erasing that memory of long ago and would simply have forgotten all about her by now.

Gathering herself, Ginny cleared her throat and spoke as normally as she could.

“Mr. Malfoy.”

She cringed at the slight tremor that was traceable in her tone, but Draco didn't seem to notice at all. His lips were so tightly pursed together that the skin around them turned white as blood fought to circulate there.

“Weasley.”

The sound of her name on his cold lips was enough to send the hairs on Ginny's neck on end. She fought the urge to rip her gaze free from the clutches of his own. So many thoughts were flying through her mind that she was surprised she was still able to remain standing amidst the invisible swarm.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Morgan and Adrien had been exchanging looks of perplexity as the two engaged in a makeshift showdown of glares. Neither had a clue as to where the suffocating layer of tension between them had come from.

“Do the two of you…know each other?” Morgan finally asked, trying to smile lightheartedly at the situation.

Ginny waited for Draco to respond. When he did, she felt her insides turn with alarm and anxiety. This was exactly the meeting she'd been trying to avoid for nine years.

“No. I'm afraid we've never had the pleasure of meeting face-to-face.” His words seemed to barely scrape through the crevices between his clenched teeth. Ginny swallowed over her dried throat and fought to collect herself.

Oh, Ginny…What in the hell have you gotten yourself into now?

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3. Twist of Fate

Bewitched Times

By: Adrial

Chapter 3

Twist of Fate

AN: OK, guys I KNOW. It's been more than ages. It's been a CENTURY since my last update but I swear to you, this chapter has been the most difficult thing I've ever written. Nothing worked to start with and I ended up throwing out everything I wrote to begin with. So, after months of starting and stopping, I finally sat down and FINALLY the words started to come in the right way. If you're a writer, you'll know what I'm talking about. But I digress. I am so happy to be done with this chapter and I'm itching to start the next ones. We'll finally get back on the track I intended to begin with; I just have this habit of putting in suspense when I promise humor. Anyways, I do you hope enjoy this chapter and let me know how you felt about it! Happy reading!

~Adrial

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Ribbons of yellow sunlight were streaming warmly across the desk that Ginny had procured from the tip of her wand early next morning. Her quill was poised rigidly over an expectant scroll of parchment, impaling the only section of paper that hadn't yet been stained gold by the sun's rays.

Her hair was hanging in lifeless curls that draped the sides of her face like rumpled curtains. She shook them out of her eyes and chewed fitfully on the corner of her lip. Finally, with a sigh, she let the quill slip from her fingers. It left a slash of black on the empty parchment, and she began swirling nonsense characters around it, adding faces and squiggles for hair. Soon enough she had an entire family of stick figures all lined up from tallest to shortest, seven of them to be exact. For good measure, she sketched a few lopsided boxes and piled them atop one another haphazardly in the background.

As she admired her creation, a smile formed on her lips for about a millisecond. Then she crumpled the scroll into a wad and lobbed it violently across the room.

She'd had not a wink of sleep since the previous night after the wine tasting festivities had come to a close. She, like all the other elf-thirsty journalists, had waited for ages to get her scheduled interview with the vineyard's newest moguls. The fifty or so elves had been seated at a sprawling mahogany table that ran the length of the eleven hundred square foot ballroom where the tasting had commenced. They seemed slightly unnerved by their sudden popularity, especially by the fact that their seats were at face-level with the wizards speaking with them.

Ginny had had to beg her interviewee to look her in the eye for the first five minutes of their ten minute interview. Finally, the tiny elf named Nelson was able to lift his knobby head and settle two watery eyes on the point directly between Ginny's nose and mouth, but his hand was slippery with sweat she had gasped it in her own. Her mind was already switching into reporter mode and she made mental notes to focus her piece on popularity's seemingly null effect on the elves' comfort level with wizards.

Later on, she and Morgan actually had quite a nice time sipping the exotically delicious wines, making notes of which ones they liked best and which ones they would order as the complimentary bottle that would be reserved for each guest. Ginny's choice, le Chenin Blanc, was poised on her bureau in a lovely golden basket that an attendant had delivered only recently.

The evening would have been quite perfect, in fact, had she not been so distracted by the sight of Draco Malfoy lurking amongst his guests as smooth and conceited as Ginny had ever remembered him. Not that she remembered much of the Draco from Hogwarts. She hardly bothered thinking of what anyone she'd known from school used to be like really. The apocalypse that had been the War had left those lucky enough to remaining standing at its end little doubt that the self they'd known at its preface would never truly return.

She wondered how Draco could possibly hold up his own charade so effortlessly. Even when he smiled sardonically at the pleasure that flooded his guests' faces as they nursed their silver goblets, she almost believed he was enjoying himself. Even a spirit as cruel and cold as a Malfoy's could not have remained unscathed by the War.

Least of all Draco's, she thought to herself as she tapped her quill against a new sheet of parchment and tried to focus her thoughts on the notes she'd stacked neatly before her. But what had he been doing for the past nine years? She hardly thought he'd spent them silently building up a fortress for generations of his family's servants to stand upon. If anything, Ginny would have thought he'd be halfway across the country with his tail permanently lodged between his legs or at least in Azkaban. He'd been a death eater, after all, even if it was for only a year.

Here her thoughts began to conflict. Draco had been a death eater, true, but the vision of what she'd stumbled upon that night kept flashing across her mind. She felt silly for even questioning the validity of Draco's vile actions during the war; and honestly, when one evil destroys another, does it really matter what turn of events brought the two against one another in the first place?

She shoved her chair back and stood with a yawn. If she couldn't clear her head then she'd never churn out anything close to a cover story. She decided after a moment that nothing else like a quick shower could calm herself. So she slipped out of her night things and stepped into the bathroom.

As she was pummeled by hot water, she focused her attentions on the foamy blanket that covered her body and the rivulets that rippled across her, sliding from skin to tile. When she finally opened them, she felt slightly dizzy from the steam that hovered thick in the air. The door to the shower stall was covered in fog so she could barely see through the other side as she eased it open to fill her lungs with fresh air.

“AAAHHH!!!”

“MON DIEU!!*”

The sound of shattering glass split the air in the next second as Ginny slammed the door shut only to have it explode into shards at her feet.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” She frantically scrambled to make sure all of her various private parts were covered as completely as possible while tiny red spirals of blood were swiveling down her legs and onto the floor of the shower. Stabbing, ice hot spikes of pain shot up and down her legs, later to be echoed by the stinging prickle of tears as they gathered stubbornly in her eyes.

She could hardly bring her face up to meet the eyes of a stunned and scarlet-faced Adrien Cordier. He'd spun around so quickly that he slipped over the bathroom rug and ended up sprawled halfway across the counter. He snatched up the white towel Ginny had lain out for herself and threw it over his eyes.

“Pardon moi! Pardon moi!” He sputtered stupidly. Ginny fought down a whimper and growled.

“Would you please stop blubbering about in bloody French and get me my fucking wand?!” Her skin was already red from her shower but as she saw Adrien fumble blindly for his wand that had somehow ended up near the bathroom door, it turned ten shades deeper and dangerously approached purple.

“I did not intend to see anything…I swear!”

“Let's not even discuss the reason for you barging into my bathroom right now, please, before I stab you with what's left of this door!”

Adrien opened his mouth to apologize again but once he remembered the sound of shattering glass, he jerked himself around and whipped the towel from his eyes. At the sight of blood trickling down Ginny's legs and into a pool at her feet, his eyes nearly bugged out of his purpling face.

“MERDE!*” He threw himself at Ginny and tried to lift her away from the pile of broken glass but she began thrashing about so wildly that all he could do was retreat and cower beside the sink.

“What the bloody sodding hell do you think you're doing? I'm NAKED!”

“Oui, I see that, but you are also standing in a pile of broken glass right now!”

“Get me my wand!”

“Get out of the shower!”
“Get me my bloody wand before I—”

“Do you want to die from loss of the blood?!”

“Do you want to be murdered by a witch who's capable of breaking glass doors with her bare hands?!”

Adrien seemed to be tiring by that point. Whether it was from worry over Ginny's tattered legs or fear for his life, he finally relented and turned back around.

“Fine, I will get you your wand. But please, let me get my own first. I need to clean up this mess.”

Ginny was boiling with a rage so deep by that point that she could hardly nod in agreement.

“Keep your back turned would you?!”

Adrien jumped at her screeching and took up the towel to block his peripheral vision as he reached for his wand on the other end of the bathroom floor.

When he retrieved it and said the words to repair the door, Ginny sighed with relief. He stepped out of the bathroom and after a moment or two he came back with Ginny's wand and a bathrobe clutched in his hand.

“I have it,” he said and kept his eyes covered as he handed both to Ginny over the top of the shower door.

“Merci,” Ginny spat with all the venom she could muster. Her legs were burning with pain and she was in no mood to be polite.

Adrien leaned against the countertop and ignored her biting retort. He had resolved not to leave until he had made sure she was alright. At the sound of Ginny whispering incantations that filled the shower stall with a pale blue haze, he felt slightly better. Healing was not his strong suit.

“Alright, I'm done. Do you want to leave now or were you hoping for another look-see before you go?”

“Ginevra…it was not my intention to walk in on you in this…this state,” He began.

Ginny rolled her eyes as she wrapped herself in the white robe and very carefully opened the stall door once more. She felt only marginally satisfied to see the look of unease on Adrien's face as he met her vicious glare face-on. Beneath the anxiety she could see the beginnings of shame stirring in his blue eyes.

She inhaled deeply and tried to calm her nerves. When she spoke again it was with great precision and care that she kept each syllable even and sans the venom.

“Adrien, would you just please explain to me why you were in my bathroom?”

“I was only going to leave you this letter,” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded scrap of parchment and handed it to Ginny.

She eyed it as if it were a snake about to bite her.

“You couldn't have left it on my bureau?”

Adrien seemed slightly unnerved by this question. “I suppose that might have been a better plan, non?”

Ginny tightly smiled and gave him a curt nod.

“Oui.”

“I only wished to have your response as soon as possible. I-I was going to wait outside until you read it…but since that does not seem to be able to happen…” He gestured for her to read the letter.

She unfolded the parchment and suddenly felt her stomach flipping most uncomfortably.

Mademoiselle Ginevra,

I noticed that you were not seeming to enjoy yourself during the tasting of wines this previous evening. I am deeply regretful that the festivities were not to your approval, and to make up for your most unpleasant evening, I would very much love if you would allow me to treat you to a private wine sampling in my quarters this afternoon. Perhaps with the right company you might enjoy yourself this second time. If you agree I will be outside waiting most eagerly.

~Adrien

When she finished she was sure her cheeks had returned to their previous shades of ripening plums. She suddenly felt very badly for screaming at him before and flattered at the same time that he had taken notice of her at all last night. She hadn't even realized he was there; there were so many people crowded around that she could hardly keep track of Morgan let alone anyone else.

“U-um…I don't really know what to say,” She cleared her throat and tried to forget that she was still soaking wet in her bathrobe in front of a near stranger.

“Sorry for nearly attacking you…or…” She gave him a small smile and wrung her fingers together. She was happily surprised to hear him chuckle.

“I had no idea a woman could be have such a temper.”

It was Ginny's turn to laugh. “Really? Aren't you French, Monsieur? My sister-in-law is and she could scare off an army of dementors with one of her glares.”

Adrien smiled and shook his head, “Ah, but I have only rarely been around those kind of French women in my life. I attended a school for all boys until I was seventeen and then the academy for five years more. French girls at the academy might have been fairly self-absorbed, but they would never upset themselves to the point of breaking glass doors all over themselves. Needless to say,” He caught Ginny's weary glare and backtracked, “The only real women I suppose I knew were my mother and sisters.”

Ginny wrapped her arms around her waist bemusedly. “Wow…that must have sucked for your dating life.”

“Excuse me?” He cocked his head in confusion, “What do you mean to say with `sucked'?”

“No no no! I only meant…” Ginny choked on a laugh, “Well…it's just a silly saying. I just meant that being around only men and egocentric French women must have made dating quite…difficult.”

“Well we shall see, shall we not, whether or not I am horrible at dating,” He smiled and held out his hand expectantly.

“Do you accept my invitation?”

Ginny eyed his hand for a moment. She did have an article due for print by 12:00 …but she didn't necessarily have to be in the office to hand it in to Collin, did she?

“Um…” She twirled the sash on her robe in her fingers, “I—to be honest, Adrien, I've just sort of gotten out of a relationship and I don't think...” She smiled and tried to gather the right words, but Adrien held up a hand to silence her.

“I believe you have mistaken my intentions. I only wish to drink wine with you. Not…erm…drink wine with you.”

He laughed awkwardly and Ginny found herself smiling despite herself. He definitely seemed harmless enough.

“Well, when you put it so eloquently,” She laughed at Adrien's nervous expression, “I suppose you've got a point. I would love to `drink wine' with you.”

Adrien smiled so widely that Ginny could almost see his molars and she stared at the floor to hide the delight on her features.

“I suppose that means I am forgiven for walking in on you.” Adrien boldly said.

Ginny's head rose and she poked him in the chest firmly enough to get her point across.

“If you swear that you'll never speak a word of this incident to anyone, I might be able to forgive you.”

Adrien nodded fervently. “Je promets*.”

Ginny allowed herself a bemused smile at his boyish grin and shifted her weight on her feet. “I just have to finish writing this article for my editor. I'll hopefully be done by twelve, though. Is 12:30 alright?”

Adrien nodded and finally they made their way out of the bathroom. She opened the door to see him out, but before he left, his hand brushed across her cheek and lingered for a moment. Shivers were dancing down her neck and to her spine before she could stop them.

“Before I leave you, there is one thing that I do not quite understand.”

Ginny nodded dumbly for him to continue.

“In France, we celebrate the bodies of women. To us, it symbolizes the place where life begins and is more beautiful than the wonders of any other human treasure. Yet, you cover and shield yours as if you are ashamed of its splendor.”

Ginny's voice was lodged somewhere between her heart and her throat suddenly and she simply stood there, feeling his hand burning against her skin and the sincerity in his voice.

“Do not hide, mon petit feu*. A beauty such as yours should be left unveiled for all of the world to celebrate.”

He left her with the burning imprint of warm fingers against her face, and it took a full minute before she could actually force herself to let the moment elapse into time.

When she did finally close the door and retreat to her desk, the sight of blank parchment and her pile of notes could not have been more unwelcome. Morgan was right—there was definitely something about these French boys…

“Oh, bugger.” She sighed in mock defeat and had to force her quill to begin to write. It took a great amount of will power to churn out the words that sprang to life in her mind, but eventually Adrien's face was drowned out by her racing thoughts. As the story practically fell out of the tip of her quill, she felt the familiar excitement spark inside her chest. When she finally put her quill down and eyed the finished result of an hour's work proudly, the spark in her chest continued to grow.

Once she had summoned one of the manor's complimentary owls and had the article sent off to Collin, she realized that the excitement was no longer about her story. The grandfather clock next to her bureau had just announced that in thirty minutes time she was going to see Adrien again.

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Ginny had no idea where Adrien's quarters were and he had thankfully sent word that someone would arrive to guide her. Right on time, she opened her door at the knock of Adrien's personal assistant, Reginald. However, looking slightly perturbed to have been reduced to the role of escort, Reginald did not respond to Ginny's kind remarks on the beauty of the manor as they wove their way through bustling corridors full of stragglers. He kept his face still and straight in the direction they were heading.

Apart from the some hundred and fifty guest rooms at the Manor, the eastern wing was home exclusively to the Malfoy family. As the pair reached the end of guests' quarters, Ginny felt her pulse quicken and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist.

Behind a massive set of polished wooden doors, the atmosphere of her surroundings shifted dramatically. No longer could she feel the warmth of the sun on her neck from the glass ceilings of the corridors or hear the friendly chatter of people as they dragged luggage and companions in the opposite direction.

The walls were eerily beautiful, she noted, though the faces that stared gloomily down upon her from antique frames unnerved her to the point that she had to restrain from covering the sides of her face to block off the empty black eyes that seemed to follow her every step.

“The Malfoys are extremely proud of their lineage.” Reginald finally broke his icy silence. Ginny was so startled that she tripped over her own foot and nearly tossed her handbag across the hall. When she righted herself and saw a slight tremor ripple across Reginald's lips, her insides curled with annoyance.

“So I've heard,” she finally said, clutching her bag much tighter to her chest. After another complicated set of endless corridors, Ginny was beginning to wonder how she'd ever find her way back to her room.

“I suppose I can see how Adrien might have thought I'd need some help finding my way to his quarters, though I can't imagine that playing tour guide could be part of your regular duties,” she said innocently. Reginald's face was unemotionally rigid when she turned to glance at him briefly.

“It is my pleasure, mademoiselle. I can assure you.”

Ginny nodded in mock agreement. She could sense his clenched teeth and agitation at her statement. After a moment, she said, “I suppose somebody wants to make sure I don't go poking around. I am a conniving, ruthless journalist after all. Isn't that right?”

Reginald gave her a split-second look of unsettlement before he straightened his shoulders and picked up his pace.

“Miss Weasley is most intelligent.”

“Why, thank you.” Ginny smiled smugly.

“However,” Reginald interjected, “I am afraid that Mr. Cordier sees you as little threat around here. He simply wanted to make sure you didn't lose your way. As you can see, the Malfoy Manor is an impressively vast and confusing place.”

Ginny said under her breath, “Oh yes, very impressive.”

That was the end of their conversation. All signs of the friendly Reginald Ginny had met the previous day were gone and she wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to be so cold toward her. Perhaps he really did think she was simply looking for a story in agreeing to meet with Cordier in private. The thought nestled into her mind and she partially wished that it had been her reason for accepting his invitation.

Biting her lip as she walked silently beside Reginald, she tried to settle her thoughts. Reading too far into things was not the way to present herself as a calm and collected professional, after all. But then, was she really trying to impress Adrien?

Here you go again, Ginny. One bloody sonnet and you're stumbling blindly toward some man you know absolutely nothing about…

“Here we are,” Reginald announced at last. Before Ginny loomed a set of highly polished wooden doors with a crest similar to that of the one on the manor's front entrance. However, this one was etched in marble and looked notably less alarming with the symbol of the fleur de lis in lieu of a sprawling serpent.

Ginny inhaled deeply and nodded her thanks to Reginald before rapping her fist thrice against the door. From behind the thick wood she thought she heard the sound of scattering papers but just as she leaned in to have a better listen, the door flew open and Adrien was standing before her.

“Ah bien, I was beginning to worry that even poor Reginald had gotten lost in this ridiculous maze of my cousin's!” Adrien bowed and placed a pleasant kiss on the back of Ginny's hand. She laughed nervously and brushed some hair behind her ear before entering.

“You know, it's a good thing you sent him for me. Otherwise—” Her words trailed into silence at the sight that met her eyes.

She assumed that she was in Adrien's study, for there was a massive desk in the farthest corner where towering windows overlooked an icy blue lake she'd never seen before. Behind the desk that was littered with quills and parchment and very much unlike her own at home were bookshelves upon bookshelves that swelled with thick volumes of such literature she'd never seen before. The familiar odor of pages both unturned and overused filled her nostrils with the memory of Hogwarts' library. She fought the urge to hold her voice to a whisper in case Madame Pince might be lurking about.

Apart from his work space, the sheer size of the room overwhelmed her. She could tell it was rarely used, but the living space that contained giant leather furniture and foreign-looking throws and rugs donning the floors and seats seemed intimidating and inviting at the same time. She tried to picture Adrien lounging lazily upon the squishy looking couch with one of his many books propped up on his lap and could only allow herself to part from the image when Adrien's hand fell on her shoulder and steered her toward a far greater sight.

In the middle of the room, a magically suspended table floated beneath an intricately decorated silk cloth. On top, plates of desserts and as many cheeses as Ginny had ever remembered seeing in her life were piled together like miniature towers. Around trays garnished with grapes in colors ranging from blood red to leafy greens, bottles of wines were propped.

It took a full minute before Ginny even noticed that as Adrien ushered her to a seat beside the floating table, the bottles were tipping themselves into silver goblets that stood beside their dishes.

Adrien looked at Ginny's startled eyes from his seat across the table with an apprehensive gaze. Anxiously, he licked his lips and tried to gauge her reaction.

“Do you like it?”

Ginny seemed startled from her astonishment and brought her attention to the gentlemen before her. For a moment, the intense green of his eyes seemed to rattle her insides, but she swallowed and nodded her head fervently.

“It's wonderful,” She sincerely assured him. Adrien seemed relieved by her reaction and relaxed his body with a sigh.

“Good. I was worried it was too much for a first—” He stopped himself suddenly and cleared his throat.

Ginny fiddled with her napkin in her lap and smiled at him.

“It's perfect, Adrien. Thank you,” She searched her mind for something else to say but only came up with, “It's nice to have a break from working once in a while.”

To what she thought was a lame segue to further conversation, Adrien openly voiced his agreement.

“So, what is it exactly that you do, Adrien?” Ginny had taken her first sip of the rippling purple ocean she'd found in the first goblet that soared its way into her palm. Sighing, she let the tart liquid dance across her tongue before she swallowed.

Adrien was silent for longer than Ginny thought necessary and when she looked up, she seemed to startle him from some deep thought and he jumped slightly.

“Oh, yes, I am the liaison of affairs in communication for the French and British ministries of magic.” At Ginny's silence, he explained further. “It is not the most interesting job, I can assure you. I simply make sure that both Wizarding societies are getting along well enough. Two can not exist in harmony if neither can understand the other, after all.”

Ginny was honestly impressed. She'd never really thought of the ways that foreign ministries interacted with one another.

“No, no…it sounds fascinating.” The wine tasted so much better than it had last night; Adrien was right about pleasant company's effect on enjoying the wine. She offered him a friendly grin and, realizing that she'd already finished the first, took a sip from her second goblet.

She'd only touched her lips to the wine when Adrien suddenly began to chuckle to himself.

“Something the matter?” She set the goblet down and stared beseechingly at his pink face.

Adrien held up his hands at her look of annoyance and quickly said, “Please, do not think me rude, Ginevra. It's only that,” He choked on a tremor of a laugh, “I had forgotten how the British women love their wine.”

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, “And what do you exactly mean by that?”

“Well, it is called wine tasting, non? You drink yours as if it is water and you are a camel in the desert.”

“I beg your pardon,” Ginny said through clenched teeth.

Adrien could sense her escalating irritation and quickly tried to recover himself.

“At a wine tasting, one must allow the wine to only caress the taste buds. In this way, you let the flavor of the wine grace your senses. Allow it enough time to impress itself upon you before you then—pardon my English—spit it back in the goblet.”

“Pardon moi, Monsieur, but I have never been properly informed on the etiquette

of wine tasting.”

“You think I am trying to laugh at you, do you not?” Adrien's expression betrayed his bemusement.

Ginny shook her head, “Of course not. You've only mentioned what a bunch of graceless drunks British women are. How on earth could I think—”

“Graceless drunks?” Adrien interrupted her with a smirk that reminded her so much of his cousin that she gripped the edge of the table to steady the jolt of nerves that skittered up her spine. “I'm afraid you have misunderstood me. I meant no harm...I simply have a habit of voicing my thoughts when I should keep them to myself.” He offered her an apologetic smile.

Ginny shrugged back her shoulders but did not speak for a long while. She was silently berating herself for taking Adrien's criticism so personally but seemed to have no clue how to express to him that she'd just had her emotions trampled on by someone very close to her heart and now she was as fragile as the glass that had fallen so easily at her feet earlier that morning. Anything might have set off her temper at that point, and here she was mucking up her chance to get to know a genuinely nice guy because she had been too blind to see an accident waiting to happen six months before.

During her elapsed silence, Adrien had grown increasingly amazed at how difficult this new witch was being. He had always admired a challenge. And once again, his mouth ran off before his mind caught up with it and he was voicing that exact thought to Ginny in the next moment.

“It is astounding to me how much stubbornness such a beautiful woman can possess.”

Ginny left her mouth hanging open for a few seconds before it finally sealed itself shut behind two tightly pursed lips.

Adrien realized that he might have gone too far. Lucky for him that Ginny was too busy trying to sort out whether or not his last statement was meant to be complimentary or insulting.

“Please forgive me. I have done it again.

Ginny tried to fathom his bluntness. She knew she was stubborn. It was a fact of life at that point. Yet to hear him round out her personality in a few short words unnerved her completely.

“I apologize if I offended you, Ginevra. But you are unlike any woman—”

“You really must mingle with females more, Adrien. I can assure you that any number of them would have the same reaction to being called—”

“I did not call you anything. I only wished—”

“Honestly, arrogance must surely run in the family. You and your cousin seem to have been thoroughly doused in that gene pool.”

Adrien was about to respond but was interrupted, however, by a familiar buzzing sound that Ginny recognized from the previous afternoon when the manor's receptionist had paged Adrien.

He cursed softly under his breath and ignored the sound, turning to Ginny with a frustrated sigh.

“This was not how I planned for things to go, I am afraid.”

Ginny tried not to meet the sincerity in his eyes. All she wanted to do was be angry with him for no apparent reason other than the fact that he was being kind to her and she was too scared to accept it.

“No…no, Adrien. It's not you,” She began, feeling increasingly stupid, “I'm a little out of sorts right now. You see, just recently—”

Bzzzzzzzzzzz…

She eyed him questioningly as the incessant buzz filled the room even more loudly this time.

“D'you suppose you'd better get that?”

Adrien sighed and shook his head. “No, it is nothing. Please continue.”

Ginny swallowed. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to pour out her woes to a near stranger on their first quasi-date.

“I was saying that I…” I've just been chucked by my fuckwit of a boyfriend for some skinny blonde bint from the fashion column. She pursed her lips and tried to think of a better way to explain herself.

“Look. Perhaps right now isn't the best time for me to finish that sentence.” She smiled weakly. “I've gotten about a half hour's worth of sleep and I'm, as you can probably tell, a bit on edge at the moment.”

Adrien kept his eyes on hers as he nodded in understanding. “I knew it. I have moved too quickly.”

Ginny began to shake her head and disagree but he cut her off by rising out of his seat and coming around the table before her, “No, no. It is true. But the fact is that,” He brought his hand to her face again like he had only a few hours before and traced the hollows of her cheekbones. “I could not have lived with my self if I missed the chance to get to know you better, Ginevra.”

Thankfully, the obnoxious buzzing sound filled their ears once more and Ginny could hide her flushed cheeks with a startled expression.

“The buzzing, Adrien, perhaps—”

“No, it does not matter. I have the pleasure of standing in front of a lovely and intelligent woman right now and all else can wait.”

As he said this, Ginny felt her pulse quicken and the hairs on her neck stand up strangely. Something about the way Adrien's hand felt on her skin, the jittery feeling she got in her stomach when he leaned in closer to her face, and the intense gaze of his eyes on her own felt increasingly wrong to her. But she was in no position to stop him now, with his lips inches from her own and steadily drawing nearer.

“A-Adrien…” She swallowed and tried to lean further away but found the table blocking her movement. His breath was hot on her mouth and the buzz that filled her ears seemed to crawl deep beneath her skin. As much as she knew she should want this, some tiny part of her intuition was screaming that it wasn't right.

When the door to Adrien's study suddenly flew open and the sound of a furious voice replaced the buzzing her ears, Ginny wondered if she felt relieved or slightly disappointed. However, when she turned her head away from Adrien and saw Draco's face, she felt her insides clench and all thoughts slipped from her mind.

Draco only offered her a glance that she barely noticed. He turned glaring eyes upon his cousin.

“Draco, what can I do for you?” Adrien looked as annoyed as Ginny had felt earlier and she took the opportunity to avert her gaze to something other than Draco's face. She became increasingly aware of Adrien's hand on her cheek and tried to discreetly shrug it off.

“I've been paging you across this damn manor for over an hour, Adrien. We had a meeting with the ministry forty-five minutes ago that you seem to have skived off to try to get into the press' knickers!”

“What are you raving about? That meeting was not scheduled until later this evening.” Adrien reluctantly dropped his hand from Ginny's face and gave her a reassuring glance before walking toward his seething cousin.

“If you would have answered my bloody page you would have known that they decided to meet earlier than planned. It's my arse on the line here, Cordier, and if you aren't willing to show up then maybe I should—”

Adrien stepped to Draco's level and glared into his face, “Perhaps we could discuss this matter later, cousin. As you can see, I have a guest at the moment.”

But Ginny was already gathering her handbag and pushing her chair under the suspended table.

“Don't worry, I was just leaving.” She brushed past the two men and made sure keep a wide breath of Draco. Adrien grabbed her arm to stop her before she made it past him, though.

“No, if anyone should leave it should be my idiot cousin!”

“Oh, please. Let her go. It shouldn't be long before you've got another of your brainless bints in here anyway.”

“Ferme le bouche, s'il vous plait!*”

Draco yawned with a look of haughty boredom on his face. “Must you ramble in that disgusting language of yours? I've a hard enough time understanding you in your imitation of proper English.”

“Why don't you let me go so you two can have your little row and I can get on with my day!” Ginny growled. She threw Adrien's hand from her arm and straightened herself

Adrien seemed cut by her words but Draco sneered bemusedly.

“Nice to see the weasel still has a voice.” With Draco's first true acknowledgement of her presence, Ginny tried not to seem startled. She shrugged her coat over her shoulders and glared at him as convincingly as she could.

“Nice to see the ferret still finds pleasure in showing his arse every chance he gets!” She spat. Draco's face reformed to show mock appreciation.

“My, my. Not much has changed in the last decade has it?”

“Least of all you,” Ginny mustered all the venom in her body and glared at him so fiercely that Adrien took a step back as if the glare was meant for him.

“I thought you two had never met,” He said perplexedly.

Draco thankfully answered because Ginny had no clue what to say. They hadn't ever really made introductions to each other. He had antagonized her brother and friends for six years but the closest she'd ever been to him was in her fourth year when she'd slammed a bat bogey hex directly between his eyes in Umbridge's office.

“I try to forget the days when I had to share breathing space with this breed of trash.”

“Would you like me to remind you how excellent this trash is at aiming a hex, Malfoy?” Ginny pulled her wand from her bag in a lightening quick movement and in the next moment Draco's was sheathed as well.

“Don't forget who my mentor was, Weasley.”

“Oh, you can't possibly mean the rotten mound of dirt that was left of Voldemort after Harry was finished with him, can you?”

Draco's eyes flashed, “Watch your tongue!”

“Still loyal to a dead lord, Draco? That's got to be the most pathetic thing I've ever seen!”

“Alright, please put away your wands…” Adrien beseeched them halfheartedly and looked very weary of being caught between the two.

Ginny took Draco's furious silence as an invite to go on.

“Perhaps you simply missed having a father figure around, is that it? After your dad was out of the way you turned to the almighty Dark Lord to get some father-to-son attention, eh? Too bad by that time he was begging for mercy at the feet of a seventeen year old!”

“Sectum Semp—!”

“Expelliarmus!”

A massive explosion of light surrounded the trio and when it dissipated, Adrien was holding a struggling Malfoy against his chest and shouting wildly for Ginny to leave. Malfoy's wand was naught to be seen and Ginny was frozen with her wand aimed directly at his chest. Her eyes were wet with the fierce emotions that were rippling through her body.

Draco's face was the picture of loathing; he strained against Adrien's tightening grip like a loose cannon ready to catapult itself into oblivion.

With a deep ocean of thoughts churning in her mind, Ginny felt that it was definitely time for her to leave. But as she stared into the dark grey of Draco's shining eyes, she found herself incapable of moving.

In his reaction to her statement, Ginny realized that there was no pretending that she had imagined that dreadful night so long ago. In all this time, she'd never truly questioned the motives of what had happened. And she realized that to Draco, who she was sure had known she'd been there, she was the last link to his horrible past.

As she stared into Draco's crumpled face and pulsing veins, she knew he was fighting to erase that link, her own recollection of the event. As long as he knew she knew, he would never be able to escape it. Ginny brought her hand to her chest and tried to swallow the feelings of pity she felt rising into her throat for the tortured soul before her.

“Is that why you did it, Draco? Because he told you to? You loved your precious lord more than you loved your own father, didn't you?”

“You don't know what the fuck you are talking about!” Draco's voice became a roar that shook her to the core. She tore her eyes from Draco's and took one glance at Adrien's look of confusion and alarm before hurling herself from the room. She finally had the answer that she'd been trying to convince herself for years she never needed.

It was the truth that had been as prevalent on Lucius Malfoy's face as his body was engulfed by a flaming green light on the night of Lord Voldemort's defeat as it was now, in the eyes of the owner of the wand that Ginny had seen aimed at the spot where in some twisted hand of fate, a father had fallen at the hands of his son.

---------------------------------------

Happy belated holidays!!

Peace in '06!

Oh yeah...REVIEW! : )

Translations:

`Mon Dieu!'= My God!

`Merde!' = Shit!

`Mon petit feu' = my little fire

`je promets' = I promise

`ferme la bouche' = shut up!

`s'il vous plait' = please

-->

4. The Assignment

Bewitched Times

Chapter 4

“The Assignment”

****I changed and re-uploaded the end of this chapter for plot reasons****

AN: Um…hello…? Is anyone still out there? Does anyone remember this little story of mine? It's been so long…I can hardly believe it's taken me two years to pick this thing back up and get it going again. I won't bore you with excuses, but I will say that having read Deathly Hallows, I'm still committed to a D/G ship in this story. I altered a tiny bit of the plotline to fall in line with the info we've heard from JK about their future careers, but all in all, it's still my background.

I hope you all haven't forgotten me and that you'll enjoy this new chapter. It's a bit heavy but very emotionally gratifying, as I've filled in more info about what happened during the war that will explain everyone's stance 10 years later.

Without further ado, enjoy!

~Adrial

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

Ginny could not remember the last time she'd gone flying. Her old nimbus felt surprisingly awkward beneath her less nimble frame, but eventually her leg muscles groaned to life and adrenaline rushed through them, urging her forward.

The cool evening air combed through her hair as she glided over a vast carpet of treetops. Everything was stained gold in the sunset and she swooped `round and `round, dipping into the brush and back up again, testing her turns and basking in the familiar feeling of weightlessness.

She had needed more than a good bottle of wine and comfort food to give her the escape she yearned for after the afternoon's eventful confrontation. She knew she'd created a new enemy in Draco Malfoy, and now that he had made his grand return to high society, she would surely cross his path again.

Quickly, she leaned forward on her broom and steered herself higher, hoping she could leave the remnants of their heated argument behind. The force of her speed strained her back and neck but she did not let up until her body broke through the pink and orange clouds.

Sighing with relief, she conjured a cloak to keep out the looming chill of night and skimmed over the horizon.

Try as she might to not think about his cold grey gaze, she found herself remembering his retreat all over again. She'd been left standing there in the massive study in a daze, her wand still clutched tightly in her grip and her heart beating fiercely.

Adrian guided her silently back to her room, but she'd shrugged off his apologies with indifference, aching to be alone.

She imagined that Morgan would have left that afternoon for the city, leaving her behind. It was just as well. As much as she had wanted to flee from anywhere within Malfoy's reach that day, she felt so drained that she took long nap to make up for her sleepless night and afterward had taken to the skies rather than call up her driver.

She despised Draco at that moment, for his mere presence brought back dark memories of the war that she would rather not have to relive. The night she'd seen him kill his father, she had seen hundreds of her school mates and members of her own family suffer similar fates. Why should the demise of a Death Eater bother her so?

For months after Harry put an end to it all, the media plastered images of the lost across the front page and ruthlessly followed the trials of each death eater convicted by the Wizengamot until they became property of Azkaban at last.

Unsurprisingly, the public grew weary of the war coverage and wished only to move forward. The wounds would never fully heal, but new witches and wizards were being born each day and everyone simply wanted a fresh start. The Prophet later reported on the mass exodus of Wizarding families to the countryside or different countries all together, where they hoped to find reprieve from the damages of war.

Ginny felt a similar feeling at the moment, drifting along in the night - the fear that after years of effort, her past was finally catching up to her.

She, like everyone else, had wanted to forget. And Colin's brilliant publication had come around at the perfect time, attracting readers with a fresh design and outlook on the Post-Dark Lord era.

Her family had never left their home, but she had moved to the city with Luna upon her graduation from Hogwarts, itching to find out what she could make of herself. Her dear friend, however, was never one hundred percent contented by the busy streets and fast-paced life that Ginny thrived upon. Luna left after a year on an expedition to discover magical anomalies of nature under her father's guidance.

Ginny threw herself into her new life, ignoring her mother's pleas to attend University, and tried her hand at professional Quidditch. Harry was her biggest supporter on that front, and she made it quite far as a seeker for the Hollyhead Harpies. But after a few years, she was ashamed to admit that she still did not feel quite fulfilled.

When the team suffered a devastating loss in the finals before the World Cup, she finally hung up her broomstick and made a controversial leap into the publishing world.

In the beginning, she was content to have been offered any job at all. But when Colin offered her a position on staff during one drunken evening on her twenty-first birthday, she laughed it off. He, ever the persistent one, insisted on inviting her down to his sprawling offices, and five years later, she hadn't turned back yet.

Bewitched Times had given her a new focus in life. Nothing filled her with more pride than opening up to people's lives and bringing their stories to light. When she and Hermione, who had risen quite quickly in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, partnered together to crack down on the mistreatment of magical creatures, she felt a new appreciation for the power of media.

This weekend was meant to be a small moment of triumph for her and her friend, and yet here she was, shivering up above the clouds, hiding from an old school bully.

She didn't have Hermione's ability to sort problems out with cool logic. Ginny usually contented herself by chewing her nails down to the quick or lashing out with her temper at whomever was causing her disdain. When all else failed, she ran away until the problems righted themselves or simply disappeared.

She felt a pang of longing to speak to her friend. Solitude was only good for momentary satisfaction—she had cleared her mind and now she wanted someone to talk it over with. She was ready to go home. Gathering her robes close to her body, she headed toward land.

The stables next to Malfoy's expansive estate were alive with the sounds of horses neighing over the sides of their stall doors. She dismounted her broom in front of them and tossed it over her shoulder, deciding to walk the rest of the way.

She trudged through the slick grass, smiling to herself at the sight of the glowing windows of the elves' quarters. Shadows moved energetically through the golden embers of firelight and she could hear faint sounds of lively chatter.

The outline of the mansion was clear now, and she lit her wand so she could maneuver her way to the side door where the kitchens were located. She was starving and wanted to eat before she packed her things and made what she hoped would be a quick escape.

Her broom popped back into travel size and she stowed in her pocket. She was a few hundred meters away from the barn when behind, she heard the sudden cry of a mare pierce the night. She whipped around, hand instinctively trained on her wand, and squinted her eyes to see into the darkness.

Bathed in the moon's muted glow, she made out a dark figure as it threw itself over the horse's back. She knew it was him before she saw his silver hair or heard his commanding voice force the mare into a gallop in the opposite direction.

She stood frozen for a moment, with no doubt that he had been there all along. Rather than running this time, she knew she would face him. Perhaps not tonight, when the vestiges of their argument were still raw, but soon enough it would have to happen.

Once his silhouette disappeared, she turned on her heel and sighed, closing the distance between herself and the kitchens with a few long strides. Turning the handle, she welcomed the warm smell of supper and allowed herself to be swallowed by the golden light of the cherry fireplace.

The door clicked shut behind her, keeping the night and her demons at bay for the time being.

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

Two weeks later.

“Damn it, Hermione - why do you insist on torturing me?” Ginny groaned. She was curled up on a couch in her office in fetal position, shielding her face with a cushion.

Hermione ignored her and resumed pacing back in forth. In her hands was the latest issue of the Bewitched Times, already wrinkled and limp from use.

She poured her eyes over the pages enthusiastically and read aloud.

“…although the Wizarding world has made its fair share of mistakes in the mistreatment of these diligent creatures and, now, entrepreneurs, strides for improved Wizard-elf relations came to a glowing peak this month with the grand opening of Le Vin de Ciel winery…”

“Hermione—shut it!”

Ginny made a futile lunge for the grinning witch but failed to knock the book out of her hands.

“Ooooh…this is my favorite part!” She skirted around Ginny's desk and out of reach while she continued to read.

“…thanks in part to the tireless passion with which Magical Law Enforcement's Hermione Granger (she paused to beam winsomely at her red-faced friend) has dedicated to her mission of bridging the gap between Wizards and magical creatures, we are a large step further in bolstering the foundation of a Post-Dark Lord era that began a decade ago—where peace reigns above all and man and elf can, at the end of day, sit down together over a simple glass of wine and—”

She was cut off abruptly as Ginny successfully ripped the pages from her, with a squeal of victory.

Hermione barely noticed. There were tears pooling in her honey colored eyes and she stared at Ginny with such a look of admiration that the ginger-haired witch felt her face burn with embarrassment.

“Oh, Gin…that was beautiful.” She enveloped her in a tight hug and did not let go until Ginny finally hugged her back.

“C'mon, Hermione, it's not bloody Shakespeare.” She patted her friend's back and waited until she finally unraveled her vice-like grip.

“Say what you like—this piece is going up on my fridge the moment I get home.” Hermione gave her a watery smile.

Ginny walked away and sat herself behind her desk, straightening her clothes and hair with fidgety hands. Her eyes betrayed her pride at having pleased Hermione, but she kept her face still. She never liked having her articles read to her—it made her feel vulnerable, as it suddenly reminded her that she had lain out her feelings for millions to read and judge.

Hermione wiped her eyes and plopped down on the couch were Ginny had earlier sought refuge.

“Well anyway, thank you for letting me read it before the issue comes out next month. I can't wait to see how everyone reacts.” In the process of speaking, she whipped out her quill and set it quickly to writing a memo.

“What's that for?” Ginny asked as she glanced over her schedule for the day.

Hermione sealed the letter and sent it fluttering off to find its recipient.

“Note to my boss that I'm going to be an hour late to our meeting,” she grabbed her purse and Ginny's and opened the office door.

“I've decided I'm taking my dear friend, whom I shall now affectionately call the Anti-Skeeter, out for a very greasy and well-deserved lunch.”

Ginny found herself sighing with relief. Since her return, she had picked up a grueling schedule of assignments and had stayed late each day for the past week to help the editors finalize the next issue. All she wanted was an excuse to leave the office for a while and breathe.

“Will there be wine involved?” Ginny smiled coyly as she shut off her laptop and headed for the door. Hermione blanched. She hadn't taken a sip of alcohol since her almighty hangover from two weeks prior.

“Don't make me sick,” she groaned.

Ginny laughed, poking her finger at Hermione's shoulder.

“Don't call me Anti-Skeeter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ginny sighed into another spoonful of the chocolate and raspberry parfait that Hermione had all but forced her to order.

“I really should kill you for this,” she said, though she took another large bite, melting with pleasure.

Hermione chuckled and stole a spoonful from the dish. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, with only the sounds of silverware clinking on plates between them. After a moment, Ginny set down her spoon and rubbed her belly with a sigh of contentment. When she lifted her eyes from her dessert, she met the intense gaze of her companion.

“What?” She awkwardly looked to either side of her and questioned whether she had raspberry seeds stuck in her teeth. “Do you want another?”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said with a no-nonsense tone. “I want you to tell me what happened at Le Vin de Ciel.”

Ginny swallowed another mouthful of chocolate and nervously brushed the hair out of her face.

“What-what are you talking about?”

Hermione arched her brow and narrowed her eyes at the same time, looking much like Mrs. Weasley.

“You know what I'm talking about, Gin. You haven't uttered one word about the vineyard since you got back, and I know something must have happened with the way you've been working yourself to madness at the office this week.”

Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but Hermione held up a hand to silence her.

“Listen, I'm not thick you know. I did all the research on Le Vin de Ciel, Gin—I know who owns that property.”

Ginny's mouth flapped shut. She felt completely set up. Hermione had dragged her out of the sanctuary of her office, baited her with chocolate mousse and then reeled her in like a fish. She'd been utterly and completely duped.

But as eager as she was to tell someone about her run in with Malfoy, she couldn't bring herself to admit how much it had rattled her. Not even to her dear friend, as she stared at her with eyes that clearly loved and worried about her.

“Oh, well,” she shrugged nonchalantly, sipping her water. “I mean, I did see quite a few people there. You know the usual stiff-collared crowd—loads of galleons, with no idea where to stick them but up each others' arses…” she tried to laugh but ended up choking on an ice cube in the process.

Hermione beat her back while she gagged and eventually recovered, patting her red face with the backs of her hands.

“Look at you—I've rarely seen you so out of sorts,” Hermione declared. “What the hell did Malfoy say to you?”

Ginny waved her hand in front of Hermione's mouth to make her lower her voice.

“It was nothing, Hermione, I tell you. Please, can we drop it?”

The brunette crossed her arms over her chest, clearly stating she was not willing to budge on the issue.

Ginny smiled beseechingly at her, hoping for mercy. When none came, and Hermione looked even sterner, she finally gave in.

“Oh fine, then. Since, you went through all this trouble to soften me up with bloody sweets and all…”

Hermione listened for the next ten minutes as Ginny recounted the uncomfortable experience with Malfoy. She left out the part about his father; she'd kept it to herself for so long, it felt only natural to omit it from her story now.

When she finished, she waited for Hermione to launch into a tirade about what a prat Malfoy was and how sorry she was he hadn't been thrown into Azkaban with the rest of his lot.

To her surprise, Hermione screwed her face into deep thought.

“Well, I wonder what he plans to do now he's back in the spotlight—other than the vineyard of course.”

Ginny said nothing.

“You know, the boy was a complete prick in school but I'd be interested to see what he's like now. Will he take up Dark Arts in secret like Lucius had for so long, or…” she trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging.

Ginny felt a little uncomfortable talking about Malfoy in public where she feared he might spring up at any time and overhear them.

“Well, who knows, I suppose,” she said, lamely. “Guess we'll have to wait and see.”

Hermione snapped out of her thought and shrugged her shoulders.

“Nonetheless, I can understand if the whole thing must have upset you a little,” She took Ginny's hands in her own and gave them a squeeze.

Ginny shook her head. “I wasn't upset at all, it was really fi—”

“Ginny,” Hermione looked grave. “Malfoy up until the end of it all was the Dark Lord's follower—he played a hand in the deaths of loads of innocent witches and wizards, even his own friends for Christ's sake.”

Her eyes softened as she continued. “I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, seeing such a dark reminder of that time in the flesh. But you don't have to put on a brave face about it. You know we would all have felt the same way.”

Ginny was surprised to feel her eyes fill and she quickly dropped her gaze.

“It's no big deal, Hermione. It was a long, long time ago.”

Hermione gave her a small smile, but she shook her head.

“We'd all like to think we've gotten past it, Gin, but the truth is we still remember. I think about it every day, seeing what we saw, being there in the thick of it all.”

Her eyes welled with tears as well and Ginny felt horribly awkward sitting in a pub, having a cry over a greasy table.

“Me, too,” she said finally. “I wish I didn't.”

Hermione nodded slowly, giving her hands another squeeze.

“But what if we really did all forget, Gin? What if we forgot about the ones we lost—Charlie and Percy and Dean and all the others?”

Ginny felt a few tears slip onto her cheeks at the mention of her brothers. She felt like she'd only seen them yesterday, brave and alive and fighting beside her.

“If we forget,” Hermione said, wiping her own eyes. “Then what the hell were we all fighting for?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Ginny left work early that evening. She swept the flock of memos that had been flapping impatiently about the room for the past hour into a desk drawer and closed her curtains over the vast glass window that gave a sweeping view of London's busy streets below.

Her chat with Hermione had been comforting and upsetting at the same time. She felt as if a huge weight had shifted off her shoulders at last, and yet she felt more confused than ever.

If Malfoy truly was on Voldemort's side, then why did he kill his father? Was it for personal gain? Was he acting on another's order?

With so many questions swirling about her head, she could hardly focus on the stacks of copy she had yet to edit.

With a sigh of defeat, she clicked off her desk lamp and made her way through the expansive office space.

On the opposite end of the office, a dim glow outlined her boss's door.

“Just came to say g'night,” she said, poking her head into Colin's office. His was grander than any other, with stainless steel and black furnishings. Lined on the shelves that flanked each wall were piles of books and other odds and ends. Colin also kept a vast collection of his photography and moving, smiling faces peeked from behind volumes of encyclopedias and other texts.

He was leaning over his desk, with his favorite red-inked quill clutched in his left hand. He made a few more slashes across the page before he looked up and gave her a smile that betrayed his exhaustion.

“Hello, Gin, are you heading out this early?” He glanced at his watch. “It's not past midnight yet. Are you feeling ill?”

Ginny guffawed at him and perched herself on the edge of his desk.

“No, smart arse, I feel fine. Just tired is all.”

Colin nodded and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Tell me about it. I've been inking up poor Morgan's narrative on Gringotts for the past half hour. I'm frightened for next month's issue with the crap I've been getting in from writers lately.”

Ginny glared at him and playfully threw a paper clip between his eyes.

“Hey, I've been busting my arse for you writing and editing every day. Can a girl get a little appreciation?”

Colin laughed and held his hands up in mock surrender.

“All right, calm down. We both know I wasn't referring to my star reporter.” He winked at her, a signature move that failed to send her spinning into a frenzy of nerves like others.

“Save your stupid winking for Sandra from the fashion department, all right?”

He appeared hurt but the devious twinkle in his blue eyes gave him away.

“What, has she mentioned me lately?”

Ginny smacked him on the shoulder. “Colin Creevey! After you made us sit through an hour-long lecture about inter-office dating last month, here you are shagging—”

“Hey, hey,” He cut her off, laughing aloud. “All right. Point taken.”

Ginny began to smile in triumph but her jaws split wide open in a loud yawn.

“You're a mess, Weasley. Go home and get some proper sleep before I have you fired.” He wagged his quill at her threateningly.

“Shut up, prat.” She gathered her bag and made her way to the door. “I'll see you tomorrow, all right?”

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, returning to the ink-stained article. Ginny had barely closed the door before he called her back inside.

“Gin, I completely forgot to ask you earlier,” he trailed off as he rifled through a few papers on his desk, searching for something. Ginny tapped her foot impatiently, itching to Apparate to her flat and take a long, warm bath.

“Ah, here we are.” He held up a wrinkled memo and handed it to her. Scrawled in his hasty handwriting was an address in the city.

“What's this?” Ginny eyed it quizzically. “One of the brothels you frequent?”

“Ha-ha, dear friend,” he said, glaring. “It's actually some background on a bloke I think you might be interested in writing a piece about.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued, as he handed her a slip of paper with a very familiar face smiling upon it.

“Name's Adrien Cordier and he's the French ambassador to the Ministry of Magic,” Collin said, “He's apparently come to weasel old Shacklebolt and friends into reforming an alliance with the French.”

Ginny felt her pulse quicken. So that was the real reason Adrien had come to visit his cousin. But the French had been on England's wrong side ever since they refused to help in the fight against Voldemort's forces. It was one thing to join elves and wizards together, but to reunite the French with Britain would be quite the task indeed.

“Cordier, you say? I think I might have heard of him,” she finally said.

Colin nodded dismissively, “Glad to hear it, but he's not really our story.”

He flipped the page over, replacing Adrien's smiling green eyes with a different face, one cold and smeared by an angry scowl. Instantly, Ginny felt her heart skip.

“Draco Malfoy,” Collin announced, failing to notice her discomfort. “I'm sure you remember him well from Hogwarts days, but no one has seen hide or tail of the smarmy Death Eating bastard since the War. Then all of the sudden he pops back in to launch an Elf-managed vineyard at his father's old stomping grounds?”

Ginny shook the startled expression from her face. “Right, it's a bit odd, I suppose.”

“It's bollocks is what it is,” Collin said, slapping the paper down on the table and startling Ginny from her minor stupor. “Malfoy is back for a reason, and it's got nothing to do with wine, I'll bank on that. Now I need you to find out everything you can about where he's been for the past decade, what he's got to do with his cousin's business with the Ministry and anything else you can dig up in the process.” Collin handed her the paper again. “I want you trailing his every move, Gin, you're the best reporter I've got.”

Ginny swallowed over her dry throat and held the paper in her hand loosely. This was the kind of story anyone in her shoes would kill for. She knew she should have no second thoughts. She should take the assignment, bid Collin farewell and skip along out of the office, amazed at her good fortune.

But why did it have to be Malfoy?

If anyone knew what she knew about Lucius' death, Draco would be plastered across every major news publication in the Wizarding world, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be the witch responsible for that.

“Gin, are you all right?” Collin was eyeing her appraisingly. She immediately straightened up and shook her head to disperse her racing thoughts. If someone was going to break the story, she thought, at least let it be her who had witnessed the truth.

“Of course, Collin,” she said, dredging up a smile. “I'll start as soon as possible.”

Collin beamed back at her. “Great, knew I could count on you, Gin, and looks like you'll have your chance to start sooner than you might think,” he added. “I've learned Malfoy recently purchased a place in the city. He's been very low key about it all, but the place is a fortress. No one puts up 2 million galleons for a home and can expect to remain anonymous.”

“2 million, eh?” Ginny whistled appreciatively, “Well, he's obviously enjoying his inheritance.”

“Damn right about that, you are,” he said. “And good old mother Malfoy will be hosting a housewarming for her son there this weekend. It's invite-only but, naturally, I've gotten my hands on a spare.” He waved his wand and a bright red envelope that looked unnervingly like a howler appeared before her.

“And will they take kindly to having the press crash their party?” Ginny asked, taking the envelope from the air.

“Of course they won't,” he said, smiling in a way that Ginny recognized and knew usually corresponded with trouble.

“Collin, I am not disguising myself and sneaking into a private party,” she said abruptly, catching his line of thought. “It's completely unethical!”

“Oh come off it, Gin, I'm not asking you to color your hair purple or anything,” he said. “You'll be attending as a plus one.”

“And whose plus one will I be?” She said, trying to figure out where this was going.

“I hope you've been practicing your French, my dear,” he said. “You'll be spending the evening at Cordier's side.”

“What?” Ginny set the invite back on his desk. “Collin Creevey, are you selling me out so you can get your bloody scoop on Malfoy?”

Collin withdrew his smug smirk and recoiled a bit in his seat at the fiery glare she aimed at him.

“Come off it, Gin, I may be a journalist but I'm not a complete arse. Cordier approached me, in fact. He sent an owl the day after you returned from assignment, trying to find out how he could contact you. I ignored it at first, chalking him up as another of your potential stalkers, and told the receptionist to block further messages,” he paused to smile at her cheekily.

“But then, of course, I found out who he was when I received another owl today with the invitation for you.”

He leaned in closer then, gazing at her with a look bordering exasperation. “Look, you're not really upset I set you up with a Ministry ambassador to break what could potentially be the story of your entire career, are you?”

Ginny shrugged, avoiding the question. “Don't get your wand in a knot, Creevey, I've already said I'll do the story, haven't I?”

“That's the spirit then,” he said, flashing a smile. “You've got three weeks.”

Ginny took the envelope with the invitation and the photos of Draco and Adrien and made her leave. When, moments later, she had at last Apparated outside of her apartment door, she paused to let her head thud deftly against the hard wood.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into now, Weasley?”

************
May 11, 2008

-->

5. Breaking News

Bewitched Times

Chapter 5: Breaking News

A/N: Hello again! FYI, I changed the ending of the 4th chapter for plot reasons, so please re-read it if you haven’t yet…

In other news, yay for a new chapter! I hope you enjoy.

-Adrial

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ginny knew she was going to die any minute now. Her heart raced at an inhuman pace and she felt her legs sagged like wilted tree branches beneath her. The white light was somewhere just behind her eyelids and all she cared to do was give in and walk into it.

“C’mon, Gin! You’ve only been on for twenty minutes!” A round-faced, pretty young woman with dark brown hair eyed the red-head with disbelief. Her own face was beet red itself, and rivulets of sweat were coursing down the valleys between her nose and cheeks.

“I can’t take this anymore, Lav,” Ginny groaned. “Look—I’ll just keep my cellulite. I’m quite—huff— fond of it actually.” And she unceremoniously stumbled from her exercise bike and onto the floor.

Lavender Brown sighed exasperatedly at her friend.

“If only your adoring fans could see you now,” she said. “The Ginevra Weasley, former world class seeker extraordinaire—crumbling like a flobberworm on a tricycle.”

Ginny rolled her eyes but didn’t retort. Her lungs were contracting painfully and she wasn’t sure if she could stand properly, let alone speak.

Lavender laughed good-naturedly and pumped her legs harder, leaving Ginny lying spread eagle on the ground beside her.

After a few minutes, Ginny felt as if she’d stand a good chance of making it upright. She heaved herself up on her bike and tested the state of her legs. They were screaming in protest but steady enough for her to walk.

Lavender finished at last and wiped her forehead with a towel. She threw her legs over the side of her bike and bounced off, jogging in place to loosen her muscles.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “By the way, broom flying is totally different than sitting on a stupid machine and spinning my legs in circles going bloody nowhere.”

Lavender shrugged and started pumping her arms up and down. “Whatever you say, Gin.”

The pair walked away, heading towards the locker room to grab their bags. Ginny much preferred her kickboxing classes twice a week, but she and Lavender had been shopping all day and she’d missed the 5 o’clock class.

“Did you see the bloke spinning three down from us?” Lavender threw water on her face at the sink and smiled impishly. “He was practically undressing us with his eyes.”

Ginny suppressed the urge to gag. She highly doubted anyone would find either of them remotely attractive when they smelled like barn animals and were drenched in sweat.

“Right, Lav,” she said incredulously.

Lavender glared and looked slightly hurt. “What’s the matter with you today? You’ve been all grumpy since lunch.”

Ginny shrugged her shoulders and sighed, leaning against the wall of blue lockers with her bag in her hand. “I’m sorry, I know I have,” she said. “I’ve just been so stressed at work lately, you know. Didn’t mean to be a complete cow to you.”

She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t really sorry. Four hours straight of Lavender could make anybody a little edgy. She loved the girl but preferred her in small doses at the most.

Lavender beamed at her, satisfied at least with her apology. She popped open a sports drink and threw her arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

“No worries, love. We all have our days.”

Ginny smiled tightly and forced herself to nod. They made their way outside, and the night air felt heavenly against her skin after being inside the stuffy gym.

“D’you fancy getting a drink?” Lavender said. Ginny hitched her bag up on her shoulder and fiddled around inside for her cell phone to give herself time to think of an excuse. All she fancied at the moment was a long bath and a marathon of East Enders.

“Oh, no, I really shouldn’t,” she said. “You know about what happened with—erm, Jeff—”

She paused to give Lavender time to pat her back affectionately and tell her how sorry she was.

Ginny gave a weary sigh, playing along. “Yes, it really was dreadful, and I’ve just been knackered with work and the stress of it all. I should probably just head home and get some rest.”

She was pleased when Lavender nodded her head emphatically.

“Too right, you are. I’ll be fine, you just go along and rest up, Gin.”

Ginny was relieved when they finally said their goodbyes and she was left to herself. The night was warm and she loved walking through the city alone. She released her wave of ginger hair from its tight ponytail and sighed, running her fingers over her scalp.

“Ginevra!”

She stopped in her tracks at the sound of her name being called and wheeled around to see who was responsible. The streets were filled with people and it was hard to make out anyone in the sea of faces tinted orange from the streetlights. She gave up after a little while, realizing that she probably wasn’t the only Ginevra in London.

“Excuse me, Miss Weasley—”

This time she felt a hand on her shoulder, and when she spun around a familiar pair of bright green eyes were staring back at her.

“Adri—erm, Mr. Cordier, hello,” she said, with an awkward laugh.

He was breathing a little heavily from running up to meet her, but he looked immaculate in a three-piece suit and tie. His hair was perfectly arranged, falling just short of his jaw line.

Ginny suddenly wished she’d invested in nicer work out clothes. She was sporting a pair of old track pants with a giant Gryffindor lion emblazoned on the side and a T-shirt she had grabbed out of the dirty laundry in her rush that morning.

Adrien smiled widely, placing his hand on her elbow to steer her away from the oncoming traffic. They retreated to the doorway of a convenience store where it was bit safer to have a conversation.

“I thought for a second I had mistaken you for another woman,” he said, smiling. “But that hair. It had to be you, I thought.”

“Oh, well, I guess it’s a little bit of a giveaway,” she said lamely. They lapsed into an awkward silence for a moment, but Adrien quickly recovered.

“You never returned my owls,” he said. His expression wasn’t upset but playful, as if he expected nothing less but still wanted to tease her about it.

Ginny shrugged and decided to tell the truth.

“To be honest, I never actually knew about them,” she said. “My boss, who is, incidentally, also a dear friend of mine, thought your messages might have been,” she searched hard for the right word. “Unwanted.”

“Ah,” Adrien replied, still not removing the trace of a smile from his mouth. “And was he correct? Was I a nuisance?”

“No, no, no,” Ginny said, waving her hand in front of herself as if to swat away the thought. She thought she must look foolish but couldn’t stop herself.

“Collin was only being the protective prat he is, that’s all. I actually spoke with him last night and he gave me the messages after all.”

The rush of passing cars and people droned on loudly behind them, and Ginny felt silly yelling at him over the noise.

“Excellent,” Adrien said. “And I hope you have had time to consider my invitation for this weekend?”

Ginny pursed her lips and tried to pretend as if she hadn’t already been about to say yes.

“Well, I would love to, but don’t you think it might be a bit awkward?”

Adrien eyed her as if he didn’t know what she meant.

“Well, you know,” Ginny went on, trying to ignore the sounds of honking car horns and tires screeching, “With the whole Draco incident—I don’t want to create another situation like that last unfortunate meeting.”

Adrien didn’t immediately answer her. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a long, dark colored wand and swept it over the air around them. Almost instantly, the noise of the city was reduced to a small buzz in their ears. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she said. “Sometimes I can barely hear myself think in this damn city.”

Adrien shook his head and cupped his hand on her shoulder. “Do not worry about my cousin, Ginevra, he will be no trouble at all. I will make sure of that.”

Something about the mix of his accent and the charm that seemed to drip from his lips made her stomach jolt ever so slightly. She resisted the urge to jab it with her hand.

“You know, I was very worried when you left the way you did,” he said, taking her hand in his own. His eyes were sincere. “Let me make it up to you. Accept my invitation this weekend and I promise it will be worth it.”

Ginny felt him squeeze her hand gently and ignored the peculiar urge to steal hers away from him.

“Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” she said finally. Adrien broke out into a grin, exposing perfectly white teeth that gleamed in the streetlights.

“Magnifique,” he said. “I will send you the address—”

He was interrupted by a loud screeching that emitted from the briefcase he held in his hand.

“Please forgive me for running off now,” he said, frowning at the pager he had extracted from within the bag. “I have an appointment I must be getting to.” He appeared genuinely sorry to leave.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I guess I will see you tomorrow night then?”

He smiled widely and before she knew it, he had kissed her softy on each cheek, releasing her after a few seconds.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Good night, Ginevra.”

She stared a bit dumbstruck at him for a moment before nodding.

“Sure,” she said. “Have a lovely evening, Adrien.”

He let her go this time and she walked briskly away, glad to be far from his penetrating gaze. Something about him made her feel off-center, as if he were trying with all his might to unnerve her.

She shook her head a little and wrapped her arms around herself.

“That man has got to be part veela,” she said to no one in particular.

Well at least the day hadn’t been a complete loss, she thought as she approached her flat. She’d spent last week’s salary on a slew of new outfits, worked out (sort of), and gotten a big lead on her assignment. Though, tomorrow she would be better prepared, and, she thought with a smirk, dressed to kill.

She waved to the night desk clerk and sprinted quickly up a couple of flights of stairs to reach her floor. The hall was empty and as she reached number six, she stopped in her tracks. There were voices coming from behind the door, muffled and deep.

She touched the knob with her hand and felt it twist. Unlocked. Heart beating quickly, she fumbled for her wand and stepped back a few feet from the landing.

“Hominem revelio,” she said. Instantly, as if a spotlight came on from behind the wall, she could see two distinctly human outlines standing in her living room.

She set her bags down quietly and prepared herself. There was no use calling for help, as it was a Friday evening and she knew her only neighbor had gone to visit his parents for the weekend.

With her wand at the ready, she reached out to twist the door knob again. This time, she flung it open and rushed in.

“Petrificus Totalus!” she screeched. Twin beams of red light flew from her wand and into the chests of the intruders.

She realized then that she had squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them to make sure she’d hit her targets, her jaw dropped.

Two men were surely in her apartment. The place was a mess, with food cartons strewn about and her furniture in disarray. The television was blaring loudly, but it was drowned out by the blazing sound of her own temper in her ears.

She stepped over the coffee table and inspected the two forms now lying rigid on her floor, one with jet black hair and the other wearing a bright orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt that contrasted violently with his head of ginger.

She wanted to kick the pair of them but thought better of it. In a second, she flicked her wand and released them from the spell.

“You stupid prats!” Ginny spat, removing one of her shoes and beating them both about the arms with it. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley gasped and scrambled to their feet, knocking one another around in the process.

Ron jumped on the couch to dodge a blow, holding his arms up to shield himself.

“Oy, Gin! Calm down!”

That only enraged her further. She left Harry to nurse his wounds and pummeled her brother with her trainer with renewed fervor.

“Don’t-you-tell-me-to-bloody-calm-down,” she said, annunciating each word with another blow to her brother’s head. “Get off me, Potter!”

Harry picked her up and set her back down on the floor, managing to successfully wrestle the weapon from her hand.

“Damn, Gin, I think he’s got the point.”

Ginny huffed indignantly and rolled her shoulders back. Ron was whimpering on the couch, still curled into a defensive ball.

“Oh, get up, you idiot,” she spat, feeling drained.

Once he made sure the coast was clear, Ron unfurled himself and sat up straight. Harry threw the trainer well out of reach and dared an apologetic smile at the still fuming red-head before him.

“We ordered pizza.”

Ginny rolled her eyes far into the back of her head and punched him in his chest.

“Oh, don’t get cute with me. What the bloody hell are you two doing in my flat?”

Ron, apparently feeling brave enough to speak now, held up a white video game controller.

“Harry just bought himself a Wii,” he said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable excuse.

Harry nodded affirmatively. Ginny wanted to slap them both again.

“And why,” she said slowly, as if she were speaking to a pair of ten year olds, “Couldn’t you have played at Harry’s flat?”

“Duh, Gin,” Ron said, straightening his shirt out. “You’ve got a bigger TV.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. It was no use yelling anymore and she couldn’t scrounge up enough energy to hit him again.

“Right then,” she said as she went to gather up her bags from outside. “I’m going to go into my room, walk away from this mess, take a nice, long shower, and when I return, everything better be back in its proper place.”

“Sure thing, Gin,” Harry said.

Ron, who had since resumed playing their game, gave a noncommittal grunt and said under his breath, “As if it wasn’t already a sty before we got here.”

Ginny stomped off to her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her. She shed her dirty clothes, tossed them in the general area where she usually kept her hamper and went into her bathroom.

She emerged twenty minutes later with damp hair, feeling refreshed and quite lively. A fog of steam followed her over to her armoire where she found her most comfortable pajamas and slipped them on.

She picked up her tea mug from the previous evening and made her way back into the living room.

Obviously fearing another attack, the boys had done a great job cleaning up their mess. The only lingering smudge on her immaculate living room, she mused, was her oaf of a brother lying sprawled out over her sofa.

Harry was in the kitchen, leaning over a steaming tea kettle. Ginny ignored Ron and made her way over to the stove where Harry was pouring water into a fresh mug of tea.

He turned to her when he realized she was there and held out the steaming mug.

“Peace offering?” He smiled. Ginny no longer felt upset, but she grabbed the mug from him and glared playfully.

“I suppose,” she said.

“Excellent,” he grinned. He then dashed back over to the sofa and shoved Ron’s legs off to give him room to sit. While he was gone, Ron had taken the chance to beat him in three rounds of kickboxing and was gloating about it.

“Laugh now, wanker” Harry warned. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

Ginny came over and sat on the love seat, since there would be no getting rid of them anytime soon. There was an open box of lukewarm pizza on the table and she helped herself to a slice, feeling a strange rush of affection for the two men bickering beside her like teenagers. Living on her own, she sometimes missed the chaos of a home full of siblings.

“So, how’s Luna, Ronald?” She said, with a devious smile. “Wishing she’d signed a prenuptial like I advised?”

Ron took a second to grin widely at her. “She’s pregnant.”

Ginny nearly choked on her pizza. “WHAT?”

Harry chortled but focused on punching Ron’s player into oblivion.

“She’s pregnant,” Ron elaborated. “You know, with child,”

Ginny took a second to gather herself before she leaped out of her chair and pounced on her startled brother.

“You stupid prat, why didn’t you tell me?!” She laughed, kissing his cheeks and mussing his hair. “You two didn’t waste any time did you?”

“Geroff me,” Ron said, but he was smiling. “I would have told you but you were too busy trying to beat me into a pulp, weren’t you?”

“Wow,” Ginny said, ignoring the jibe. “You’re going to be dad, Ron!”

Ron seemed as if he was still getting used to the idea, and he paled a bit.

“S’pose I will, won’t I?”

“Oh, you’ll be great, don’t worry,” Ginny said, giving him another loud kiss on his freckled cheek. He waved her off finally, going red in his face.

“I’m not worried, not at all…” he said, weakly.

Harry snorted under his breath. “Luna told me he ran into smack into a wall when she broke the happy news.”

“Shut it, Potter,” Ron growled.

Ginny laughed giddily, ignoring them both. “This is fantastic,” she said. “Have you told Mum yet?”

“We’re having brunch there tomorrow morning, inviting the whole lot. We’ll, erm, drop the bomb then I sup—Oy, that’s a foul move, Potter! You can’t kick a man while he’s down!” He punched Harry in his forearm and growled, jamming his thumbs into the controller with renewed fervor.

Ginny squealed in delight, and then clapped her hands together with a sly grin. “Well, I can’t wait to see your face the first time you’ve got to change diapers.”

Harry joined in her round of laughter as Ron’s face turned a slight shade of green.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ginny tossed and turned all night long after Ron and Harry had finally left. She was nervous about the next day, more so about how she was going to get more information about Malfoy when she could think of no one she cared to speak to less.

By three o’clock she had at last succumbed to sleep and woke up with the sun a few hours later, unable to find her slumber again. With a few hours to spare, she decided that now was as good a time as any to try to prepare something edible to contribute to the feast her mother was sure to be slaving over.

Her mother tried to encourage her to pick up cooking, but she had never quite mastered the proper wand work. After taking inventory of her barren refrigerator, she decided to attempt to charm a carton of strawberries into a soufflé. Forty-five minutes later, she had only managed to make them smash themselves into a jelly-like lump that looked more like an herbology project than food. Glaring at the mess she’d created, she scooped it all into a jar and decided they could at least use it for toast. To make the overall effect a bit less pathetic looking, she tied the jar off with a red ribbon.

“They’ll have a good laugh over this one,” she said to herself as she cleared the counter and licked left over strawberries from her fingers.

In the middle of her cleaning, a large owl swept into her flat through the artificial fireplace across from her sofa. He was carrying the large sack of letters that usually accompanied the release of a new issue of Bewitched Times.

“Hello, Fitz, how are you today? Come to bring me another sack full of howlers, have you?” She scratched behind the owl’s neck and he nipped her finger affectionately. Once he had been paid in treats for his labor, he zoomed off back to where he came from and she set the bulging bag down.

“Accio howlers!” Ginny said, flourishing her wand. The bag lurched and burst open. About fifty bright red envelopes zoomed out and into her arms. She had gotten used to unhappy readers sending her nasty messages detailing their distaste with her latest work, but she had stopped listening to them once the neighbors began complaining about the sound of her television waking them up in the mornings.

She learned to herd them into a sound-proof box until they had all opened up and shouted their piece. Once they imploded, she discarded the box.

The rest of the letters she read carefully. Today most were gentile enough, the majority commenting on last month’s interview with Winifred Wilkins, a mediwitch who had made herself famous by creating a potion that would protect werewolves from infecting their unborn children.

Once she had finished, she made a few notes on a notepad, cleared them all off the table and set them to organize themselves into an overstuffed filing cabinet in her study.

It was about time to leave by the time she’d finished, so she dressed and Apparated into her mother’s parlor, the jar of jam clutched in her fist.

She had barley gotten her bearings and straightened out her robes when Harry popped loudly into the room beside her. He startled her so much that the jar of strawberries flew from her hand and shattered at her feet.

“Good morning, Harry,” She said glaringly, using her wand to clean up the mess.

“Sorry, Gin, erm…I hope your gravy is all right.” He eyed the muck Ginny was attempting to scoop back into its jar and could hardly contain his bemused smile.

“Sod off,” she grumbled.

“Fred, George, keep your children out of the gardens!” Her mother’s voice screeched from the kitchen. Together, the pair made their way over the threshold where Molly Weasley was waving an oven mitt out of the window, trying to grab the attention of the two men hunched over an old wooden picnic table set for fifteen. A few meters away, two small boys were bent double over a hedge, giggling conspiratorially.

If they could hear their grandmother the children showed no signs of it as they prodded a particularly thick bush with the tail end of one of their Uncle Ron’s old brooms. To their delight, a pair of knobby, brown heads suddenly poked around either side to investigate the ruckus, and the boys laughed triumphantly.

The taller of the two, William, a six-year-old with strawberry blonde hair and the same eye for mischief as his father, lunged for the hapless garden gnome. Seconds latter, it was suspended in the air by its ankles, waving two dirty fists at the blue eyes staring cross-eyed back at him

“Dad, look! I’ve got one!” He yelled over his shoulder, beaming at George who was busy beating his brother at a nasty game of wizard’s chess.

“Atta boy!” He called, pausing to wave to his son.

“George!” Molly’s voice shattered the children’s laughter.

Seated across from his twin, Fred broke his concentration on their game to answer.

“What’s the problem, Mum? D’you like having a garden overrun by those idiots?”

Molly huffed and disappeared back into the kitchen. George snickered.

“D’you reckon she’s still a bit sore after they swapped them for potatoes at dinner last week?”

Shrugging, Fred glanced over at his son, Alexander, who had triumphed over a pair of particularly ugly gnomes and flung them as far as his five-year-old arms could manage.

“You might be onto something there. Check.”

Beyond their game of chess, the back yard of the Burrow was wrapped in a hazy summer cloud, and the sun cast a cheery glow on everything from the old broom shack by the Quidditch pitch to the procession of disgruntled gnomes making their escape into the bordering pasture.

Inside the kitchen, Molly huffed as she set a dozen tomatoes to dicing themselves in the sink, all the while muttering under her breath. What food had been prepared already was lined up on the overflowing countertops, all magically sealed shut and effectively Weasley child-proof.

Ginny and Harry greeted her finally, once they deemed it safe enough.

“Hello, dears!” Molly beamed, slinging the kitchen towel over her shoulder and smothering the pair in kisses.

“Mum, you look well,” Ginny said, laughing at Harry’s strained expression when Molly attempted for the millionth time to flatten his unruly mane. Over time her own copper-colored hair had been streaked with shades of silver, and the laugh lines about her eyes were deeper than last time Ginny had seen her.

“Mrs. Weasley, honestly, it’s a lost cause,” Harry said, prizing himself out of her grip. “It’s got a mind of its own, I tell you,”

Molly reluctantly backed off, putting her hands on her hips and turning her brown gaze on her daughter.

“Muuumm,” Ginny groaned, when Molly reached out to pinch her cheek.

“Look at you, you’re practically wasting away!” She scoffed. “I’m going to owl that Creevey fellow first thing in the morning and tell him to stop working you so hard, Ginevra. You’re all freckles and bones!”

It was Harry’s turn to laugh as Ginny began bickering with her mother over the matter and tried to turn away the plate of sweets Molly was attempting to force-feed her.

Another tell-tale sound of Apparition sounded from the parlor, temporarily stalling the dispute. Arthur Weasley appeared briefly in the doorway, his ragged traveling cloak billowing around him. In the past few years, he’d been promoted to head of the department of muggle relations—a relatively new addition to the Ministry, instated soon after the war.

He greeted Ginny and Harry with hugs and kissed his wife. As Molly busied herself inspecting a new hole in his shirtsleeve, Ginny and Harry decided to make their escape.

The pair eased out the back door and into the yard, but they hadn’t walked two feet before a pair of small bodies hurled themselves at their legs.

“Auntie Gin! Uncle Harry! Auntie Gin! Uncle Harry!” Alexander and William, each wielding a child-sized flying broom, were pushing and shoving one another to gain the attention of the witch and wizard before them.

“All right, all right, calm down you two,” Harry said, hefting William over his shoulders and ruffling Alexander’s hair.

“Uncle Harry, Dad said you were the youngest seeker in Gryffindor history!” William exclaimed. “Is it true? Is it? Did you really catch the snitch in your mouth? Will you show us? Didn’t it taste funny?”

Harry laughed, ignoring Ginny, who rolled her eyes.

“Yes, it’s true, though I wouldn’t recommend you try it.”

Fred and George had ended their game and came over. William took a running leap at his father, nearly bowling him over.

“I’ll be sending you my mediwitch bill, Potter,” George said as he lifted his son up and slung him over his back. “Did you know it costs fifty galleons to get a snitch removed from a child’s stomach?”

“Billy, you didn’t!” Ginny exclaimed. William grinned, hopping from his dad’s arms and laughing.

“Show me the wr-wronky feist, Uncle Harry! Please! Won’t you?” Alexander hopped on his little broom and hovered at about waist level on Harry. He had his mother’s deep chocolate eyes and dark, curly hair, but the smattering of brown freckles on his cheeks and nose mirrored his father’s.

“The ‘wronky feist’?” Harry turned incredulous eyes on Fred. “And you call yourself a parent?”

“Oy! You can’t start a match without me!” The small group turned to see Ron emerging from the house, Luna in tow.

Ginny laughed delightedly and rushed over to greet her friend. She hadn’t seen her since the wedding.

“Luna!” She embraced her, though she took care not to squeeze too tight. “You look lovely.”

Luna had always had a special glow about her, but the presence of the life forming inside her seemed to enhance it ten-fold. Even her long white blonde locks were bouncier than usual. Ron seemed torn between running off to grab his own broom and keeping his arms wrapped securely around his wife’s waist.

“Oh, go on already, Ron, she isn’t going to break if you let her alone for a few minutes,” Ginny said.

Ron glared at his sister and gave Luna and quick kiss before jogging off to the group of men and boys passing around broomsticks in the distance.

Ginny turned to her friend, drinking in the sight of her looking so content and happy. She grabbed her hands in her own and could barely find words to express how happy she was for her. They simply squealed giddily at one another for a few moments and walked over to the picnic table to catch up.

“So,” Ginny said, leaning in with a glint of mischief in her eye. “You two didn’t waste any time did you?”

Luna smiled serenely. “I’m only a few weeks on, Gin. I wouldn’t have even known if I hadn’t been due for a check up.”

“Did Ron really run into a wall?” Ginny asked.

They laughed together, looking out in the distance at the five forms flying circles around one another.

Luna sighed. “I was quite scared about what his reaction would be,” she admitted. “You know, he and Harry just got promoted to senior Aurors last month. He’s been quite stressed lately about the training, which makes him really vulnerable to developing Geniggle’s syndrome and that takes weeks to treat.”

Ginny didn’t bother to ask what sad fate Geniggle’s syndrome entailed for her brother, but she leaned in to give Luna a one-armed hug. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said. “I heard Harry caught him in Ickle Baby Bobbles last week in Diagon Alley. He was keen on buying a toy Quidditch set and a matching kit, but decided to give the kid a few years yet to swing it’s first beater’s bat.”

“Hello you, two!” Hermione was walking over, looking very relaxed in a pretty yellow sundress. Her hair was down and framing her face, which looked as if she’d gotten a bit of sun.

“’Mione!” Ginny embraced her. “What the hell have you done to yourself? You look great.”

Hermione blushed and busied herself hugging Luna to hide it.

“All right, all right!” Molly and Arthur came out onto the lawn, followed closely by a long trail of steaming bowls and plates of food which flew over to the table and set themselves. “Everybody, time to tuck in!”

There was no chance the boys heard her announcement in the middle of their game, so Ginny volunteered to round them up.

In a second, she’d dug her wand out of her pocket and retrieved her old broom with a quick Accio under her breath.

Hopping on, she zoomed off in a blur of red hair and laughter. George didn’t know what hit him when she blew past him, knocking the quaffle out of his hand and weaving her way to the other end of the pitch. She easily scored past Ron’s frantic attempts to block her and was greeted by raucous cheers from her two nephews.

“Auntie Gin, let us try your Firebolt, please! Please!” The pair puttered past their fathers as fast as their mini-brooms could carry them and over to their aunt. Ginny laughed, ignoring her scowling brothers.

“Maybe in a few years, you two,” she said. The boys looked put out for a moment, but she didn’t notice. Something bright and gold had caught her eye.

Harry was on the other end of the pitch, having a row with Ron over letting in another goal. Fred and George were queued up, enjoying the action. The snitch was hovering just above the tail end of Harry’s broom, winking in the distance at Ginny, begging to be caught.

“Boys,” she said. “Let me show you how it’s really done.” In a flash, she shot off, clearing the distance between herself and the other fliers in seconds.

“Sod off, Potter, I could have blocked it if I wanted!”

“Oh sure, and I bet Hagrid could teach a horntail to tap dance if he wanted,” Harry countered.

“Honestly you two, I’m surprised you didn’t marry each other.” Fred laughed.

Ron glared and turned to say something rude in response, but the sentence died on his tongue.

“Watch it!” He dove for the ground, just in time to evade his sister who swept past them with speed that left them all scrambling to stay on their brooms.

“Haha!” Ginny rose into the air triumphantly, her hand clasped tightly over the struggling golden snitch.

Harry’s jaw dropped.

“Nice one, Potter,” Fred said, swinging his beater’s bat over his shoulder. “I suppose you forgot to grab your bullocks when you left the house this afternoon, eh?”

The meal was quite eventful. Everyone pounced on the delicious food, praising Molly with such enthusiasm that she went beet red about her face. Angelina and Katie had appeared a few minutes after they started eating, both having been held up at their shop in Diagon Alley—a Quidditch robes boutique not yet a year old but already thriving next door to their husbands’ joke empire.

By the time everyone had settled down again and Alexander and William had finally been coerced into eating their vegetables before dessert (Hermione transfigured them to look like mini snitches and broomsticks), the sun had risen high and steaming hot above them..

Ginny sat back, feeling quite relaxed. She eyed Ron across the table, smiling at the sight of his arm around Luna’s shoulder. The pair was beaming for no apparent reason to the untrained eye, but Ginny knew better. She winked at Luna when she caught her eye and gave her a “When are you going to make the damn announcement already?” look.

Luna shrugged slightly and nudged Ron’s shoulder. He only grinned at her, surreptitiously reaching beneath the table to caress her still flat tummy with his hand. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Get on with it, already!” she mouthed at him. Ron ignored her. Bored with the two, she turned to Hermione.

“So, Herm, I heard a rumor you’ve been seeing that Ayden bloke from the Department of Mysteries,” she grinned. “Care to confirm or deny?”

Hermione blanched and busied herself refilling her water goblet. “Who on Earth told you that rubbish?”

“Ayden? Ayden Driggins?” Harry had turned around, abruptly dropping his one-sided conversation with Angelina about the latest in Quidditch fashion trends. “You can’t be serious, ‘Mione. The man is a complete ars—”

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, cutting him off. “Mind there are children at the table.”

Harry grinned sheepishly at Mrs. Weasley, who had peered over at the sound of his raised voice. He turned back to Hermione then, talking out of the side of his mouth.

“His father was arrested for sneaking Death Eaters into the Ministry during the War, you know that.”

Hermione sat up straighter in her seat, folding her napkin neatly in her lap, and tried to appear nonchalant.

“And what of it? Does that make his son a criminal, too?”

“The idiot got himself stuck in the bloody Department last month,” Harry said, trying to seem nonchalant himself but failing miserably. “It took five Unspeakables six hours to get him out. He’d managed to Vanish all the doors to the building.”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she said. “He’s just a—”

“Complete jerk, I tell you. You’d be better off with Barry Boilious from magical maintenance,” Harry said emphatically.

Ginny felt suddenly uncomfortable seated between the two.

“Harry, what’s gotten into you,” she said under her breath. “I was only kidding about the rumors.”

Hermione glared over her at Harry. “Who are you to tell me who I should or shouldn’t see?” she said. “Who’s the prat with seven different witches a week calling on his doorstep, begging to get a glimpse of his stupid scar?”

“All right, then, shall we get on with this exciting announcement?” Ginny said, effectively cutting off Harry’s retort. She jumped up quickly from her seat and tapped her goblet in the air with her fork to get everyone’s attention.

“Erm, I believe someone has got very exciting news to share, haven’t they?” She looked apologetically at Luna and Ron, who were fidgeting nervously.

“Exciting news? Who’s got exciting news?” Molly looked up expectantly. “You’re not pregnant again, are you Katie dear?”

“What?” George stared at his wife accusingly. “Shouldn’t the father be the first to know?”

“Oh, shut up, you,” Katie rolled her eyes and smacked her husband on the back of his head. “I’m not pregnant.”

Fred turned to his wife with fear-stricken eyes. “Please say it’s not—”

“It’s not,” Angelina said firmly. She then cast doubtful eyes at her stomach. “I mean, it had better not be.”

“What do you mean, ‘it had better not be,’? You either are or you aren’t,” Fred said, leaning over his wife to press his ear against her stomach. “Hello! Is anyone in there?”

“Fred, get off— ”

“Well, if you are, then please,” he said,“Get out!”

Angelina gasped horrorstruck at him. “What are you on about? Would having another child be such a terrible thing?”

Fred realized his mistake, but it was too late. Angelina had fire crackling in her brown eyes and her hand pressed protectively over her stomach.

“No, no, no,” Ginny waved her arms, trying to diffuse another argument. She was getting bad at this. “You’ve got it wrong.”

Luna and Ron were fidgeting now more than ever. This wasn’t how they’d imagined telling the family, but there was no way around it now. Ron glared at his sister.

“Thanks, Gin.”

Ginny shrugged, looking sheepish.

“All right, you lot, shut it!” Ron shouted, standing up with Luna at his side. “It’s me who’s pregnant.”

The table was silent for a moment. Then Alexander and William both burst out laughing.

“Uncle Ron’s going to be a Mummy!” They pointed and laughed more, rolling onto the ground in the process.

“Good one, Ron,” George said, “I mean we always knew Luna wore the pants in the relationship, but this is a bit much.”

Luna smiled serenely over the group that was buzzing with confused commotion. She patted her husband’s arm to keep him from retorting.

“No, Billy, your uncle is not going to be a Mummy,” she said, bringing her hand to her stomach. “I am.”

The talking stopped. Eleven pairs of eyes were trained on the beaming witch before them. Ron nodded affirmatively with a lopsided grin on his face as he slung his arm around Luna’s shoulders. He looked quite pleased with himself.

Molly was the first to react, and she leapt from her seat with surprising agility, running over to the couple with tears already streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, my ickle Ronniekins!” She sobbed into his shirt collar. “You’re going to be a f-f-father.”

George and Fred snorted with laughter.

“Here’s to dodging a bludger,” Fred said, surreptitiously raising his goblet to toast his brother while their wives busied themselves congratulating the expecting couple.

“Cheers.”

Hermione and Harry had barely acknowledged Luna’s announcement, as they were still carrying on a heated debate at the table. Ginny, unfortunately, hadn’t dared leave her seat again lest Hermione draw her wand.

“Honestly, Harry, you’re being ridiculous,” Hermione said, her brown eyes flashing dangerously. “We’re not school children any more.”

“All I am saying,” Harry said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Is that if what you’re trying to do is find and date the biggest prat on the planet then you’re doing a bang up job starting with Driggins.”

Ginny knew now was the time to break in. Hermione’s face had darkened to a shade lighter than a howler about to burst and her hand was inching toward her handbag.

“All right you two, take it easy, won’t you?” She spread her arms out between them. As if they had forgotten that Ginny was there at all, Hermione and Harry both looked at her with startled expressions on their faces.

“Ginny, stay out of this, please,” Harry said. Before Ginny could even retort, Hermione blew up at him for her.

“Don’t you talk to her like that!” She spat. “You’re really turning into an arse, did you know that Potter? It’s like you’re not even—ugh.” Hermione shook her head with frustration. “Just bugger off.”

With that, she strode off across the yard and through the kitchen door. The sound of the rickety door frame banging as she passed through was ignored by the bustling group of celebrators.

“She’s got a point, you know,” Ginny said, eyeing Harry reproachfully.

Harry looked as if he was about to snap at her all over again, but he thought better of it and shrugged indifferently.

“Come on, Gin, if you even met this idiot—”

“The only idiot I see right now is the wizard sitting in front of me,” she said, cutting him off. “For merlin’s sake, Harry, what’s gotten into you?”

He appeared intent on not answering her for a while. He was glaring at the plate of half-eaten food before him. Across the table, William and Alexander took turns pressing their ears against Luna’ stomach, trying to hear proof of their new cousin forming inside.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, breaking his silence. “It doesn’t make any sense why she’s wasting her time on these blokes who are no good for her when—”

He cut off abruptly, pausing to run his hands through his hair roughly. It was a gesture Ginny recognized at once.

“When are you going to just admit it to yourself, Harry?” She said quietly, reaching out to lay her hand on his forearm.

“You love her, don’t you?” Subconsciously, she held her breath, prepared for his answer and whatever pang of remorse it might bring with it. The same way Hermione had felt watching Luna walk down the aisle into Ron’s arms, Ginny expected she’d feel when Harry finally acknowledged his feelings for Hermione.

Harry looked at her earnestly for a moment. And then he nodded, just once.

Ginny let out her breath at last, but was surprised not to feel an ounce of any kind of emotion that resembled loss. Even though she and Harry had parted ways years ago, she felt weird realizing for the first time that her feelings for him had truly dissipated. It was quite a relief, she thought.

“Well then,” she said, smiling at him widely. “There’s only one thing to do now.”

“What’s that?” Harry eyed her wearily.

“Pick up your bollocks and go tell her right now before she really does run off with some moron from the Department of Mysteries.” She picked up her goblet and swallowed the last bit of wine.

Harry chuckled and took a gulp of his own wine, shaking his head. “Yeah, I suppose I can’t let that happen after tonight. Next thing you know, she’l; be eyeing Malfoy.”

Ginny struggled to swallow the mouthful of wine she’d just taken. It burned down her throat in an uncomfortable lump, causing her to cough harshly.

“What do you mean?” She asked, ignoring Harry’s attempts to pat her on the back. “Why on Earth would she show interest in Malfoy?”

“It was a joke, Gin,” he said, his face still showing concern. “I just happened to cross paths with the slimy git this morning at the Ministry. He’s been coming and going for the past couple of weeks, up to something no doubt.”

“After all this time, can a Death Eater just waltz through the Ministry of Magic carefree?” She was eager to learn all she could from Harry, but he only shrugged it off.

“There was never substantial evidence linking Draco Malfoy to any killings or crimes during the War, not enough to get him sent to Azkaban anyway,” he said. Ginny looked incredulous.

“I know, I know, it sounds mental. But he either did a nice job cleaning up after himself or he hid like a dog while everyone else did Voldemort’s bidding. Regardless, he was exiled along with hundreds others for a certain number of years, depending on their involvement.”

“I vaguely remember reading about the exiled ones,” Ginny said, furrowing her brow in thought. “So that’s where he’s been all this time.”

“He was sentenced for eight and a half years,” Harry continued. “Our records show he whisked himself and his mother off to—”

“France,” Ginny said, putting the pieces together. Harry nodded again.

“You seem to be pretty interested in Malfoy,” he said. “Any particular reason?”

Ginny shook her head to clear her thoughts. “It’s just a story I’m working on,” she said. “Malfoy and his cousin, the French ambassador to the Ministry of Magic no less, have been working closely for the past couple of months. I’m curious as to what they’re up to.”

“Oh, you mean Cordier?” Harry said. “I don’t’ know much about him, but you’re right, he has been in and out of the Ministry quite a lot lately. He’s supposedly in talks with Shacklebot to reform the French alliance—fat chance, I say.”

“Harry,” Ginny said, a thought occurring to her. “Do you keep a track on exiled death eaters? Once they come back I mean, do you have to watch them, monitor their moves?”

Harry looked a bit uncomfortable. Aurors didn’t usually open up to others about their work, especially to the press. But this was Ginny and Harry felt he could trust her.

“They’ve each got a trace on them, you see,” he said in a lowered voice. No one had even noticed them huddled together anyway, as they were now digging into desserts and laughing at something that seemed very far away from their conversation.

“It’s sort of like what underage wizards have to alert the Ministry when they’ve performed magic outside of school,” he said.

“But they can still use magic, can’t they?”

“Yes, they can. But if we detect any ounce of dark magic or suspicious activity, we launch an investigation immediately.”

Ginny let this new information process before posing her next question.

“What do you think Malfoy’s been up to for the past eight years, Harry?” She said, looking at him earnestly. “Off the record.”

“Off the record, eh? I suppose I’ll take you word on that one.” Harry chortled.

“Well, off the record, I must admit I have no idea what he’s been into since he left. There’s been no detection of dodgy spellwork or anything on him so far,” he said. “But hell, it is a Malfoy we’re talking about. You never know what might happen if they think they’ve got some influence in the Ministry.”

Ginny relaxed her shoulders, feeling the tension drain slightly. “I just don’t see how anyone could take an ex-Death Eater seriously at the Ministry, especially after Lucius and especially since this particular Death Eater happened to be his son.”

“Ginny,” Harry leaned in, frowning slightly. “If you’re planning on finagling your way into Malfoy’s world to get this story, just be careful who you cross paths with.”

“Harry, trust me, I’m a big girl and—”

“You can take care of yourself,” Harry interjected. “I know, Gin. I just don’t want you getting tangled up in the wrong sort of people.”

Ginny thought of the evening ahead of her and that she’d soon be mingling with the exact sort of people Harry was warning her about now—even Malfoy, if she could find a way to get close to him.

“Oy, you two!” Ron ambled over, his hands full of pastries and a large goblet of champagne. “Haven’t you heard the news? I’m going to be somebody’s father!” He grinned stupidly at them. Ginny surmised he’d had one too many congratulatory drinks.

“Brilliant, Ron,” Harry said, leaving Ginny’s side to help Ron ease himself down into a seat before he toppled over.

Ginny glanced at the time and realized she ought to leave soon if she wanted to prepare for the party that evening. It took her about half an hour, however, to bid her family goodbye, as her brothers talked her into another goblet of wine and her mother kept her for ten minutes talking about knitting stockings for her new grandchild.

Ginny finally agreed to whatever demands Molly was making and squeezed herself out of the melee. Before she left, she grabbed Harry by the elbow.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about earlier,” she said, jabbing her finger into his chest roughly but with a bemused smile on her face. “Hermione isn’t the kind of witch you want to keep waiting forever, Potter. So go to her.”

Harry nodded, offering her a one-armed hug. “What would I do without you, Gin?”

“Oh, save the flattery for ‘Mione, would you,” she said, laughing. “I’ll see you soon all right?”

She kissed his cheek and scurried off, stopping at the door to peel Alexander and William from her legs with the promise to let them have a go on her firebolt next visit.

Seconds later, she was surrounded by the familiar walls of her flat. Tonight was do or die for her and this article, she knew. After hours of deliberating over dress robe after dress robe and trying to tame her unruly ginger locks, by six o’clock, she finally finished applying the last bit of mascara and slipped her feet into a pair of sleek black heels, ready to go.

The look on Adrien’s face when he greeted at the door of his cousin’s expansive home later that evening was enough to convince her that she might actually have a shot at success. But her resolve nearly crumbled as she crossed the threshold, with Adrien’s proffered arm in her own. As she drank in the sight of the buzzing crowd, a sudden tap on her shoulder startled her from her scan of the room, where she was trying to spot a telltale head of platinum blonde.

“Weasley,” said a cold voice that fell like ice on her ears. “Who the bloody hell let you in here?”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

6. Uninvited

Bewitched Times

Chapter 6: Uninvited

AN: Finally, we’ve gotten to the actual D/G interaction. I hate to rush things so thanks for bearing with me while I filled in background. Appreciate all reviews! Enjoy!

~Adrial

“I’ll ask you again, Weasley,” Draco said, ignoring the glare of warning from his cousin and addressing Ginny with a look of utter disdain. “Lost, are you?”

Ginny squared her shoulders. She felt Adrien tense at her side like a tightly coiled spring, read to defend her. She laid her hand gently on his elbow, refusing to allow Draco Malfoy to intimidate her again.

“Not at all, Malfoy,” she countered. “Your cousin has been a great guide so far.”

She steeled her beating heart and swept her arm over the room with a smile of appreciation. “It’s lovely to see you’re doing so well for yourself.”

Draco relinquished Ginny of his ice cold stare and turned it on his cousin.

“I want her out of here, Adrien,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now.”

Ginny hadn’t noticed before, but Draco was much taller than Adrien, towering over him by at least four or five inches. However, where Draco was light and agile in body form, Adrien’s black dress robes bulged with the curves of a muscular body.

“Ginevra is my guest, Draco,” he said, his face straining to remain relaxed so as to keep appearances. Across the room, a woman with dark blonde hair and an air of aristocracy that Ginny instantly recognized watched them with piercing grey eyes, much like her son.

“Come now, have another drink and let’s enjoy ourselves shall we?” Adrien waved over an attendant carrying a tray of champagne goblets and shoved one into Draco’s hand. On the pretext of leaning in to grab a glass for himself and Ginny, he whispered fiercely into Draco’s ear.

“If you want to cause another embarrassing scene in front of our guests and screw up months of preparation, I swear you risk losing more than your dignity this time, Draco—what is she to you anyway?”

He swept up a pair of goblets and returned to Ginny’s side. His face was smiling and jovial, betraying no sign of agitation whatsoever. Ginny took her goblet silently. Draco was fuming.

He looked as if he were about to unleash a scathing rebuttal, but a cluster of rosy-cheeked wizards that Ginny vaguely recognized as Ministry officials were bustling over and he clamped his mouth shut.

“Draco Malfoy!” A round-faced wizard with emerald green robes and a wispy black beard clapped Draco on his back. He was joined by a pair of similarly dressed men, both wearing an air of utter boredom.

“M’boy, that mother of yours has outdone herself this time,” he lifted his goblet in a salute. Draco’s face was strained as he gave him a curt nod.

“Many thanks, Roldwin,” he said. As soon as she heard his name, Ginny’s ears perked up. Edward Roldwin was the Secretary of Magical Law Enforcement and, most notably to her, Hermione’s boss. She vaguely remembered him from a Christmas party long ago, but she was surprised when he turned glassy eyes to her and gave a yelp of surprise.

“Why, Ginevra Weasley, isn’t it?” Edward reached and wrung her hand in his own. Ginny smiled awkwardly back. “I’ve heard more about you, m’dear, than I would care to admit.” His red face shined as he chuckled deeply.

“Every time I walk past that Granger’s office, she’s blathering on to someone about elf-made wine and that extraordinary journalist who helped her win her case against the Wizengamot last fall.”

“Oh, well, Hermione and I are very close friends, sir,” she said. Adrien smiled down on her, wrapping his arm around her waist possessively.

“Ah,” Roldwin said, not failing to notice the gesture. He winked at the pair of them. “And you, Monsieur Cordier, making quite a splash at the Ministry as of late, aren’t you?”

Whilst Adrien chatted animatedly with the man and his comrades, Ginny let her eyes wander. Draco was few feet off, having slipped away during their chat and caught up in a conversation with a woman that made Ginny’s stomach curl in contempt.

Pansy Parkinson. She was dressed in scarlet robes that clung to each curve and crevice of her body in such a way that left little to the imagination. Her face was screwed up in laughter at something Draco had said, a scene that was so reminiscent of Hogwarts days that Ginny had to smother the urge to roll her eyes. She wrapped a set of talon-like fingernails around her goblet of red wine and leaned toward Draco, running her hand up his arm.

Pansy had never formally joined ranks with Voldemort, Ginny knew, but nonetheless, her wand had sent several students to St. Mungo’s after that battle and she’d spent six months in Azkaban to pay for it.

Ginny felt the taste of putrid hate mingle with her champagne as she forced herself to take a sip and look unfazed. She tore her gaze away from the pair and finally took in her surroundings for the first time. The rest of the room was swarming with wizards whose rumored dark pasts flitted across her mind like movie stills as she surveyed the room.

Most Death Eaters had been locked away in Azkaban, but those who, like Draco, had managed to face only exile, were enjoying their newfound freedom and return. Suddenly, feeling quite vulnerable, she realized that she had blindly dived into a pond full of sharks.

Everywhere she turned, hooded eyes and glares met her gaze. Guests stopped their conversations to stare at her, appraising her presence as one would a cornered rodent, wondering how best of get rid of it.

Feeling a bit light-headed and very upset at her own naiveté, she sought refuge by the refreshment table. Picking up a glass of a bubbling purple liquid, she sipped it, barley tasting the sugary liquor that touched her lips. Here she was, the daughter of two members of the Order of the Phoenix, thinking she could waltz into a Malfoy’s party and somehow fit into the crowd. She might as well have come in wearing a lightening bolt scar and a t-shirt with Harry’s face plastered across it.

“Are you all right?”

It was Adrien. His hand fell on her shoulder and gently prodded her until she turned around.

Ginny leaned against the table, folding her arms across her chest defensively.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Oh, do not worry about Draco—“

“This isn’t about Draco,” Ginny said, straining to keep the frustration out of her voice. She realized that many pairs of eyes were still trained on her. In a last minute effort to escape, she caught sight of a set of glass doors leading to an outdoor patio and headed for them.

People dodged her as she made her way through the crowd, as if they feared to touch her. Some sneered, but she ignored them. Once outside, she drank in the fresh air and did not stop walking until she was leaning over the railing, fifty stories above the ground and overlooking a sprawling display of city lights.

When she heard Adrien’s footsteps behind her, she wheeled around.

“Did you see them? All of them, staring at me as if I was some kind of muck on the bottoms of their shoes?” Ginny said fiercely, relieved to see that they were quite alone on the terrace. The summer breeze that ruffled her hair had a bite of chill in it.

Adrien tried to touch her arm but she pushed him away and began pacing. Her temper was flaring up again; she could feel it lapping at her insides, aching to be released.

“You don’t get it, Adrien, you don’t,” she said. “I watched hundreds of them die there, all of them fighting and falling at the hands of those cowards.”

“My friends, my family,” she paused and drew a deep breath, “And here I am, sipping champagne with the very wizards responsible!”

“Ginevra,” Adrien said, though he did not reach out to her again. “I understand your discomfort, but that was years ago. It is behind you now, isn’t it?”

Ginny turned her fiercest glare upon him and thought she might have finally scared him, but she didn’t care.

“It will never be behind me, Adrien! Not after what I saw, not after I heard them screaming and watched them die and could do nothing, nothing at all to stop it.” Ginny’s chest was straining with the effort to control her breathing.

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” he said after a while.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” She said scathingly. “Didn’t see much of the French at the time, did we?”

Adrien tensed his shoulders and glared back at her. Whatever spell or charm he possessed that made him such a crowd pleaser instantly melted.

“You have no idea what you are talking about,” he said. “Our Ministry was not about to risk hundreds of lives without knowing for sure that the Dark Lord had returned.”

“Oh, that’s pure bollocks,” Ginny spat. “The Ministry knew for two years what we were facing and when Scrimgeour called for help you all turned up your noses and hid like cowards.”

Before Adrien could get a word in, she cut him off again.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, Adrien, honestly I don’t. You can kiss every arse in the Ministry all you like for as long as you bloody well please, but it won’t change a thing.” She got very close to him, close enough to see his green eyes darken with bottled anger.

“If you expect those of us who lost in the war to just forgive and forget when you know the truth about what happened and you know that your ministry made a mistake, then you might as well hop on your fancy little broomstick and bugger off back to where you came from.”

She felt his body quaking slightly next to her, trying to quell his fury. Ginny’s own words were bouncing back on her ears and she felt as if a huge weight had finally been lifted from her shoulders.

“I think we are done here,” he said at last. “Good evening, Ginevra.”

Ginny could tell he still had plenty to say, but something kept him from doing it. Whether it was fear that she might hex him or pure indignation, she knew not. He stalked off in a huff, leaving the faint smell of cologne and champagne lingering in the air.

She turned and leaned against the balcony again, and as her relief turned slowly to regret, she bit her tongue to keep from growling in frustration.

She’d really made a mess of things here, she knew. Adrien was her one sure source to Draco and she had run him off recklessly. Now she was left even more vulnerable before, a lone fox cornered in the cave housing a pack of wolves. The partygoers’ animated chatter was muffled behind the thick glass doors. She was preparing to give up and Apparate directly from the patio, praying to God that Malfoy hadn’t installed Anti-Apparition charms, when a movement to her left stopped her in her tracks.

“It won’t do you any good, Weasel.” Malfoy emerged from the shadows as if borne from them. Ginny clenched her fists at her side and forced herself to face him.

“I see you’ve taken to spying now, have you?” She said, more annoyed than ever.

“It’s my property, I’ll do as I please,” he said with a casual shrug. He wasn’t glaring at her like before, but Ginny kept alert with her hand ready at her hip to wield her wand if he made any sudden movements. She liked him better when he was spitting fire and acting like the prat she knew he him to be. His silence unnerved her.

“Well, I was just on my way out, actually,” she said, forcing her legs to move her toward the door.

“I know what you’re here for, Weasley,” Draco said, effectively stopping her in her tracks. She hated him for being able to do that. Stealing herself, she craned her neck slowly around to look at him. He was standing in the full glow of the moon and streetlights now, his eyes cast in shadow.

“You want a story.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Malfoy,” Ginny said evenly, though her heart was banging against her ribcage.

“Don’t you?” He stepped closer, near enough that she could feel the heat of his body through his dress robes. A gust of wind swept over them, whipping Ginny’s hair into her face so that she had to rake her hands through it to see.

“Malfoy, would you stop with the dark and mysterious act already?” She spat, annoyed at her rebellious locks. “It’s hardly effective.”

“Admit it,” he said, ignoring her. “You are dying to know where I’ve been these past eight years, what I’ve been up to, if I’ve been plotting the mass downfall of the Ministry in my spare time.” His eyes gleamed and Ginny swallowed and composed herself.

“As if you’ve got half the bollocks necessary to do anything of the sort,” she said huffily. “It’s a pity you came back at all, really.”

“Is it?” He took a firm step toward her. Ginny resisted the urge to take one back. “Are you so sure everyone would be better off without me?”

“What do you mean?” She asked, sensing an underlying tone in his voice. She didn’t like it.

“You had the gall to stand there berating a man for facing his enemies when here you are, a bloody Weasley of all people, parading about a room full of wizards who ten years ago would have liked nothing more than to see you cold and broken in a heap along with your other blood traitor friends.”

Ginny’s mouth twitched with words she couldn’t quite force out. She was supposed to have the upper hand here, wasn’t she, being the good guy facing the bad guy. Then why had he suddenly made her feel very small and pathetic?

“Let me ask you a question,” he said, inching towards her until she couldn’t resist and had to step backwards until she felt her back press against the cool, metal railing. “What is it you were hoping to find here, Weasley? Proof that I’ve been toiling in the dark arts in a dungeon, laboring all this time under some delusion that I would one day avenge the Dark Lord’s defeat?”

“That’s not what—“

“Or perhaps you thought my mother and I were simply grateful for the excuse to run off at war’s end and lick our wounds in the Riviera?”

Ginny pulled herself to her full height and tried to still her quaking knees. She barely came up to his chest, and she found her palms balmy as they slipped against the railing that kept her from tumbling over the edge.

“You seem to forget,” Draco pressed on, ignoring the sliver of space between them, wanting to get as close to her face as possible that she may see the gravity in his eyes and understand the truth. “Blood traitors weren’t the only ones who suffered losses during the war.”

“But you chose your own path, Malfoy!” she said, finally retrieving her oratory abilities. “Don’t expect me to pity you. You had the chance to join us like everyone else and fight for the right and yet you decided to follow in your father’s footsteps and just look where it got him!”

She regretted the words before they dove off her lips and into reality, but it was too late. Draco’s dark grey eyes hardened to twin slabs of steel. Inside his robes, his wand let off a jet of sparks that singed the silky fabric, and his hands were clinched so tightly into fists Ginny was sure she saw sparks fly from them as well.

“You. Know. Nothing,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Malfoy, I—“ But she could find nothing to say. That night came crashing back to her again, and she tried to match the man standing before her with the terrified boy she’d watched then. They were one and the same, she knew, but so much had changed since the war—had she been a fool to think a Malfoy incapable of the same?

“You’re right,” she said, swallowing over her parched throat. Draco was silhouetted by the golden glow of the room behind him, but she could practically see the rage steaming from his pores. “I don’t know anything more than what I saw then. I was so scared of everything and of you and I just ran away and never looked back.”

She forced herself to go on before he gathered his senses and cut her off. “When-When I saw you at the vineyard, it was like everything came rushing back to me, all that I had been trying to push from my mind for so long.”

Draco wasn’t speaking but he wasn’t moving away either, which shocked her more than his silence.

“I can’t imagine what it must have taken—“

“Draco, what’s keeping you?” Narcissa Malfoy’s lithe frame appeared in the doorway, her glittering robes reflecting the city lights. “We’ve a room full of guests wondering where their host has gone.”

From her vantage point, Draco’s mother only saw the back of her son overlooking the skyline, effectively hiding Ginny with his larger frame.

“Coming, Mother,” he said, his voice barely betraying any tension.

“Really, Draco, I must insist you—“

“I said I am coming!” Draco turned to face her and Narcissa appeared stricken by his harsh tone. But then Ginny realized that she had finally caught sight of her standing there behind her son. She immediately wished to disappear and damned Anti-Apparition charms to hell.

Draco had inherited his glare from Narcissa Malfoy, no doubt, for she laid such a look of disdain upon the younger witch that Ginny felt her insides squirm with unease.

“Very well, son,” she said with much effort. Ginny let out an involuntary sigh of relief when Narcissa slipped back through the doorway and vanished.

But when Draco turned back to her, she felt his penetrating stare was far worse than any death-wish laden glower from Mrs. Malfoy. Was she insane for trying to open up to him?

“I have no one to answer to for my actions,” he said, though his tone was devoid of its earlier bite.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“You want to know why I did it.”

“I don’t know what I want, Malfoy.”

“I had never killed before.”

“None of us had, we were all young and—“
“Scared shitless, I was.”

“You had to be.”

“I don’t know why I am telling you this right now,” he said, moving along to stand beside her as if being that close to her face was difficult for him.

“You don’t have to if…I mean, it’s all right if you don’t.”

Ginny was holding her breath. The unlikely pair fell into a deep stretch of silence that felt more like hours than seconds, and she finally remembered to exhale when she began to feel lightheaded and wobbly on her feet. The night air tickled her throat.

“He was going to kill her.” Draco’s voice was devoid of emotion. He wasn’t looking at her but at some nameless point on the horizon. She took the opportunity to gather her wits but was too afraid to say anything lest she disturb him.

“You didn’t see it all,” he said. “She was cowering by a tree behind me. We were at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and he came bursting out, looking mad. I thought he’d gone mental and completely lost his senses, and Mother was injured and bleeding. Blood was all over the place…I was trying to help her get to where we could Apparate to find help, but then he came running toward us.”

Ginny clamped her mouth shut and squeezed the railing with her hands to relieve some of the tension running thick through her veins. She stared at his profile, roving her eyes over every detail while he gathered his thoughts. His nose was sloped and long, balancing the pointed chin that anchored the rest of his face. His skin was so translucent she was sure she might see his veins pulsing beneath it if she got close enough.

“I don’t think he was himself, I think he had been Imperiused. It all happened so fast, and when he lunged at us the first curse nearly got me.”

Ginny remembered stumbling along that night in the forest, her legs badly bruised and slick with her own blood. She’d been sobbing, having just come upon the cold body of one of her classmates, and she longed to find her family and feel safe again. Tangled in tree branches, she fought her way through and had finally emerged on the outer edge of the forest when a flash of green stunned her out of her mad dash. She instantly froze and ducked back behind a sapling, clamping her hand over her mouth to silence her whimpers.

She heard a voice that sounded distantly familiar to her ears and, fearing another of her friends was facing off with a death eater alone, she crept from her hiding place, wand clutched tightly in her shaking fist.

“I heard you,” she said, startling herself with the sound of her own voice. “I was a little ways away, and I thought someone needed help so I came closer.”

“Mother tried to stop him but I threw her behind me, and when he lunged for her…” Draco stopped and bowed his head slightly. He was leaning over the railing, both hands gripping the cold metal as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

“I just did it. I killed him. He was gone and that was it.”

A sudden burst of adrenaline shot through Ginny’s body and jerked her hand forward until it closed softy around Malfoy’s. He flinched.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she said, unsure if it was even her voice she was hearing. Everything felt different to her, as if she’d been flipped inside out and left raw and exposed.

A few moments passed before he said anything. The din of late night traffic below sounded far away.

“That’s it, Weasley,” he said suddenly, stepping away from the railing and from her. Ginny’s hand closed around cold metal. “Now you know. I’m just another Malfoy with blood on his wand.”

“But it was in defense,” Ginny said, wheeling around to face him until he had to look at her. “You said it yourself. He was going to kill your mum and maybe you, too, if you hadn’t stopped him.”

“And what difference does that make?” His right arm swung forward and for a second Ginny thought he was going to strike her. But he threw back the sleeve of his robes, exposing his white flesh to the night and the dark imprint of a serpent writhing upon it. “It was one death eater killing another. No great loss would have been felt whether it was me lying dead on the ground or him.”

He laughed wryly and though Ginny had never actually heard him do so before, she could tell it wasn’t natural.

“The damn Ministry couldn’t tell whether to lock me up in Azkaban for using the curse or award me a medal for saving them the trouble.” He shook his head. Several thick strands of white blonde hair fell across over his eyes. “In the end, they decided eight years in exile would serve me right.”

The journalist in Ginny was dying to know more, to pummel him with question after question of how he handled his sentence, how his mother had learned to forgive him, how he’d managed (or not managed by the sound of him) to forgive himself. But again she remained silent, not wanting to scare him off. He was nearly human to her now, which was a huge leap from only an hour before when she would rather have eaten a vat of troll bogies than be within a foot of Draco Malfoy.

“It makes a difference, Draco,” she said. “You weren’t like him.”

He turned to look at her and she felt as if she might crumble under his gaze. His eyes bore into her so fiercely she felt more vulnerable than ever and wrapped her arms around her waist protectively.

“How can you be so sure?” His eyes had glassed over and Ginny was amazed to see a shadow of vulnerability flash across them, exposing the seventeen year old wizard who was fighting to move on.

“I can tell, that’s all,” she said, gathering her wits but still holding his gaze. “That wasn’t the only time I’d seen you that night you know. You were there in your black cloak and mask with the rest of them, but you were stunning, not killing. I should know, I had to dodge a dozen of those spells at one point.”

She smirked up at him. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so lightly but it was fleeting.

“So I suppose you’ve got me all worked out now, have you?”

“No, but I’m beginning to think you weren’t as bad as you wanted us all to believe,” she said. “A cowardly and prejudiced git, sure, but not a blood-thirsty killer.”

She had to stop and resist the urge to pinch herself. Was she really standing on Draco Malfoy’s balcony, almost sort of conversing with him about being a death eater and killing his own father?

“What are you smiling about, Weasley?” She hadn’t realized she’d been grinning stupidly to herself, lost in her own musings. A blush crept up her cheeks and an awkward chuckle escaped her lips.

“Just life, I suppose,” she said. Draco stared at her intently for a while before nodding slowly.

“You do understand that we just had a civilized conversation with one another, don’t you?”

Draco was silent for a moment before he straightened himself to his full height again. The flicker of a younger man disappeared. Ginny was sad to see him go.

“Go on and write whatever story you want about me, Weasley,” he said. Ginny noted the familiar bite to his words. “You have no reason to believe anything I told you tonight.”

“But I do—“

“All I ask is that you leave my mother out of it,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “She’s dealt with enough already.”

Ginny leaned forward to reach for his arm again, but he swept past her and back through the doors, leaving her stunned and alone with her hand stretched out and nothing to hold.