The next morning she woke slowly, savouring the warm cocoon of her duvet and mattress, unwilling to break the tenuous hold of her dreams completely.
She had dreamed of him, not in any way that gave him preference in her life, but it was enough that he had made an appearance in the night at all. She didn't usually entertain any mere acquaintances in her dreams, usually casting only her closest friends and family as anything to do with anything in particular. But last night, she had dreamed of an adventurous life involving Draco Malfoy, herself, and a rather vocal group of choir members aboard a ship entitled Her Majesty Bubotuber.
It was hard to take such a dream seriously, but sailing on the high seas with a man as dashing and - she suspected - dangerous was nothing to turn ones nose up at. It was a delightful escape, and she was sorely tempted to skip waking up all together and get back to robbing and pillaging poor villages. But, alas, there was the matter of work to attend to, and she could put off getting out of bed no longer.
Sleepily she tossed her covers aside and padded into her cozy little kitchen, noting that she had already slept in a good half hour. It was half seven and she needed to be ready to leave her flat by half eight. Groaning, she turned on the muggle coffee pot Hermione had given her as a birthday present the year before and waved her wand in the direction of the bathroom, turning on the shower.
Outside her kitchen window was a small owl, staring at her with beady eyes intently through the pane, the morning paper in its beak. She opened the drawer nearest the oven and grabbed the necessary change and made the exchange, waving the owl off with a sleepily mumbled `byeee...'
Her sleepy mood lasted no longer than it took for her eyes to register the headline on the front page.
Unnamed Witch Snares Malfoy Heir
Beneath the delightfully attention grabbing headline was a half page sized black and white picture of she and Draco during a rather more intense part of their dance, in which his hands were nearly at the point of her knickers and her hands were roughly - well, all over him.
Just looking at it brought an intensely red flush to her cheeks. Good Lord, had she really done that? She cast her mind desperately to the night before, trying to find some moment where she had been bewitched or jinxed so that she would at least have the excuse of being befuddled. She found nothing, and groaned into her hand. Her family would have her guts for breakfast.
On the other hand, this did rather cement her newfound plan to mingle with a different crowd. Writing for a magazine classed as `gossip rag', she could well imagine just what sort of position this would place her in. She would be the toast of London in about a day and a half and she would be invited to all sorts of parties, regardless that she had danced but one dance with Draco Malfoy and that she really didn't know him.
Come to think of it, it was rather curious that her boss hadn't called her demanding to know why her picture was pasted across the front of the morning newspaper. But then, as she looked at it, she realized that she was rather hidden, and that it was a tad difficult to discern her features through the haze of her flyaway hair and her constant ducking beneath Draco's head. She supposed it was understandable that no one had guessed it was her yet. But that wouldn't last long.
Even in black and white her particular shade of red hair was rather distinguishable, and it wouldn't be very long before people put two and two together and realized that it was a Weasley dancing with the Malfoy heir, and after realizing that, she would be the only possible candidate, as she was the only female Weasley - besides her mother, but Ginny liked to think that her figure was at least noticeably more trim than that her of Molly Weasley.
Her family would probably figure it out quicker than the rest, which meant that she had precious little time to -
"Ginny!"
Hide. Her front door slammed shut as her brother made his way noisily into her apartment.
"Ginny! Look at this!"
Ron. Come to harangue her, of course.
"Ginny, are you listening? Where are you - oh. There you are." He stumbled into her kitchen. He had a copy of the newspaper in his hand and upon seeing her he strode to the table and slapped his copy down face up directly beside her own. "Oh, you've already got one. Well, look here."
He jabbed a finger at the moving picture. Ginny tried not to look too uncomfortable.
"Fred and George reckon that might be you. `Course I told them that was bollocks, but they bet me a galleon that it is you. Aint that a laugh? `Course it isn't you, like you would dance with Draco sodding Malfoy, ay?"
He noticed that she had yet to reply and prodded her shoulder impatiently. "Ginny? You listening? Go ahead, it's not you, am I right?"
Very slowly and very deliberately she shook her head.
"See! See I told `em," he faltered. "No it isn't you, or no I'm not right and it is you?"
"No," Ginny said, hiding a small smile behind her hair. "It is me."
His hand grabbed her shoulder and whipped her around in his seat so that she was facing him, his face inches from hers and turning mottled red with anger and disgust.
"WHAT?" he hollered at her, tiny bits of spittle hitting her face. She pushed him back.
"Oh, shut up Ron. It's not like you've never seen me dance before."
"With Draco sodding Malfoy!?" he yelled again. Ginny noted with detached interest that she hadn't seen him quite this angry in some time. For some reason she doubted it was over the lost galleon.
"Why the bloody hell would you dance with Malfoy!"
Ginny hid a smile again. "Because he asked me to," she said.
"Well you didn't have to say bloody `yes'! Why'd you say yes? Were there no other blokes asking?"
"I said yes because he asked me, Ronald. I can dance with whomever I please." She grinned before adding, "and it was his party, I couldn't very well refuse my host, now could I?"
"Why were you at his party to begin with?!" he demanded, still spraying spittle at her. She wiped her face with her pyjama sleeve. When he was in a better mood she would have to talk to him about this. Poor hygiene was no one's friend.
She grinned again. "Because he invited me."
He howled with rage.
He looked quite at a loss, twisting his hands and running them through his hair in frustrated agitation. He glanced back at the picture for something else to rail about. He found another thing.
"What the hell were you wearing? And why is Malfoy's sodding hand up your sodding dress for the whole world to see! You look like some sort of scarlet woman, letting him feel you up and touch your - your -," he shut up then, too embarrassed to continue.
"Knickers?" she finished for him, still smiling. Ron was not amused. She sighed. "Ron, you know I love you, but seriously. How old am I? I don't need you to be yelling at me for everything I do. I'm nineteen. Shut up. I can do what I want."
Ron twisted his hands angrily again. "Mum's gonna kill me." He whispered in defeat.
"Mum's not going to kill you. She'll faint with happiness. I'm in the arms of London's richest bachelor. But Dad - he might kill you." She saluted him mockingly. "Good luck."
"Oh My God, Ginny," he gulped. "Please don't do it again. Say you're sick next time. Puke on him, something, anything! Don't do it!"
"Sorry, Ron, I've already agreed to have supper with him tonight." He looked green.
"I have to go." He whispered faintly. He scrambled out of the kitchen and a second later she heard her front door slam shut. Shaking her head happily she wondered how the rest of her family would cope. At that thought she set her wards to block anyone from entering her flat and went to have she shower she sorely needed.
***
Draco sat in his study staring at his copy of the newspaper with a rakish grin spread across his face. Ginny Weasley, the little spitfire. She looked as delicious on paper as she had looked in his arms. Her face flushed and her hair wild and everywhere. He couldn't help but smile.
The headline was a little bit grasping, and completely incorrect, and it was definitely not his first time making the front page, but this was absolutely something he would treasure. If he were that sort of man he would frame the page and put it on his wall, but as it were, his father would hang him if he did, and so he would settle for preserving a copy in a nice file folder and keeping it in his desk to pull out and stare at every now and then, when the mood struck him.
She was an absolutely perfect woman, apart from one or two odd little tendencies, and Draco was proud to have shared a dance with her. It didn't hurt that Blaise had confided later that he was indescribably jealous, and he'd truly hated Draco all night for having had the pleasure of Ginny's company. Draco smirked. He would have hated himself if he'd been Druella's date too.
Silly woman.
He leaned back in his leather wingback chair and stretched his long legs out under the desk, happily lost in his reminiscing from the night before. He was interrupted before long by a squeaky voice.
"Master Malfoy, Lord Malfoy wishes to speak with you." Draco looked to the ground beside him and saw the green, scaly ears of his house elf, Blonky.
Draco nodded his assent regretfully and shoved his paper inside his desk drawer. He needn't have bothered trying to hide it. When Lucius marched in a few seconds later, his robes billowing around him like an angry inferno, he had his own copy of the paper in his hands. He slapped it down on the desk surface in front of Draco, unfolding it in jerky, angry motions for Draco to see. Draco pretended to study it, all the while trying to come up with some excuse for the photo in his head.
"What is this," his father snarled, reverting to a position of rigid straightness in front of the desk, his hands crossed over his chest. Draco paused for a moment, pretending to weigh his answer.
"It's a dance, sir. The paper blew it out of proportion," he let a hint of sneering arrogance taint his voice, "as usual."
"I can see that it's a dance. It's disgraceful. I raised you better than to dirty yourself with such filth. What was she doing here?"
"Blaise brought her," Draco said quickly. Blaise wouldn't mind, and he deserved it for getting Draco
into this messy `bet' business anyways.
"Blaise." Lucius's lip curled. "He should know better as well." He leaned in again, moving his hands to brace himself against the desk. "But that still doesn't explain why you would dance with her."
"She was attractive, and she could dance." Draco said, his usual affectation of superiority in his tone. "It was nothing."
Lucius swiped the paper from the desktop and gave Draco one last glare. "See that it stays `nothing'," he said, and he quit the room.
Draco rolled his eyes and quickly pulled his copy back out from the drawer. After staring at it for another twenty minutes, he grabbed some parchment and his special quill that made his words sparkle silvery green, he wrote a short note. His eagle owl, Lucifer, carried it off, and Draco returned to looking at the picture. Just another day at work.
***
She recognized Draco's owl when she got out of the shower. It had a small package tied to its leg and a note in its beak. She opened the note first.
`My dear Miss Weasley;
I hope this note finds you well. I wish to reextend my invitation to supper tonight. I have made reservations at `The Rose Garden', you may have heard of it. Should you wish to accompany me, please don't hesitate to let me know. Wear the gift. I believe it will suit you.
With the warmest regards,
Lord Draco Malfoy,
Heir of Malfoy,
CEO Malfoy co.,
London's most eligible bachelor,
Witch Weekly's Wishes most Wonderful Smile winner,
Supper Companion Extraordinaire,
Rake.'
She stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, before realizing that he was being funny. Or at least attempting. She shook her head, a wry grin on her lips. Obviously, Draco Malfoy, Lord of London, didn't know Ginny Weasley very well.
She opened the gift next.
It was a tiny pendant, a sterling silver snake wound around a perfectly formed crystal rose, with tiny little green gemstone eyes (real, she would bet money on it), and a long silver chain included.
It was such a blatant insult to her Gryffindor pride it ended up being more humorous than insulting. She put it on, shaking her head. Draco Malfoy was incorrigible.
She scribbled back a note and sent it off with her old barn owl.
***
`My Dear Mr. (Lord?) Malfoy;
Your note found me very well, as I am pleased to report. Please, sir, did I not give you permission last night to use my given name? Please call me Ginny.
I whole heartedly accept your invitation. I will wear the gift, though I must admit, I wonder how you managed to pick it out? Was it the result of some dastardly intuition, or was it the fault of the sales clerk that a Gryffindor managed to end up with a Slytherin symbol round her neck? Don't misunderstand me, the gift is beautiful, but I must wonder where on earth the idea came from.
With absolute affection,
Ginny Weasley,
Princess of 24 Grindrod Place,
Lady of Dream Homes,
CEO of Imagination inc.,
Majesty of all that applies,
Fair Damsel,
Etc, etc.'
***
She had just slipped her new sundress on when her ward buzzer rung, bringing a tiny butterfly with a ribbon banner bearing the name `Draco Malfoy' in front of her nose.
"Coming!" she called.
When she opened the door, Draco Malfoy held out a single Daisy, and Ginny took it and placed it with the one he had given her the night before, which was sitting on the windowsill in her little kitchen.
When they Apparated to the restaurant, Ginny clutching Draco's arm a mite more than was strictly necessary, they were greeted by blinding camera flashes in every direction.
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