1. The Contract

Whip Him Into Shape

Mei Queen

Authoress’ Note: This is a random idea. I have no explanations.

Disclaimer: Characters you recognize belong to JKR. The plot is loosely based on my gym. And Ginny is loosely based on some of the peculiar habits of my trainer (aka working out during her breaks, Lean Cuisines for meals, etc.), who is willing to talk about Pride & Prejudice while having me do jumping jacks.

Chapter 1: The Contract

Ginny Weasley met the increase in the machine’s resistance with a kind of determined superiority, taking the machine’s challenge eagerly. Almost nothing was difficult for her these days. She often found herself turning the elliptical machine on to its most difficult setting and then practically sprinting the entire session just keep her heart rate where it belonged. Finally finding herself a bit short of breath, Ginny reached for the water bottle sitting placidly in the machine’s holder and took a few gulps. Trying to concentrate on her breathing, she regained control, falling back into stride on the machine. Losing herself in the music blasting from her iPod, Ginny Weasley revelled in the high that the running was giving her. She felt on top of the world, carefree…oh, bugger, she thought with a sigh, noticing the man frantically waving to get Ginny’s attention. What does he want? Pressing on her iPod first to pause the music, and then down on the machine’s keypad to pause the machine, Ginny took the headphone out of her ear to hear what Bernard, the man in control of the gym’s reception, so desperately had to say.

“Yes, what is it, Bernard?” the redhead asked with exasperation, dabbing at her forehead with a towel. She hated it when her staff interrupted her personal workout time for simple questions. It was usually things they could have just as easily figured out themselves, and Ginny simply didn’t have all the time in the world to baby them. Forcing herself to assume a professional manner, she applied a tentative smile. “What can I do for you?”

Bernard, nervous manner somewhat eased by Ginny’s smile, said, “Ginny, I’m very sorry to interrupt your workout, but Jacques told me it was urgent.”

The redhead’s eyebrow lifted in concern. Jacques Ferdinand was the manager of the gym, and Ginny’s boss. He was in charge of the paperwork aspect of the gym, while Ginny was in charge of her real passion- training. The thing that Ginny really enjoyed about the fitness industry was changing a person’s mindset, helping them to love themselves. She had no desire at all to ever manage a gym, paperwork bored her, and so she was very grateful for Jacques Ferdinand. It was highly unusual for Jacques to authorize interrupting Ginny’s personal time, so the Weasley could logically deduce that this matter was something truly vital.

Ginny Weasley allowed herself to be pulled along, sweaty and panting slightly, to Jacques’ office. Knocking twice, the redhead entered, taking occasional sips from the water bottle she had brought with her.

“Please sit down, Gin,” Jacques muttered distractedly at the paperwork scattered on his desk. Tapping his finger to his temple, he seemed to be trying to unravel some very difficult problem. Suddenly inspired, he began madly scribbling on a calendar some business had sent him.

Ginny made a mental note during this process- Buy Jacques some more Post-Its for his birthday, he’s soon going to run out of spare calendars and cereal boxes on which to calculate. Check.

Finally setting down his pen, Jacques reclined in his office chair, regarding her over the top of his desk. Bringing one hand up to stroke his blond beard, he cocked his head to the side, analyzing her thoughtfully. “Ginny, I have a proposal for you.”

“Is that so?” the redhead asked curiously. This wasn’t unusual; Jacques always went to Ginny with his most high profile and high-paying clients. Often, they were clients that never actually set foot in the gym itself- Ginny would be hired for ridiculous amounts of money to make house calls. She had no real issue with it, it was just more money in her pocket and that of the gym, so that was fine with her. But something told Ginny that today’s proposal would be a special one.

“Yes,” he replied promptly in his thick French accent, searching in his Filofax for the correct name and number. “I got a call this afternoon. Something about a guy marrying some really rich bird, I s’pose. You know me; I’m not too interested in details. It’s the numbers that matter to me, chicken.”

Ginny gave a curt nod.

“In short, they’re willing to pay, and I mean, pay, for a trainer to work out the entire wedding party.”

The redhead’s eyes widened in excited shock. This was a rich wedding, Jacques had said. In Ginny’s experience, the richer the wedding, the bigger the bridal party. Usually these events had eight bridesmaids or so, so eight bridesmaids plus the eight groomsmen would be sixteen…then plus the maid of honour and best man brings the total to eighteen, and then the bride and groom would be…twenty people. Twenty people at fifty pounds an hour for weeks at a time means…

Ginny could finally take that trip to the Bahamas.

“You’ll get a seventy percent cut of all fees paid, of course,” Jacques continued. “They want to hire the trainer to make a definite difference, and the wedding is two and a half months away, so you would be basically spending most of your free time there. At least eight weeks, they said.”

Then Jacques’ eyes took on a dreamy expression. “Then they said that the cost didn’t matter. My kinda people, Gin. I like them already.”

Ginny mentally returned from her beachside lounge chair complete with mai-thai to ask the question that really mattered: “So…who’s getting married?”

Jacques put on his reading glasses, squinting at the tiny script of his secretary. Triumphantly, he read, “It looks like a…Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.”

And it was at that point that Ginny Weasley fainted on Jacques Ferdinand’s office floor.

“Is she all right?” Bernard asked nervously from the doorway, noting the redhead trainer’s toned body splayed across Jacques’ floor.

“She’s fine,” Jacques muttered curtly. “Bring her some water and smelling salts, perhaps a little ice, too. I think she may have bumped her head on the way down.”

If Bernard was shocked at the polite disinterest of the manager in his head trainer’s welfare, he didn’t show it. Bernard merely nodded, and sprinted to fetch the items that Jacques requested. In a way, he could understand why Jacques was so unconcerned. Ginny was the youngest daughter in a family of many boys; she had probably encountered more bumps and scrapes than Jacques and Bernard put together.

Sighing and wrapping the ice in a dishtowel, Bernard began the long walk across the gym back to Jacques’ office. Glance momentarily flitting to reception, he checked on Lola Medici’s progress. Lola was a perky nineteen-year-old brunette, hired only yesterday to help out at the front desk while Bernard was busy with more important matters. Though Bernard had to admit, she concerned him slightly. All her…knives weren’t in the drawer, if you will. So far she had managed to confuse about three of the four trainers, unnecessarily cancel five appointments, and double-book both Ginny and one of the other big trainers, William. Now it looked like Lola was confused- again.

Momentarily forgetting about the ice, Bernard jogged over to reception, where Lola was regarding a tall blond man with obvious bewilderment.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Bernard interjected in Lola’s frantic apologies, “what seems to be the problem?”

The man then turned from Lola to Bernard, and drew himself up to full height. Bernard couldn’t help but notice that the man hadn’t left the house in a few…years, Bernard thought with a snort. The man could do with some serious sunshine.

Indeed, the man was very pale and gaunt. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t had a night of proper sleep in a decade. His clothes were of impressive finery, and his hand rested on the reception desk, showing off a large platinum ring with a family crest.

“First off,” the man began, voice chuckling hollowly, “you could hire employees with a minimum level of competence and intelligence. I trust that’s not too much to ask these days.”

Bernard regarded the man like someone cornered by a poisonous viper. Bernard was well aware that the man was rich. More than likely, the man was a customer, or with some luck, a long-time potential one…so Bernard had to tread very carefully. “I’m so sorry about any misunderstanding, sir. It won’t happen again, I can assure you.”

“It had better not,” the blond retorted with superiority dripping from every syllable, shooting Lola a look of complete and utter loathing. “But for now, I have more important matters to attend to. I have an appointment to meet Mr Ferdinand, the manager of this place, if I understand correctly.”

“Yes, sir, he is. If I could just ask you to have a seat for a moment,” Bernard nodded towards the plush couches in the waiting room, “I’ll have him right out to meet you.”

The man looked somewhat affronted by being asked to wait like some commoner, but sighed, resigned to his fate nonetheless. “Fine.”

Bernard sprinted to Jacques’ office, the cold ice turning his left palm completely numb. Gingerly uncapping the smelling salts, he put them near Ginny’s nose, allowing them to waft in the air. Startled, the redhead jerked awake. “W- what happened? I had the most terrible nightmare…”

Groaning in pain, Ginny’s hand went to the back of her head, which she had hit on the desk on her way down. Bernard gave her a sympathetic grimace, holding the ice to her head for her. She, meanwhile, turned to Jacques.

“I did just dream that we signed a big contract with Draco Malfoy, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” he murmured, not bothering to look up from his paperwork. Ginny breathed a big sigh of relief, even allowing herself to smile slightly. Getting up and making her way toward the door, her bubble of happiness was burst when Jacques abruptly continued, “he hasn’t signed yet. He’ll be here momentarily.”

A thousand emotions flooded Ginny at once. Anger, frustration, elation, jealousy…all of it was there. On one hand, this was Draco, her long-time family rival, and Pansy, the stupid bint who made her life hell in her schooldays, but on the other, this would be the largest commission she had ever had. If she played the cards right, she could probably make more money in the next eight weeks than she normally made in a year. Merlin only knows that Ginny could really use the extra cash, she would finally be able to put a down payment on a new car, pay off those old credit cards, maybe take a vacation…

The possibilities were endless, and Ginny Weasley knew what she had to do. There was no way this commission was going to William or any of the other trainers. Despite personal differences, Ginny was determined to set them aside and deal with this situation professionally. She also couldn’t deny that the prospect of forcing Draco Malfoy to drop and give her twenty push-ups was more than a little justifying.

Sweet, sweet revenge, she thought to herself, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Jacques?” Bernard said cautiously, not wanting to interrupt the manager’s steady stream of numeric muttering. “I believe Mr Malfoy might already be here. You have an appointment waiting in the foyer.”

A smile spread on Mr Ferdinand’s face. “Early. I like that. Reminds me of myself. Come, Ginny, let’s go greet our newest client.”

Ginny rose slowly, following Jacques into the main part of the gym. Jacques looked back to assess Ginny. “You’re a little sweaty, but it’ll have to do. At least smile, for chrissakes,” he whispered harshly through his toothy grin.

The redhead rolled her eyes. She was used to Jacques’ no-holds-barred comments on her appearance. The manager, in addition to being a dear friend of Ginny’s, was also flamboyantly homosexual, and responsible for any moment that Ginny could actually be considered “stylish”. He had personally picked out her dress for the gym’s grand opening, picked out a pantsuit for her home loan application, etc. etc. Ginny was no longer hurt by his harsh criticism, as she realized it was really just his way of showing that he cared.

Nervously checking a mirror on the wall to be sure she was smiling, Ginny followed Jacques to the foyer, and found herself with eyes that she hadn’t seen in around ten years- Draco Malfoy’s.

Sure, Draco had gotten a bit taller, and Merlin knows a lot paler, but he was still recognizably the Malfoy from all those years ago. Ginny felt her stomach began to tighten as she nodded curtly toward the taller man. Draco was regarding her with a slight curiosity, it was almost as if he couldn’t place who she was. And perhaps, Ginny realized with a start, he honestly didn’t realize who she was. She had changed since Hogwarts; she was taller, a bit more toned, and definitely tanner. Her red hair had even developed golden specks from being out in the sunshine all the time. Perhaps he really doesn’t know¸ Ginny thought in awe, putting her fingers to her lips in surprise.

Draco noted her lips with interest, mind idly contemplating the attractive redhead. Crap. Think Pansy. Yes. Wedding, two months…to Pansy. Yes. Shaking his head slightly as if to jog his thoughts back to the present, he turned his attention to Jacques Ferdinand, who had been excitedly prattling on about the gym and its facilities for close to five minutes now, not that Draco had remotely paid attention at all.

“Yes, I see,” the Malfoy muttered. “Well, I don’t mean to rush you, Mr Ferdinand, but I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry…”

“No problem,” Jacques replied quickly, motioning for the two to follow. “I’ll just take you to my office and we can get those papers signed.”

“Marvellous,” the Malfoy whispered sarcastically, nonetheless obediently following the flamboyant Frenchman.

Ginny snorted with laughter. Perhaps this won’t be so bad, after all.

“So, Mr Malfoy,” Jacques continued, marking certain portions of the contract with a hot pink highlighter, “I’ll need you to sign here, and here. This is just a simple clause that ensures if you or any of your party happen to get hurt during this training process, Shape Gyms or Madam Weasley cannot be held responsible.”

Draco’s eyes bugged slightly at the mention of the attractive redhead’s surname. Turning his gaze slowly to the left, his eyes widened even more when he noted the characteristic red hair, and those chocolate brown eyes from his schooldays. No bloody way. A Weasley is going to train me in time to marry another pureblooded Slytherin that hates her. This is perhaps just a tad too ironic, he thought with slight amusement, absentmindedly signing where Jacques indicated.

“Okay, it looks like we’re all done. Ginny here can give you her mobile number, and you two can arrange the first of, I’m sure, many meetings,” Jacques said cheerfully, going to the back office to file the contract, leaving Ginny alone with Draco.

“You,” Draco said simply.

“And you,” Ginny retorted, crossing her arms over her chest somewhat childishly. She didn’t mind the money, but the idea of working with a pureblood supremacist was still not okay in Ginny’s eyes. Draco, on the other hand, wasn’t overly thrilled himself, but was more worried about Pansy’s reaction. During a time when Pansy and he had been broken up during his Hogwarts schooldays, Draco had made a rather distasteful remark about the nice shape of the Weasley’s assets- something that Pansy was fond of bringing up during any argument, about, well…anything. He could only imagine how his fiancée would react when asked to work with the redhead on a regular basis up until their wedding day.

Ginny reached into her purse and took out one of her business cards. Handing it to the Malfoy, she pointed to the mobile number. “That’s usually the best way to reach me, I do some house calls for other high profile clients so I’m not always here at the gym.”

Draco nodded. “Well, I’ll have my receptionist ring to arrange the first meeting tomorrow. Would you like to see all of us at once or individually?”

“It’ll need to be individually, with as many people as this party is bound to be. How many are there in total?” the redhead asked, reaching across Jacques’ desk for a pen and piece of scratch paper.

“Twenty-two. Eight bridesmaids, eight groomsmen, maid of honour, matron of honour, two best men, Pansy, and myself.”

Ginny scribbled obediently, a smile tugging on her lips.

“What is it? What are you smiling about?” Draco demanded curiously.

“I was only two off, that’s all.”

The ghost of a smile began on his features, too, but he caught himself just in time. Get yourself together, man. This is a Weasley we’re talking about here.

Shaking off the moment of intimacy, and instead delving into the familiar detached professional attitude they had adapted with one another, Draco continued. “Yes, well, we’ll be in touch.”

Ginny nodded curtly. “Looking forward to that.”

With a nod in response, Draco exited the office, walking toward the gym doors. Here goes nothing, he thought bitterly, clutching his folded triplicate copy of the contract and exiting the gym into the rainy London weather.

Ginny waited until she was in the safety of her own office, heating up a Lean Cuisine with the break room’s microwave and sipping a water bottle, before she muttered softly to herself, “This should be very interesting.”

Authoress’ Note: I have no idea where the concept came from for this. Really. I just wanted to start a new fic, and was reading Shape and thinking of how I hadn’t been to the gym in like a century and…yeah. Hmm…well. REVIEW ANYWAY! …Please?

2. Blaise Plays

Whip Him Into Shape

Mei Queen

Authoress’ Note: HP7 will have no bearing on this story at all. So don’t be overtly obvious and point out that it’s out of canon. I’m saying it now, lol. Also, please don’t hold my long time between updates (sorry, life gets in the way sometimes) against whether or not your review…if you don’t review, I don’t get to hear all the awesome criticisms or comments you guys have, and that’s what helps me improve!

Chapter 2: Blaise Plays

Ginny Weasley sighed, grimacing at the image in the mirror of the Gladrags’ dressing room. “Ugh. Hideous,” she muttered, pulling at the clingy blue satin. The gym’s manager, Jacques Ferdinand, was hosting a private soiree at his home to celebrate his newest clients, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. As the trainer for the client, Ginny was expected to be there the entire time…she was just hoping he wouldn’t force her to make a speech like she had to with the Patil account.

“How’s it lookin’, Gin?” Jacques called through the stall door. He was shopping with her as usual, because fashion was not Ginny’s strong suit, and Jacques relished any chance to act like a host on the Muggle show ‘What Not to Wear.’

Ginny snorted. “Um…it’s been better. It’s far too clingy to my arse. And the bottom flares out too much, I look like a bloody Muggle mermaid!”

Jacques rolled his eyes. “Thus the ‘mermaid’ dress, Ginny. Your observational facilities remain as sharp as ever. Come out, let me see. It can’t be all that bad…”

The redhead turned miserably, unlocking the door.

Jacques’ eyes bugged slightly. “Okay…maybe it can be that bad. Merlin, it looked good on the hanger. Well, we’ll just find something else, won’t we? I’ll try something that’s a little less…fitted this time.”

Ginny nodded mutely. Thinking of something, she lifted her head and called to the retreating Frenchman, “Make sure to get it in emerald green! I think Malfoy will appreciate the gesture.”

Jacques, who knew nothing about the history of Hogwarts (he attended Beauxbatons, after all), simply shrugged and nodded. He was used to nothing less than borderline insanity from his staff, so Ginny’s quirks came as no surprise to him.

“Here you go,” Jacques said a few moments later, setting a few emerald green dresses on top of the door. Ginny pulled them down and started trying them on, absentmindedly listening to Jacques’ steady stream of babble.

“You won’t believe who was out there, Gin. Merlin, he’s hot! All fitted robes and nice arse, and I could have sworn he glanced my way!” Jacques was plainly working himself up into an excited frenzy. Ginny just rolled her eyes in amusement. Ninety percent of the men Jacques was ‘sure were checking him out’ were actually straight. Ginny often joked that Jacques’ “gay-dar” was broken because nothing French-made lasts for long.

She chuckled softly, zipping herself up into a swingy cocktail number. The dress was strapless, with an A-line skirt that ended at the knee. Simple, easy, I like it, Ginny thought to herself in surprise. “I found it, Jacques! Finally!”

She swung wide the door, and Jacques gasped in appreciation of his own good taste. “Gods, I’m good,” he muttered with a self-satisfied smirk. “It looks great on you, Gin. Especially the green, the colour really balances your hair out nicely.”

Ginny smiled in appreciation at the compliment. “Thanks, Jacques. Now how about we take a look at your bloke?”

Jacques grinned like the cat that got the cream, motioning for the two of them to walk back out onto the sales floor.

“See, there he is,” Jacques whispered, trying to point the man out to Ginny as unobtrusively as possible. Ginny casually followed Jacques’ line of vision, eyes falling upon a figure that looked vaguely familiar from the back. Dark hair, black cloak with green lining…probably Slytherin, she decided. The man’s hand came out to check his mobile. Dark skin, and is that…a sports watch?

“No go,” she muttered to Jacques. “He’s got to be straight.”

“Why do you have to go and ruin my fantasies like that?” the Frenchman whined in reply. “I pick out nice dresses for you, I give you your Christmas bonus…I’ll give you time off to go to the bloody Bahamas after the Malfoy account, and this is how you repay me? Crushing my hopes and dreams? Cruel wench.”

Ginny snorted. “I can’t help the truth. He’s wearing a beat-up sports watch. Not a Rolex, nothing fancy, and certainly not one of those bizarre but socially acceptable sports watches that tells you the time in seven different countries or works underwater for divers. It’s just a terrible watch picked by a single straight man with no woman in his life.”

Jacques sighed. “Always happens. Well, you should make a move then, chicken. ‘Sides, you could use a date for our little gathering.”

The redhead chuckled. “No thanks. Single is far more comfortable to me than taking a blind date into the lion’s den of Slytherins.”

The Frenchman groaned at Ginny’s characteristic passivity. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Before Ginny could stop him, her boss was rapidly approaching the single man with the determination of a marathon runner.

“Jacques, no!” she hissed, but it did no good. Jacques was already tapping the man on the shoulder, and before Ginny could really register what was happening, she found herself face-to-face with Blaise Zabini for the first time since her Hogwarts days.

“Well,” Blaise drawled, his mind dimly registering the Weasley. “This is a surprise.”

His gaze then flitted to the Frenchman who had tapped him in the first place. “I’m sorry,” Blaise said, confused. “Do I know you?”

Jacques opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Ginny. “This is the manager of the gym I work at. His name is Jacques Ferdinand. Jacques, this is Blaise Zabini, someone I know from my schooldays.”

A light seemed to register in Blaise’s mind as he shook hands with Jacques. “Wait…Shape Gyms, right?”

Ginny nodded cautiously. Oh Merlin, please don’t say he’s…

“I’m in the wedding party! Malfoy and Pansy!” Blaise proclaimed with a smile. “I’m their best man!”

Ginny smiled weakly. “Great,” she muttered half-heartedly, trying to ignore the flood of emotions that were going through her at the thought of spending the next few months with this man. Sure, he’s attractive, but he’s a Slytherin…and I definitely don’t trust him. Anyone who’s best man for a Malfoy can’t be trusted. But that doesn’t stop him being attractive.

Jacques licked his lips unconsciously. “Are you? Well, what a happy coincidence! Miss Weasley here is your trainer!”

Blaise smirked at the redhead. “Wow…well, now I’m looking forward to it.”

Ginny’s face was shuffling through different shades of green. Right now, it was borderline puce. “Fabulous,” she muttered softly. “Well, we must be going; I’ve got to pay for my dress for this evening… Jacques! Come on!”

She pinched the Frenchman’s arm, trying to stir him out of whatever happy coma he’d fallen into since setting eyes on Blaise. Jacques whimpered in pain, narrowing his eyes at Ginny angrily. “Let’s go, Jacques,” she hissed.

“Fine,” he muttered furiously. “Excuse us, Mr. Zabini.”

“Blaise, please,” the Slytherin replied with a smirk. He loved the effect he had on people. Women, gay men, it didn’t matter. He enjoyed placing them under his spell, seeing them fall into lust with his features. He rarely returned the sentiments, but he certainly enjoyed receiving them.

His eyes watched Ginny and Jacques walk up to the register. Unconsciously, Blaise noted Ginny’s toned figure, and the way her arse was featured in those jeans. Well, the Slytherin thought to himself, I suppose I wouldn’t mind returning her sentiment. Part of me is actually quite excited to be around her in the coming months. Who would’ve guessed?

Ginny walked up to Jacques’ door with trepidation in every step. Draco Malfoy would be here. Most of his wedding party probably would. That stupid bint Pansy would be here, too. All the people she’d made it a priority to avoid in her schooldays, all crammed into one place like sardines. She couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to spend an evening…except, perhaps, driving a car off a cliff. Or getting hit by a train. Or…

Her mind stopped with the suicidal possibilities as someone joined her on the doorstep.

“Have you rung the bell yet?” a voice whispered close to her ear, sending a chill up her nerve endings. Turning, she saw the same man she’d seen earlier today.

“Zabini,” she said, nodding curtly. “No, I have not.”

Leaning across her (and certainly seeming to brush against any part of her that he could in the process), Blaise Zabini rung the doorbell. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispered, before going back to his place, a respectable few feet from Ginny. So when Jacques Ferdinand opened the door, he had no idea why his trainer was beet red and exhaling breaths furiously, since Zabini was at least three feet from her on the doorstep.

“Evening, Jacques,” Blaise murmured smoothly, before graciously allowing Ginny to go ahead of him into the house.

Ginny downed her third glass of champagne. Her head was buzzing, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to drown out Blaise…and Malfoy, come to that. There was an uncomfortable tension around the Slytherins that she wasn’t sure she liked. She had no idea what she would do when it came to the actual training sessions…it wasn’t like she could just uncork a bottle of champagne while they were exercising. And the idea of Blaise sweaty or, Merlin forbid, shirtless… was starting to make her break out in hives.

“Evening, Weasley,” Malfoy drawled, sidling up to her. Ginny was standing, head leaning against the wall, trying to drown out the noise.

“Hi, Malfoy.”

“So,” the blond murmured, smirking. “How are you enjoying my little party?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. He always thought everything was for him…little did he know they had a party like this for any client who paid amounts like he was going to. She looked over at the Malfoy, who was gazing intently back at her with his stone-grey eyes, smirk still permanently glued to his features. She wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face, and was pretty sure she knew how to do it.

“Nope. I think it sucks. I’m only here because I have to be,” she muttered evenly, so Jacques couldn’t hear.

Draco snorted, leaning against the space of wall next to her. “You know,” he whispered. “I agree.”

Ginny couldn’t believe her ears. The party was for him, these were all his friends and wedding party, and he wasn’t even enjoying himself. Well, isn’t that just a bitch? She thought to herself with a chuckle. “Why not? These are all your friends.”

“Are they?” Draco asked mysteriously. “Well…I can certainly pick out a few people in here who would gladly tie me to the tracks of the Hogwarts Express for a few Galleons, yourself included.”

Ginny snorted. “Oh, please, Malfoy…you cut me to the quick. I’d at least want a hundred Galleons. A girl’s got needs, you know.”

Malfoy smiled. “I like your spunk, you know that? Not nearly enough birds have that type of spirit.”

“Well,” she countered evenly, “not nearly enough blokes have your type of brute honesty. It brings out the spirit in me.”

“Well, Malfoy,” a voice cut in, coming toward them. Ginny looked up into the slanting eyes of Blaise Zabini. “Isn’t this cozy?” Blaise muttered derisively. “Don’t you have a fiancée to be getting back to, Draco?”

Draco’s eyes, before a placid stone-grey, had now turned icy. “Fine. I’ll be going, then. See you later, Weasley.”

“What did you do that for?” Ginny asked Blaise curiously, signalling the waiter to come over with more champagne.

Blaise noted her signal with amusement. “What is that, your sixth glass? Trying to drown out your feelings for me, are you?”

She snorted in reply. “Hardly. You blokes don’t have nearly the effect you think you do,” she said, slurring slightly as she sipped from her fourth glass of the evening. Hmm, I wonder how I’m getting home…I certainly can’t Apparate like this, she thought blearily. I’ll splice myself into pieces.

“Is that so?” Blaise replied, chuckling in amusement. She was beginning to teeter on her feet slightly. What a lightweight, he thought with a grin. “If we don’t have such an effect, then it stands to reason that you must be, in fact, an alcoholic.”

Her jaw slackened in shock at his audacity. “I’ll have you know,” she spat irritably, “I’m just enjoying the party. Your mate’s bloody party...for chrissakes, don’t you have a toast to be making or something? Go away, Zabini.”

He nodded, wry grin never leaving his features. She amused him, he was sure of that…and if he played his cards right, perhaps he could be the lucky bloke to escort the pissed Weaselette back to her flat. Ah, the possibilities…

“- Thank Merlin he found Pansy!” Blaise cheered loudly, raising his wineglass. “I mean, really, who would put up with such a moody bastard besides Ms Parkinson here? And who else would have the trust fund to afford Ms Parkinson? Three cheers for this match made in…well, you know,” he finished saucily, making sure to aim a big wink in Ginny’s direction as he finished.

While everyone cheered for Blaise’s speech, Blaise himself began to make his way through the crowd to where Ginny was standing.

“Oh, bugger, not again,” she muttered to Bernard, the gym employee who was standing right next to her.

“What’s wrong? He seems nice enough,” Bernard murmured. “At least he’s funny…Jacques says he’s even straight. It couldn’t hurt you to actually get some action, you know…you haven’t dated in like a year.”

Ginny threw him a glare. “Keep my dating life outta this, Bern.”

“Fine,” he replied, pouting slightly. “Do you want me to run interference on this guy, or what? Are you going to talk to him?”

She sighed. “I guess. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t run from Slytherins.”

“Ready for a ride home, Weasley?” Blaise asked suggestively, leaning close to her and jingling his car keys.

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. I swear, God. If someone else comes up and offers me a ride home right now, I’ll be good for the rest of my life. I’ll never eat junk food again. I’ll work out everyday. I’ll even be nice to Ron! Please…

“Need a ride?”

Ginny smiled at the ceiling, thanking God for his expedient answer to her prayers, before looking down gratefully at her saviour.

Draco Malfoy.

That God sure has a cruel sense of humour.

Just then, before she was forced to choose between two of the horsemen of the apocalypse, Jacques walked by, surreptitiously scoping out Blaise for the millionth time that evening. “Jacques!” she called gratefully.

He turned to the redhead, confused. Why the hell is she talking to the gay man when she has two incredibly attractive straight men offering her rides home? The woman is hopeless…really, what would she do without me?

Walking toward her, he asked, “What’s up?”

“Can I crash on your couch?” she asked softly. “I’ve had a few too many glasses of champagne, and I’m scared to Apparate.”

He nodded mutely. “S’fine. But wouldn’t your own bed be more comfortable? I’m sure one of these two gentlemen would take you home.”

Blaise beamed. “Yes. I told her I would; it’s no problem at all. I barely had one glass…’sides, I don’t have a woman waiting up for me like Draco.”

Jacques grinned at Ginny. “So what do you think?”

Ginny sighed. It was plain that Jacques wanted her to go with Blaise…she was guessing that Jacques figured if Ginny started dating Blaise, she wouldn’t mind Jacques constantly checking him out. After all, he had set them up. She could just imagine the guilt trip now…but still; she didn’t want to disappoint him. He was her boss, after all, and she was grateful that he was trying to spice up her life a little, even if she wished he could have found someone who was in a different House at Hogwarts to do it.

She rolled her eyes, mentally bracing herself for what she was about to say. “Fine. I’ll go with Blaise.”

Draco shook his head. There goes another one, he thought mentally. She had such potential, too…

“That’s me,” Ginny murmured, pointing at the flat a ways up the street. Her voice was still slurring slightly from all the champagne.

Blaise smirked. “Oh, okay.”

Pulling over, he killed the motor, and looked over at the redhead in his passenger seat. Taking in the strapless dress that clung to her breasts like a second skin, he found his heartbeat quickening slightly. His voice took on a husky tone as he asked, “Are you tired?”

“I dunno, not really,” she said, confused. Would it be rude for me to just open the door and get out? He doesn’t seem to want me to get out. I don’t want to be rude…especially since I’m going to be working with this guy for the next few months. I’m going to kill Jacques for putting me in this position…

His eyes lit up slightly. “Good,” he whispered.

She looked up at Blaise in confusion. “Good how?”

Big mistake. He was looking at her like a lion eyeing its prey, licking his lips hungrily, ready to devour her at the earliest possible opportunity. Oh Merlin. Get out of here, Gin, she said to herself mentally. “Well…thanks, Zabini,” she said clearly, hoping that using his surname would dissipate the sudden unwanted intimacy that had settled between the two of them. “I should be going.”

“Wait,” he whispered.

She turned back to him cautiously. “What?”

“Just…” he whispered, allowing his voice to trail off. His eyes were now completely focused on her lips, and the shiny, juicy look that her lipgloss had given them. Blaise found that he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his, with as much force and intensity as he could muster.

Ginny had no idea what was going on. It was the next morning, and somehow, she found herself in her soft bed, surrounded by her many pillows, still in her party dress from the night before. At least I’m not wearing my shoes anymore, she noted dimly. God, my head fuckin’ hurts!

Getting up and tying on her robe, she slipped her feet into her slippers. Padding into the kitchen, she shielded her eyes against the bright fluorescent light, searching for some damn aspirin. Stupid champagne. I knew I shouldn’t have drunk so much, she thought regretfully. After an aspirin and a lot of water, the Weasley was feeling much better. Looking to the fruit bowl on her kitchen counter for breakfast, she was startled to find a note propped against the nectarines.

Ginny-

I was on my own way home, and saw Zabini’s car on the side of the street, and saw Zabini making a move on you. He probably would have gone much farther if I hadn’t interrupted. Since you weren’t yourself, I figured I should do something. I brought you in here and took off your shoes. Sorry you had to sleep in your new dress.

Sincerely,

Draco M

Ginny’s eyes widened in shock, and her hand drifted to the side, allowing the note to trickle down to the floor. No bloody way. Draco stopped Blaise making a move on me when I was pissed. Not to mention he made sure I got inside safely. Hell, he even tucked me in to bed! Well…I suppose now I can honestly say that I’ve seen everything. I wonder how much more awkward this will make my individual workouts with Draco…

Then another thought hit her. How the hell am I going to act with Zabini?!

Authoress’ Note: Reviews are good for the soul.

3. Testing the Limits

Whip Him Into Shape

Mei Queen

Authoress' Note: So it's been FIVE YEARS since I updated this story. I had to re-read this. Hell, I had to re-read all my stories to have any idea what they were about. But recently, I've been getting emails from ff.net alerting me to new story followers and reviews, and they all just sounded so hopeful. I figured I could at least try for all the new people out there hopeful enough to subscribe to stories that haven't been updated for as long as mine haven't.

I can't really give you guys a good reason why I haven't updated...three boyfriends, one broken engagement, two degrees (I have a Masters! Whaaaaaaat), one state change (CA to MN. It freaking snows here, guys) and adult job later, I'm a totally different person than I was when I was writing these. Hopefully, those changes have been for the better.

I really hope you'll review and let me know what's been going on with your lives. Some of you were such loyal readers and supporters for me growing up. I grew to think of you all as friends, and reading over some of my old reviews the other day reminded me how much I missed you all!

Finally, I passed my 10-year fanfiction anniversary in October. I'd always hoped that I'd have all my stories complete by this point, but I don't. I really hope that will your encouragement, I'll be able to get these all completed soon...I have an idea for a novel that won't go away. It needs to be written, but I feel like I need to finish these first. Hope to hear from you all soon... <3 - MQ

RECAP:

Ginny had no idea what was going on. It was the next morning, and somehow, she found herself in her soft bed, surrounded by her many pillows, still in her party dress from the night before. At least I'm not wearing my shoes anymore, she noted dimly. God, my head fuckin' hurts!

Getting up and tying on her robe, she slipped her feet into her slippers. Padding into the kitchen, she shielded her eyes against the bright fluorescent light, searching for some damn aspirin. Stupid champagne. I knew I shouldn't have drunk so much, she thought regretfully. After an aspirin and a lot of water, the Weasley was feeling much better. Looking to the fruit bowl on her kitchen counter for breakfast, she was startled to find a note propped against the nectarines.

Ginny-

I was on my own way home, and saw Zabini's car on the side of the street, and saw Zabini making a move on you. He probably would have gone much farther if I hadn't interrupted. Since you weren't yourself, I figured I should do something. I brought you in here and took off your shoes. Sorry you had to sleep in your new dress.

Sincerely,

Draco M

Ginny's eyes widened in shock, and her hand drifted to the side, allowing the note to trickle down to the floor. No bloody way. Draco stopped Blaise making a move on me when I was pissed. Not to mention he made sure I got inside safely. Hell, he even tucked me in to bed! Well…I suppose now I can honestly say that I've seen everything. I wonder how much more awkward this will make my individual workouts with Draco…

Then another thought hit her. How the hell am I going to act with Zabini?!

Chapter 3: Testing the Limits

Ginny Weasley was nervous.

She wasn't usually one of those nervous people, you know. Ginny was a trainer, the best at any of the Shape Gyms in her district. She knew her job. She knew people. She knew how to make the bodies of those people respond desirably to different weight loss techniques.

But today...nope, today Ginny Weasley was completely at a loss.

She was standing in front of Blaise Zabini's plush flat, yet somehow she could not convince her hand to reach up and ring the doorbell. She had been positively dreading this interaction all week. Every day Ginny checked her iPhone calendar, and the looming blue dot on Thursday at 11 am was threatening to send her already nervous pulse into overdrive.

Her boss, Jacques, had even text messaged her that morning to make sure she was going to go after what happened at the party.

If I get a call saying you didn't show up, you're going shopping with me for Muffin's clothes for the next year- J

Muffin, Jacques' pathetically small dog, was perhaps the saddest addition to the animal kingdom that Ginny had ever seen. Muffin was mad at everything and everyone, which could perhaps have to do with 1) her name being Muffin and 2) being forced to dress up in frilly, scratchy clothing all day by her gay father. There was simply no worse torture imaginable to Ginny than having to shop for those terrible clothes with Jacques.

I'm here, J. Take a chill pill, she texted back right then from the front stoop.

Somehow, she made it here, but taking that last step to actually go inside and face the man she'd had such an awkward interaction with last week (Merlin! Could it have only been last week?) was proving to be a little too much to ask.

Taking a moment to look skyward and ask Merlin yet again why she hadn't just called a cab from the party that night, the petite redhead grudgingly pressed the bell.

The result sounded...familiar.

“I know that melody,” she muttered to herself. “How do I know it? It's a song, it's not just your usual Muggle doorbell chime...”

The opening front door interrupted Ginny's private rant. Blaise Zabini stood on the other side wearing track pants and a lecherous grin, his button-down shirtfront wide open for the world to see.

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,” he sang cheerfully, his head tipping from side to side with the beat.

Suddenly, Ginny knew exactly where she'd heard that tune before. “You have the Hogwarts school song as your doorbell tune?!”

“So?” he asked casually, flattening his admittedly impressive body against the door to allow Ginny entry into the apartment. She nervously wandered into the living room, Blaise trailing behind her. She took a seat on the couch opposite the armchair where she assumed Blaise usually sat - if the stack of books, magazines and empty cups of tea were any indication. He settled into that same chair, then looked at her expectantly for a reply.

“I dunno,” she answered. “Just always thought you'd get kicked out of Slytherin for doing something like that.”

Then Ginny realized what she just said... and who exactly was paying her rent this month. Her hand went up to her mouth, which had formed a perfect “o”. “Sorry. No offense, I mean.”

Blaise noted her embarrassment and grinned. “No, you're completely right, actually. I'm quite the lifetime alumnus, so I think they'll let it slide, just this once. They've had so many of my Galleons over the years that I've got some bloody Slytherin-spirited wand about here somewhere...”

“Oh, really?” she asked, intrigued. “Does it house basilisks, promote pureblood supremacy, and ooze smug superiority?”

He cocked his head to the side, pretending to think very carefully. “Nope. But it does do a pretty wicked rendition of `Oh Potter, You Rotter.' Oh, and `Weasley is Our King.' Er...no offense.”

Ginny smirked. Even though part of her had been dreading seeing Blaise again since he tried to put the moves on her that night, another part was reluctantly enjoying this. He can be all right sometimes, she thought to herself. His chest isn't bad, either...

“So,” Blaise began, noting where her gaze had settled and subtly covering a little more of his chest, “where do we start with all this?”

“Hmm...that's a good question. I guess I have to start in a different place with the entire party, since I'm sure you're all at different levels of physical fitness. You seem like you're in great shape, honestly, so I really don't know that we'll have that much to do,” she said, desperately trying not to blush as she finished that last sentence.

She looked over at him, attempting to maintain some eye contact in the name of appearing professional. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized he was already looking right at her. Good God, Ginny. Get it together!

“Right,” she said, taking a deep breath and flashing her brightest smile. “Let's see just how in shape you are, shall we?”

One hour later, Ginny Weasley knew how much Blaise Zabini weighed, his height, how many sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups he could do in one minute, respectively, and was currently timing him running a mile in the park across the street from his flat.

She reclined on the bench and peered at him through her designer sunglasses. God, he's fit, she thought to herself grudgingly. I wish I knew why he did what he did that night. If he hadn't tried to make something happen with me when I was pissed, well, let's be honest...I'd have no qualms going to bed with that man right now. Odd, that.

He finished his mile, and she pressed the button on her stopwatch.

“Impressive, I must say,” she murmured. “You really are in excellent shape. If you'd like, I can just give you a routine to help you maintain your current fitness level or maybe build even more muscle, but I'd definitely advise against losing any weight or doing anything drastic.”

He nodded. “I try to take care of myself. Right now, I've just been trying to eat healthy, and I do cardio about five times a week. I lift weights twice a week, but I dunno...I've never wanted to be one of those really bulky guys, you know? Does that make me seem less manly?”

Ginny realized she'd actually been thinking exactly the opposite. “Um...no. Not at all. What would you like to do, then? You still have me for an hour.”

His dark eyes met her chocolate, and his reply definitely was not one she'd been expecting: “I'd like to cook you dinner, actually.”

Ginny stared at her reflection in the mirror of Blaise's loo. How did I get in this situation? What was I thinking, agreeing to let a Slytherin and former enemy cook me dinner?! Why does he bloody want to do that to begin with? I'll admit, I'm definitely attracted to him, but I'm sort of terrified after what he did the last time we met- do I really want to be spending time with a man capable of that sort of thing?

She knew that the answer was no, but something about Blaise was keeping her here. Something about the powerful way he held her gaze with his, or the “accidental” brush of his hand on the small of her back when they walked back from the park...

There was something there, and Ginny was desperate to know what it was.

Blaise's knuckles rapped softly on the bathroom door.

“Ginny? Is everything okay?” he asked softly, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, everything's fine. Be out in a second!”

Get it together, Gin. You can do this. It's just one dinner, you'll be out before you know it. She took a deep breath, opened the door, and was met with a glass of red wine.

“I poured this for you. Mine's back in the kitchen. Listen, before we eat tonight, I have something I really need to tell you,” he said quietly.

Accepting the wineglass with a nod of thanks, she asked, “Is that so?”

“Yes.” His eyes met hers, and his fingers touched her arm. “Ginny, I'm very sorry about what happened after Draco's party the other night. That should never have happened. I guess sometimes I don't respect people's boundaries when I'm pissed...not that that's an excuse, because nothing could excuse what I did.”

Her eyes widened. He was...apologizing? This she had definitely not been expecting.

“I'm sure he told you by now, but Draco came along and stopped that situation from going any further. I have to tell you, Gin, I'm so grateful that he did. You're a great girl, and if anything were to happen between us...I just...I wouldn't want it to happen like that,” he said in a near-whisper, his eyes trailing down to the floor.

Ginny wasn't sure how she felt. While part of her didn't know if she'd ever feel safe around Blaise again (especially if he'd been drinking), the other part was awestruck and grateful at the bravery and honesty it must have taken to give her such a sincere apology. She settled for saying what she knew: “Thank you, Blaise. That couldn't have been easy to say.”

“So you'll forgive me?”

“I didn't say that,” she answered reluctantly. “But I might be getting there. Can I help you with dinner?”

He grinned widely and his fingers trailed from their spot on her arm to her elbow so he could lead her back down the hallway. “There really isn't much left to do, but I'd certainly love your company in the kitchen. Tell me how you got into training.”

Two, okay, fine, three glasses of red wine later, and Ginny Weasley was getting ready to head home. She wasn't going to Apparate (as fun as drunken splicing sounded), but she knew she needed to get home soon- she had an early appointment the next morning with the maid of honor.

“I need to get going,” she murmured, her eyes locked with Blaise's across the pub table. They'd been sitting for hours. Merlin, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a good time. They'd had salad, pasta, and some sort of delicious dessert...

It was wonderful, and it felt great to give those packaged LeanCuisines at the office a rest in favor of some real food. Blaise was a surprisingly good cook (especially for a rich Slytherin with house-elves).

“There's something kind of satisfying about making a meal by hand,” he'd replied when she'd asked him about how he'd started cooking. “You really feel like you earned it when you take that first bite. A few years ago, I started thinking that it made a difference in maintaining my weight, you know, like by cooking it and getting in touch with my food I was feeling full faster and doing less overeating. I don't know if that's true, but now it's my tradition. I like it.”

“Well, you're great at it. Thank you so much for dinner tonight,” she replied. She was surprised to feel a bit sad as she reached for her coat.

“It was absolutely my pleasure. So...same time next week?”

Ginny met his eyes in surprise. “But you don't need my help. You're perfectly in shape, and you basically have a near-ideal fitness routine in place already.”

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding, “but I don't have a dinner companion. I hear that careful eating does wonders for the waistline...”

She grinned. “Okay. Um...it's a date, then.”

“Wonderful. I'm looking forward to it,” he replied, smiling. He stepped closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “May I drive you home? I promise, tonight I only had the one glass of wine, and I won't try anything at all.”

Was it her imagination, or did Ginny feel disappointed by that? She bit her lip. Am I going to regret this? Aw, hell. I only live once right?

“Okay.”

The car pulled up in front of Ginny's flat about half an hour later. Rather than idling in the street (a habit Ginny loathed), Blaise neatly guided the car into a parking space and turned off the ignition. Their eyes met in the darkened cab.

“So,” she began, tucking a stray strand of fiery hair behind her left ear.

He watched the path of her hand attentively, his eyes focusing on the nape of her neck where that errant hair rested. “I...I had a great time with you tonight, Red.”

She smirked at the nickname. “You too, Zabini. You know, for a soul-sucking Slytherin, you're not all bad.”

“Well, for a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor, you don't quite make my skin crawl.”

Ginny laughed. “You sure know how to compliment a girl, you know that?”

“I know how to do plenty of other things to a girl, too,” he said softly, his voice just loud enough to carry in the cab. The silence that followed was deafening. Ginny's heart beat so loud, she swore he must be able to hear it, too.

Her pulse was escalating, and she knew that his last comment had been the last straw. She'd been able to see Blaise shirtless and banter with him over drinks and dinner and attempt to be platonic all day, but that last comment had thoughts of the two of them in bed swirling in Ginny's head. She didn't dare meet his eyes--she was positive if she did, he'd be able to immediately read the direction her thoughts had taken.

Merlin, she wanted him.

God, Ginny. He's a client. At least attempt to salvage some bit of professionalism. Say `thank you for the ride,' and get the fuck out of there! Ginny knew that her conscience was right, regardless of how sexy Blaise Zabini was appearing to be.

She finally dared to look up. “Thank you for the-”

She trailed off when she realized that his eyes were right in front of her own. He was leaning across the cab so his face was right in front of hers.

“I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a predicament,” he whispered.

Her pulse quickened. “Really? What's that?”

“I said I wouldn't try anything, and I won't,” he said softly. His eyes locked with hers. “But Merlin, I fucking want to.”

She bit her lip and looked down at the floor of the cab. “What if...”

“What?” he asked hopefully, reaching one hand up to tuck that same errant hair behind Ginny's left ear again.

Do you really want to say this, Ginny? It's going to permanently change your working relationship with him. You should calmly just get out of this situation. Even though Ginny was sure her conscience was right with this (as it usually was), that's not what she did.

She looked up and made sure their eyes, mere inches apart, met. “What if I want you to try something?”

That was all the permission Blaise Zabini needed.

Authoress' Note (Part 2): Reviews are good for the soul. :)