Draco wrapped his fingers around her upper arms, steering her to the door. She focused on the ground, the only place left free of blinding light, her eyes burning.
"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!" A particularly slimy looking reporter pushed his way through the crowd and jabbed his wand in Draco's face. Draco shrugged off his jacket with speed and covered Ginny's face before she even realized what was happening. "Can you answer a few questions?"
"No." Draco said shortly. From beneath the jacket Ginny wondered how much further along the path the doorway could possibly be.
"Mr. Malfoy! Can you tell us who your friend is?"
"Dumbledore." he said. Ginny snorted.
"Why so secretive?" Another voice yelled. "Is there a wedding in the works?"
Draco didn't say anything to that, just grunted with annoyance.
Finally, Ginny's feet found a doormat, and they were ushered inside the building. As soon as the door was closed behind them she ripped the jacket from her head.
"What the hell was that, Draco?" she demanded.
"What?"
"How did they know we would be coming here?" She faced him solidly, her hands on her hips and her feet shoulder width apart.
"I don't have any idea. They must do the same to anyone who comes here."
"Don't lie to me." She poked his chest for emphasis with each word.
"Ginny, this is The Rose Garden. I am entirely sure at least one of them is hiding in the bushes twenty four hours a day." He turned to the gentleman who had ushered them through the door. "Right?"
"I - er, well - they," the gentleman looked uncomfortable, and was clearly a very poor liar. "Right," he agreed abruptly, when Draco raised an eyebrow.
"You told them we would be here, didn't you." Draco said nothing, but Ginny noticed with interest that the very tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink. "Didn't you?" she repeated, triumphant.
"I would never dishonour you that way --,"he began, but Ginny laughed.
"Don't be ridiculous. You might be more polite these days, but you're definitely not a saint." He opened his mouth but she cut him off again. "I'm not stupid, you know. That was very low."
He had the grace to look slightly abashed, but Ginny got the feeling that his discomfort was the most she was going to get out of him. Apologies were clearly not in the cards, nor were confessions. She then realized that they had aired their argument in front of the clearly uncomfortable host.
"I'm so sorry," she said, turning to the other man, "I assume we have a reservation?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am. This way, please." As they were weaving through the tables he spoke over his shoulder to Draco. "We have your usual booth reserved for you in the back."
Draco nodded his thanks.
Their booth was obscured by thick red velvet drapes, a round table with heavy black cushions and gold leaf designs on the table surface. Their host pulled a golden tasselled rope and the drape closed around them, completely blocking the noise and view of other patrons. They were effectively in their own world.
For a moment the awkward silence was overwhelming. Draco filled it by picking up the elaborate quill which rested in the center of the table and scrawling in his elegant hand, without the use of ink, on a particularly large circle of gold leaf on the surface. He scratched some unintelligible words - at least, when they were upside down to Ginny - and they then quickly disappeared as the gold leaf swirled and covered them over.
A second later the golden circle turned into a portal of sorts and a bottle of very old, very expensive looking wine rose through, somewhat reminiscent of the tables at Hogwarts. Two wine glasses soon followed.
He deftly poured her half a glass.
"No Firewhisky?" she teased. He looked horrified, not quite catching her tone.
"Firewhisky? At The Rose Garden? I should think not," he said swiftly, pouring himself a glass. Ginny laughed into her cup.
"I was only joking, Draco." He looked abruptly embarrassed.
"I see." He searched for something to say. His eyes latched upon the pendant. "I see you wore my gift."
She looked down at it, fingering it a little. "Yes," she said. "I got you something as well." His facial expression was the picture of surprise. She reached into her bag, pulling out a small box. She slid it across the table to him.
He opened it a raised his eyebrows. "Oh - Ginny, well - thank you. I think." He pulled out a small lion pin, colored a bright, obnoxious red.
"I expect you to wear it," she added unnecessarily. He choked back a laugh.
"I'm sure you do," he murmured. He looked up at her entreatingly. "Must I?" He looked so petulant she had to smile. "Only for tonight," she told him.
She folded her hands on the table. "So," she said. "What now?"
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, what do you normally do on a date?" Ginny asked. Truly, she was curious.
"Snog."
She choked. "Thrilling." He had such an expression of boyish pride that she laughed.
"Well, what about you? What do you normally do?" He leaned in. "What do you do on a first date."
"Evade amorous advances and cause bodily harm," she said readily.
"Interesting. I believe I was witness to such a date a few days ago." He leaned back in his seat.
"You were?"
"Yes, Nicolas Dessin."
At Nicolas's name she pulled a face. "Oh. He deserved it."
"Why?"
"He was of the opinion that since he'd paid for three dates he was entitled to sleep with me."
"Really?"
"I hope you and he are not of like minds."
"Not at all. I reserve my demands for at least the fourth date," his voice holding all the worldly air of a twenty year old aristocrat. It was a moment before she realized he was joking.
"Really? I would have pegged you as a more 'get-her-drunk-and-then-coerce-her' kind of guy."
"Not at all. But if women cannot resist the power of my sex appeal, who am I to turn them down?"
"You're a pig."
"That may be, but I am a rich, attractive, well dressed pig. Can I really help myself?"
Ginny scoffed. "Human decency is on sale this week at Madame Treussau's. Perhaps you should look into it."
"Really? How much?"
"Ninety-nine per cent off. I bet you could afford it."
"Perhaps. But not all sales are worth it."
"This one is," Ginny said shortly.
Draco laughed. Then the food came. They ate largely uninterrupted by speech until they were nearly finished.
"Why didn't you ever marry Harry Potter?" Draco asked her suddenly. She nearly choked on her bite of crab.
"What?"
"I'm curious."
"Oh." she thought for a moment. "Well, the war sort of interrupted our plans. And then - well, he died before we had the chance."
"But you loved him?"
"Yes," she said, smiling at the memory. "Yes, I did."
"And you miss him?"
"Every day." She cleared her throat. "But Harry was never one for letting sadness run his life. I try to do the same."
"He was a good man," Draco said, surprising her. She looked at him and saw no judgement in his eyes, only a strange warmth and empathy. She smiled again.
"Yes, he was, wasn't he."
"To Harry," he raised his glass. "The biggest bespectacled git there ever was."
Ginny giggled, realizing that his tone held no meanness.
"To Harry," she agreed.
They said nothing for a while after, no sound but the clinking of cutlery against the plates.
"Why did you never marry Pansy?"
Draco gagged.
"Were you two not an item?"
He choked.
"No?"
He shook his head furiously.
"I see." she said.
"She forced her attentions upon me for six long, long years. I threw myself a party when she gave up on me and started going with Montague."
Ginny smiled into her hand, trying desperately to keep from laughing at him, he looked so incredibly pathetic at the memory.
"So what else don't I know about you."
"A great many things, I am sure. Where to begin?"
"Well, are your family really all blood supremacists, or is that just rumors?"
He looked at her curiously before deciding that her tone was light, and that she was not being rude. "No. All but two of us are blood supremacists."
"Really? And those two would be..."
"Myself and my great Uncle Alfred."
"Of course."
"Say, are you from that Weasley family? What child are you, twenty three?"
She shook her head. "Seven. Hush."
"Well, still. That is impressive."
They conversed with great feeling and humour for the rest of the evening, their inhibitions all but forgotten, comfortable and resembling friends more and more.
They may not have been very similar, but the fact that they were no longer strangers was enough for Ginny to feel comfortable.
She even - almost - forgot that he had set the paparazzi on her. She went to bed that night dreaming of handsome, sneaky blonde bastards.
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