A Girl's Best Friend

A Girl's Best Friend, Part I - Pearls

“Pearls chase away women's melancholy. Heal from anxiety and folly. Chase away evil spirits. Have aphrodisiac and [fecundant] properties. Heal hemorrhagies, poisoning and frigidity.”

Pietros Heraclitus. Treasures of the Mediterranean Sea.

Greece, V^th century B.C.

The store was somewhat as he had expected to find it, dark and pleasantly cool in the midst of Diagon Alley's bustling crowd, caught in a summer day so hot and bright it threatened to reach a centennial record. It took a few minutes for customers' eyes to adapt to the penumbra, until after a few seconds of mute darkness white and blue lights revealed the contours of the pedestals and glass cases. Only then did the jewels appear like stars in the night sky, constellating spans of black velvet with their fires of infinite hues.

Draco Malfoy knew at once that he would find what he was looking for in this establishment. As far as he could tell, he was the only customer present at the time, but in places like these it meant that only a precious few could afford the quality of the jewellery sold here. He casually walked around, his lazy grace matched only by the mysterious elegance exuded by the store. After a few minutes, Draco felt he was ready to speak with the sales person; it was exactly that moment she chose to appear.

She came forth from the shadows, her red hair like a sudden, tarnished flame in the lights of the store. Minutes before she had blended with the darkness, and her hair with her, the sober but tight-fitted gray dress she wore but a component of her camouflage; even though he could now see her plainly, noticing how her heavy-rimmed glasses framed her eyes with sternness and how not a tendril escaped from her tight chignon, she did not seem to glow or stand out. She fit in marvellously with her store.

“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”

Only the garish colour of her hair could now identify her as Ginny Weasley. Though Draco had heard her screaming and laughing often enough at Hogwarts, during Quidditch games or in the Great Hall as he walked by, he had barely registered the girl as she went from being mousy and shy to pretty and popular. Those years had been marred by the kind of darkness that will erase any woman's beauty from a man's mind, and Draco would never at the time have considered a Muggle-lover beautiful. Not that he would have paid her any attention, even if she had honoured her family's lineage: she was, after all, too poor.

“I'm looking for an engagement ring,” he said.

She smiled imperceptibly, unsurprised by the admission. She had seen enough of the headlines announcing his relatively steady relationship with Astoria Greengrass to know for whom the ring was destined. Unfortunately, that would not suffice for the task at hand.

“Absolutely, sir. Are you familiar with the way in which I work?”

“I'm afraid not. My father used to deal exclusively with Richard Durham, but he is no longer… practicing…” Mr. Durham had indeed been convicted of crimes against humanity after the trials following the 2^nd Voldemort War had revealed that he extorted money from Muggleborns trying to flee the country and supported the Ministry's temporary efforts to purify the ranks of wizardry. “I was told that you were the best in London, however, which is why I am here.”

Ginny merely inclined her head, in a polite but unaffected acknowledgment of the compliment Draco Malfoy had paid her.

“In that case,” she went on unperturbed, “allow me to explain.”

Draco moved slightly so that he went from facing the jewels, as he had been, to facing her. He watched with interest as she started pacing slowly, the shadows shifting across her face as she did so.

“Though marriage is for many little more than a civil union, it is the belief, amongst jewellers, that wedding bands should not be purchased or worn by those not united by very strong and intimate ties. Of course, nowadays, any marriage of convenience will have its set of orange blossoms, weeping relatives, and wedding bands; but if you are seeking a ring that exemplifies the importance and power of your love for Mrs. Greengrass, then you must be willing to put some time and effort in the choosing of even the engagement ring.” She seemed to ponder her words. “And by choosing I mean crafting, for though we will definitely look to other works for inspiration, in the end the ring will be crafted specifically for your couple. Is that what you want, Mr. Malfoy?”

He had the disturbing impression that she was asking about more than the ring, but her utter placidity quickly convinced him otherwise.

“Of course,” he agreed. “What is the time and work invested in a ring when compared to a union meant to last `til death do us part'?”

Draco thought he heard her mutter, “Indeed,” but already she had produced her wand and was summoning a number of boxes. The jewel cases, oblong forms of black velvet, hovered in mid air. With a gracious gesture, Ginny invited him to sit down.

“First I will try to get a sense of what you like. Of course, the understanding I shall gain from this will be very coarse, but it is necessary so that we can be on the same page, at least where the overall design of the ring is concerned. Then we will progress to the specifics of your relationship.”

Draco had been reaching for one of the boxes when he registered what she had said. He looked up, faintly surprised, his aristocratic hand suspended in mid-air.

“'The specifics of our relationship'?”

“Between you and Miss. Greengrass, yes,” she specified as though there were some misunderstanding. “I must understand what pushes you to be together in order for her engagement ring to be representative of that.”

For a second he was tempted to answer “Our families”, but he knew it was the response she expected, and nothing could have been further from the truth. In the years following Voldemort's demise, Astoria had come to mean a lot to him, more than - he suspected - he could explain to a woman, - and a Weasley at that. However, precisely because of his affection for his soon-to-be fiancée, he was willing to try.

“Naturally,” Draco said as he flipped the cloth from one of the jewel boxes. A thick ring of gold was encrusted with three, multi-faceted rubies. Though the stones were polished in an elegant fashion, the ring itself was ostentatious, its only advantage being its obviously outrageous price. “Gryffindor colours?” he asked, amused.

“I had not even thought of it,” she lied flatly, giving him a perfunctory smile that held a hint of the spark he remembered from her years at Hogwarts.

The next box held a silver ring, embedded with an oval sapphire and two flanking diamonds. He waved it away.

“Gold.” he ordered.

“Is white gold acceptable?” she asked, fighting back a smirk.

“No, it has to look like gold,” Draco retorted.

“You do realise that platinum is somewhat more - “ she chose her words carefully “-refined than gold?”

“I am aware of the fact. However, I doubt Astoria would care to explain to her friends the advantages of a metal that has yet to become fully accepted by the Wizarding community.”

Indeed, while gold and silver had long had a place in the hearts of wizards across the world, platinum, increasingly employed by Muggles as an expensive alternative to gold, had yet to find its niche in jewellery stores— and, Ginny guessed, on the Wizarding plutocracy's price charts. She waved her wand, and about half of the boxes wafted away. Draco went on perusing, exhibiting the surprisingly accurate knowledge of gems and metals he had acquired while following his mother on her numerous shopping sprees. Ginny found herself enjoying her task.

“No rubies, then?”

“No, there's something about red…” he said dismissively, but she knew it was aimed at her, and not in the bitter, hurtful way it might have been in the past.

“And you want diamonds but you would rather it not be the only type of stone.”

“Well, yes, unless you can find me the right shape of diamond, but I haven't seen anything yet that I find perfectly satisfying where that stone is concerned.”

`Of course not,' she thought to herself. `I bet your mother owns diamonds that could shame even the Dwarves' legendary work. Probably stolen from them, too.' Yet her thoughts lacked the venom of years past, as though the war had washed that away as well. The war had washed away everything, the good and the bad alike, leaving behind un-mending scars that made Ginny Weasley the best in her trade but left her with little else in lieu of happiness.

“These amethysts,” she said, revealing three rings inlaid with purple, yellow, and watery blue stones, “come from the distant province of the Deccan, in India. Legend has it that a princess, running away from an evil demon who wished to marry her, implored the Indravati River to save her. She cried so desperately that, in exchange for her tears, the river granted her request. The princess was never seen again, but her tears” she nodded toward the rings “were found by her seven sisters and turned into charmed rings that protect them from demons.”

“They're a bit… pallid,” Draco said flatly.

With a snap of the wrist, Ginny sent the amethyst rings away. He was surprised at how well she took his comments, knowing full well that he was not being polite. He knew her self-control would have to be perfect for her to acquire such renown in an area where wealthy witches were incredibly difficult to please, but part of him felt compelled to push her buttons. That feeling was akin to the pleasure caused by her fiery responses and denials when she was still infatuated with Harry Potter. This time, though, she did not even give him the pleasure of a muffled hiss or a repressed frown.

They went through several more jewel-boxes, some with rings so elaborately carved they could have made Cartier's ornaments look like trinkets, others plain and stately like minimalist sculpture. Overall, Draco was pleased to note that he appreciated Ginevra Weasley's style and taste, as well as the wide range of rings she offered. He felt a bit disappointed, however, that no ring felt utterly perfect for Astoria.

“Please remember that this is but a preliminary step,” Ginny said as though she'd been reading his mind. “I have much to learn about what you and Miss. Greengrass share before I can make the ring that will have you absolutely satisfied.”

“Do you think you will be able to do it?” Draco asked, somewhat dubious of the fact that the Weaselette could ever understand anything about him.

“Is that a challenge?” she asked evenly, although he once again detected a flicker of the emotion he had been attempting to spark.

Draco stood up with the lithe grace that was his and his alone, and picked up Ginny's hand. He kissed it lightly. Then, without answering her question, he made to leave.

“Please send me an Owl when you are ready to take the next step.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” she replied politely as he exited the store, and without so much as an additional thought resumed the work his arrival had interrupted.

***

Four days later, a medium-sized gray owl, whose beautiful feathers had a pearly sheen to them, left a note on his desk.

“Mr. Malfoy,

I would very much appreciate if Miss. Greengrass and yourself could join me for a meeting the likes of the one we had when last you came. I understand that this may be tedious for you, but I would like to see what type of jewellery she likes, and how that affects the jewellery you end up giving her. I leave it up to your discretion to disguise the motive of the visit, and will be showing her necklaces, bracelets, and so forth, so as not to arouse her suspicion.

Regards,

Ginevra Weasley.”

The paper she had used, much like the ink itself, was elegant without being ostensive. Part of him congratulated her for it, having witnessed heaps of nouveaux-riches (amongst which the remaining twin brother and Potter's sidekick) flaunting their wealth and mistaking money for class. Little did he know that neither George nor Ron cared a bit for class, and compensated for a childhood of need by providing their own children with overwhelming profusion.

He replied immediately, and his following command was for his secretary to invite Astoria to an afternoon of shopping in his company.

***

Draco was reminded of his initial shock upon entering Ginevra's store when Astoria, startled by the dark and cool interior, uttered a little cry as she stepped in. It did not take him very long to discern the glass columns and the jewellery shimmering within, and for a second he wondered if he was not seeing the entire store more clearly. Astoria, reticent at first to enter a store that had not been heralded by generations of her female predecessors, nearly launched herself at the closest display; she eyed the jewels there with undiluted interest. This time, Draco caught a glimpse of Ginny before she made herself visible.

She was standing in a corner, watching Astoria with an amused but distant smirk on her full lips. Her dark glasses added a layer of angles to her high cheekbones and somewhat sunken cheeks. Had she seemed that stern, the last time he had seen her? There was an undeniable air of Professor McGonagall to her stance, though the Head of Gryffindor had thankfully known better than to wear the fitted suit Miss Weasley had allowed herself that afternoon.

“Miss. Greengrass, Mr. Malfoy, welcome,” came her low voice at last.

Astoria's head snapped in her direction, and she took a step back as though she had been caught doing something she was not supposed to. This only seemed to amuse Ginny more, although she easily hid the source of her mirth behind a wall of politeness.

“Darling,” Draco immediately said to conceal the oddity of the moment, “these are the earrings I stumbled upon the other day and that made me think of you.”

He pushed her gently toward one of the columns of glass, where silver earrings nested in black velvet. They were embedded with almond shaped emeralds of different sizes, whose intricate patterns mimicked the coiled branches of some thin-limbed tree. Ginny was surprised that Draco remembered them, and commended him for his taste; she could tell by the look on Astoria Greengrass' face, however, that while the woman may have found the piece pretty, she was by no means enchanted by it.

“There is a similar version of these earrings in gold, if you would like to look at it,” she said quietly.

Astoria nodded absently, her thin, chestnut hair sliding across her shoulders as she did so. She was a very pretty woman, if somewhat skinny, and there was an air of frailty about her that made her look like a child. Oddly enough, Ginny found herself drawn to the woman, eager to please her or at least make her smile. She summoned the gold earrings, whose finely polished aquamarines looked like droplets of sea-water, frozen in time. Draco watched impassively as Astoria, initially interested, dismissed them when she learned they were made from aquamarines, stones not precious enough in her opinion.

Ginny presented the couple with several other choices, her guesses eliciting increased approval from Astoria as she acquired a sense of the woman's taste. Unfortunately, if Astoria went solely for gold and the most expensive gems, her affection for large stones found no supporter with Draco. He tried to veer her away from the overwrought, over-worked pieces in which rubies and emeralds seemed to have grown like mushrooms, burgeoning endlessly but without caution. Ginny only carried that type of jewellery for women who defined a necklace's beauty by the amount of stones it carried, but did not bear much affection for either the style of jewellery or the customers who favoured it.

“What about pearls?” Draco asked at last, his voice a bit strained but impassive.

The ghost of an assenting smile flittered on Astoria's lips, lighting her features with pretty, childish glee. Ginny noticed that her tea-green eyes twinkled like pixy dust.

“They will complement your skin nicely, and work wonders with gold,” Ginny added for Astoria's sake.

Draco smirked, and the gesture was not lost on Ginny as she summoned several boxes. After twenty minutes of hesitation, Astoria finally settled earrings in which clusters of unevenly sized pearls alluded to snowflakes caught in a lopsided wind. The subsequent arrangements only took a few minutes. The pearls were wrapped in cloth so thin and fine it looked like a spider web and placed in a black box that found its way into Draco's pocket. He handed Ginny a business card.

“Please contact me to arrange for payment.”

Astoria was halfway through the door when Ginny realised that Draco Malfoy had just given her the public justification for a private interview during which they could further discuss the brunette's engagement ring. Ginny had to admit it: Draco knew what he was doing.

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A Girl's Best Friend, Part II - Chrysolithe

“The chrysolithe brings honour and dignity. It also fortifies the soul and brings wealth to its bearer.”

Icatemaloyupi. Stones of the Gods and their divine properties.

Mexico, I^st century A.D.

A few days later, Ginny found herself on the front porch of Malfoy Manor. The wards protecting the house had temporarily been modified to allow for her visit, so she had strolled down the alley leading to the manor without fearing defensive spells. This allowed her to gaze at the perfectly manicured lawn through the trunks of the cypresses lining the alley. Albino peacocks could be seen strolling along the lawn, their snow white feathers shimmering in the late afternoon sun. A fountain marked the end of the driveway and gurgled peacefully, topped by a marble allegory of Justice. Ginny found the irony devastating.

Before she had even knocked on the massive front door, Ginny found herself ushered into the manor by a properly dressed.house-elf. Since Hermione Granger had found her way into the higher ranks of the Ministry, legislations regarding all sorts of creatures- from house-elves to centaurs, and, some would argue, even Muggle-borns- had been thoroughly revamped. Support from Arthur Weasley, when he had enjoyed five years as Minister of Magic, had made Hermione's campaigns such a success that few were those today who would publicly mistreat a house-elf. Ginny was glad to see that the Malfoys, for once, were no exception to the rule.

She found Draco in the greenhouse, lounging leisurely on a seat of white rattan. He looked as dignified as the bronze busts of his ancestors, lining the corridors of the manor, his patrician features having come a long way from their adolescent pointiness. He rose to greet her immediately and with the uttermost politeness, a fact that still surprised Ginny whenever she stopped to linger on it- which, admittedly, did not happen often. She understood that, in order to reclaim their threatened position in the Wizarding world, the Malfoys had undergone a great number of changes, and politeness toward Muggle-lovers and people of lower extraction were rather small in that respect. Following trials that had remained private, Lucius Malfoy had been sent to a newly built prison for two years. Narcissa Malfoy, due to her positive intervention with respect to Harry Potter's life, had spent two months in a nearby facility. Draco Malfoy, acquitted on most points, was left to arrange his parents' affairs and pay the consequent fines that had been settled upon.

Several years down the line, however, the Malfoys were well on their way to regaining their prestige, if in a more subdued way. They seemed determined to protect everything they could so that their son could have the life they had envisioned for him, but aside from that, they refrained from intervening in political and economic affairs. Many foundations, amongst which St. Mungo's and the Wizarding Association for the Protection of Orphaned Children, received copious amounts of their fortune, and most people seemed content- proof that money is indeed the key to most people's hearts, or at least forgiveness. Ginny Weasley, for her part, cared little for the Malfoy family's wellbeing, and trusted Draco to spare her the displeasure of running into Lucius Malfoy.

Draco kissed her hand and pulled out a seat for her, then proceeded to pour them both a cup of tea. As the amber liquid filed the tea-cup, Ginny allowed herself to appreciate the greenhouse where all was soft, green, and damp. That environment of light and vegetation was so different from her own, but she had often felt that some trees, with their luxuriant foliage and bright flowers, were the most beautiful jewels one could ever behold. Here, however, even Nature was subdued, white and yellow flowers augmenting the ivies' arabesques with a muted palette.

“So, Miss. Weasley, how have you been?”

“Very well, thank you. And you?”

“Fairly occupied, but then again, that is to be expected,” Draco said with a dismissive shrug.

“I'm sorry, what is it that you do?”

“Aside from being on the Boards of Malfoy Enterprises, the Malfoy Foundation for Post-War Reconstruction, and the Malfoy Society Against Illiteracy, I am the CEO of Heaven On Earth.”

He had to smile at the absolute incredulity Ginny's features immediately displayed. She was not one to hide her emotions well, yet he could sense, behind the composure of her cool façade, some unsettling secrets that were not without power.

“In case you are wondering, this is not the label of some erotic film company of sorts.”

A brief flicker of amusement crossed her eyes.

“No? What is it then?”

“Heaven On Earth is composed of a series of spas, hotels, and restaurants located throughout England. These specialize in the well-being of wizards and other… magical beings. We offer everything from massages to relaxation concerts, tasting menus and jacuzzis.”

As if to punctuate his words, a soft breeze ran through the greenhouse, making the leaves and flowers shudder in its path.

“Jacuzzis?” Ginny asked, perplexed.

“A Muggle invention of fascinating interest. Perhaps I will show you some day.”

Ginny shrugged, and took a bite of her lemon tart, utterly unaware that Draco Malfoy had just discretely flirted with her. He, perhaps more surprised by the realization than she herself would have been, mentally checked himself.

“Either way, I trust that you are here to discuss business of a different matter.”

Again, she gave him a look that held neither interest nor lack thereof. Purely neutral awareness.

“Yes. I would like to understand your relationship with Astoria Greengrass.”

“I'm sure many people would, including her and myself,” he joked.

“Do you think perhaps you could try to explain it in terms I can understand?” she asked, smiling. “Events, happy moments, common ideas?”

“Astoria and I met at Hogwarts. I suppose we had been in contact prior to school, seeing as our mothers were friends and our fathers frequented the same… circles… but her older sister, Daphne, was in my year, and, seeing as Daphne herself wasn't particularly pretty, I never gave the family a second thought.”

Ginny snickered softly.

“I was indeed a gentleman of profound maturity at the time. I believe I may have helped her in Potions a few times, at her mother's request, but she was definitely too young for me at the time. Later on, I was… elsewhere occupied,” he explained as a polite euphemism for his attempts to murder Dumbledore and subsequent year in Voldemort's proximity, “and it was not until after the end of the war that I could pay attention to much else.”

Ginny tactfully looked at her cup of tea, marvelling at the finesse with which the golden threads sprawled across the China. She looked up to see he was staring at her, his eyes hard.

“After the trials, few were the… friends… who remained by my side. The Greengrasses were part of those, and though I understand that Daphne at some point hoped to catch my eye, it quickly became obvious that Astoria was the one who could brighten my days.”

“What does she do?”

“What do you mean?”

Too late, Ginny realised she had made a blunder.

“For a living,” she clarified.

Draco smiled outright, and she was surprised by how uncalculated his smile appeared.

“Why, Miss. Weasley, surely you would know better than to ask what people like Astoria, Daphne, or my mother, for that matter, do for a living?”

Ginny replied with a curt smile, unhappy that she had been caught.

“Of course.”

“I suppose attending tea and discussing the latest trends in fashion does not particularly count as `doing' much, but being the wife of a Malfoy is not as easy as it seems.”

“Of course not.”

Draco actually laughed.

“My, my, so much sarcasm. I could probably explain to you what the duties of a Lady of the Manor entail, but, seeing as this would probably take much of the afternoon, I will simply give you some homework for the evening.”

He called the house-elf that had been keeping an eye on them.

“With your permission, of course,” he added for Ginny's sake.

She nodded, absently fascinated by the manicured elegance of his gestures.

“Dimply, bring the Malfoy Code of Conduct to Miss. Weasley please.”

The house-elf vanished in a heartbeat.

“Code of Conduct? The Malfoys certainly do things right,” Ginny said lightly

“Naturally. This book has been in our family for generations, and I do believe it will give you a few ideas as to what I expect from my wife - namely, Astoria. You won't be surprised to hear that she expects me to behave like the Lord Malfoy as he is described in -“

The house-elf reappeared with a “pop”, holding a fairly small book. He handed it to Ginny.

“Don't be fooled by its size,” Draco said cheekily. “I promise you many surprises.”

Ginny wondered if he was referring to the many spells that could make a book contain much more than it appeared to, or whether this was his idea of a sexual innuendo. She refrained from commenting, trying to remain unaffected by either possibility.

“I'll be sure to read this. I am sure it will help me understand a lot about your couple. Thank you.”

He nodded.

“So, please tell me, what is it about Astoria that you like?”

Draco stopped to ponder the question. He seemed a bit confused, then shrugged, and smiled.

“Often, the most obvious answers are the hardest to give. Let's see. She and I get along very well. I'm not an easy person, and neither is she, but for some reason we manage not to tread on each others' toes. She always knows exactly when to stop. She always knows exactly what to say. It's almost as though a part of her can sense what I need at any given moment, and I would like to say that it's because she and I are so similar. Perhaps it is the very same thing that makes me understand what she wants and what she needs so often, as well.”

Ginny realised he was no longer talking to her so much as himself. She was glad he took the process seriously, as his interpretation of their relationship was extremely valuable for the engagement ring she was to make, and she had half expected him to say, “She's pretty. She's a Pure-Blood. She knows her place.” Of course, that demonstrated a certain prejudice Ginny couldn't quite afford to reveal, and so she listened attentively.

“There's something about her, this air that she has… I want to protect her. It's not like she can't do it herself, of course, but she's so gentle and frail that I can't help it. I want to make sure that she will always be happy and provided for, sheltered and safe. It's very hard to explain.”

His lips stretched into a thin, self-depreciative smile, but he meant every word he said and Ginny was touched by the fact. She thought she understood him, seeing as she herself had sensed that when she had briefly met Astoria. The urge to make her happy, to give her what she wanted, had been so sudden and surprising she had associated it with the seller's instinct; after all, if Astoria manipulated Draco into buying her jewellery, Ginny would be none the worse for it. She now realized the girl herself may have been a master at getting what she wanted from people.

“Does it make you happy when she is happy?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he replied immediately. “Sometimes it is even shocking the extent to which pleasing her can make my day.”

Ginny nodded absently. The most interesting part of her job was sometimes the hardest, since listening to wizards detail their love for a woman often brought her back to her own, admittedly self-imposed, solitude.

“Where do you see her in ten years?”

“Married to me, of course.”

“And?”

“Well, we'd both be doing pretty much what we do now. She would definitely not work. She would meet with her friends and discuss the future of wizarding politics. She would raise my child.”

“Child?”

“Yes. I- I suppose, having grown up a single child, I would have liked to have several, but she seemed to dislike the idea. We agreed on one. Perhaps having siblings isn't as much fun as I imagine it to be.”

He neglected to explain that Astoria had instead invoked her figure, and actually used Molly Weasley as the very reason why she would never have more than one child; he did not think that excuse would fly well with Molly Weasley's seventh child. A sad smile marked his words on Ginny's face, but, having had the sense that she had always been happy growing up amongst a horde of red-haired children, he could not fathom the reason behind it.

“So, all in all, a fairly conventional future,” she noted.

“Definitely. Our parents would probably disinherit us if we did not follow the traditional path,” he added, suffusing his words with enough amusement that she did not think it entirely true- but not entirely untrue, either.

For the following two hours, Ginny grilled Draco on his relationship with Astoria. Eventually, he eased himself into the role of interviewee, and found himself revealing more information than he would ever have suspected. Though he remained within the realm of acceptable confidences, he had the sense that he had rarely been this truthful with someone he did not know well. Ginny, however, did not seem aware of the intimacy her questions and his answers created, and carried on with the neutrality of a judge. She had always liked this part of her craft, since she now understood that being a jeweller entailed more than the mere selling of precious stones and expensive metals. What many thought of as an arid profession was instead a subtle craft, in which stones evoked personalities and jewellery could represent an entire relationship. She always took into account the unique aspects of the couples she met when forging their wedding bands or engagement rings, hoping to translate into a little piece of human craft the unending wonder that is human love.

She did not, of course, expect to ever craft such an object for herself - not since the war had ripped her of her certitudes and smashed down the barriers erected after her time in the Chamber of Secrets.

Draco, absorbed as he may have been, did not miss the changing emotions that washed across his interrogator's face. He saw that though impassibility and distant cordiality tinged most of their exchanges, occasionally sadness seeped through. It was the same sadness that marked her stern chignon and the dark shades of her clothing; it was like a veil of ashes cast upon the happy boisterousness of her final years at Hogwarts. When she was done asking her questions, she asked if she could see the house in which he had grown up and hoped to raise his children. He showed her around in relative silence, announcing the name and function of the various rooms, but otherwise abstaining from commenting. They both knew the Manor to be as she expected it, grand and formal as the old one had been, but thoroughly redecorated by Narcissa Malfoy after the Death Eaters' departure.

Both Draco and Ginny were grateful for the meditative mood that settled upon them then, as it allowed them to dwell upon the thoughts and memories excavated during the afternoon. He eventually escorted her to the door, and asked what the next step would be.

“I will need to meet with you one last time to finalize the ring. I will have a few more questions for you, as well as several sketches and some of the gems I will have decided to use. I will Owl you with my availabilities.”

“Please do,” he replied.

“Good day, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Miss. Weasley.”

As he watched her walk away, an indescribable feeling settled over him.

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A Girl's Best Friend, Part III - Amethyst

“Amethyst. Fortifies memory. Inspires suave dreams. Turns poisons into antidotes. Encourages temperance. Foils the charms and pernicious operations of a jealous person.”

Ludvig Von Biernen, Study of mineralogy.

Germany, XVIth century A.D.

A few days flew by and they exchanged Owls to discuss their next meeting. Draco found himself busier than expected and unable to see Ginny, although the various contretemps that emerged allowed them to continue their aviary correspondence. Beneath the careful politeness of their exchanges, an unsuspected form of complicity began to emerge. Personal comments and sarcastic remarks weaselled into their conversations like ivy into a crumbling wall, until Astoria, annoyed by the constant fluttering of Owls inside her house, had to be appeased by a shopping trip. Draco was happy to oblige, and Saturday morning found them in Lavender's Lovely Lingerie, one of the many new shops that had emerged in Diagon Alley following the end of the war.

As Astoria gleefully ambled through the store, Draco cast a cursory glance at the women there. It was fascinating to see how women of any age, shape or form, found themselves here, gravitating towards different styles. He saw one whose stance and movements distinctly reminded him of Granger, and wasn't surprised to see her picking more conservative items - items that, in fact, couldn't even be deemed lingerie in his opinion. A witch who couldn't have been more than twenty years of age greedily snatched the raciest garments, bits of lace so tiny and colourful that he would have otherwise categorized them as confetti. Ironically, the wife of one of Draco's co-workers chose fairly similar undergarments, much to Draco's dismay as he imagined her flaccid skin showing through the supposedly sexy scraps of satin.

It took him a few minutes to realise he had lost Astoria. He asked the salesperson if she had seen a woman with long brown hair and fair eyes, doubting that such a description would ring a bell.

“Miss. Greengrass? Yes, sir, she's in the changing room trying on a few things. Would you care to follow me?”

The changing rooms, located at the back of the shop, were fairly standard booths with thick, velvet curtains. In front of each were a small, antique-looking divan and a low table, where customers could drop off their belongings as they tried on the lingerie. Draco found Astoria's booth easily, as the divan in front of it was covered with the bags and boxes of that day's shopping. Draco leaned against the booth and lifted the curtain a bit.

“How is it going in there?” he asked.

Astoria turned and gave him an impish smile.

“I don't know, you tell me…”

The pale-green ensemble Astoria wore was tastefully ornamented with crème lace and minuscule river pearls. It was absolutely ravishing, but for some reason the paleness of Astoria's skin was increased by contrast and appeared somewhat sickly.

“I like it,” Draco said smoothly, “but I think the grey one over there,” he nodded to where a pile of undergarments awaited her, “might be particularly interesting.”

He added the last word with such intensity that Astoria's eyes gleamed and she snapped the curtain shut to try on the gray bra and panties. He leaned against the wall and was waiting for her to call him when he noticed, on the table right next to Astoria's booth, a small purse and a book. It took him a few seconds to realise that the book in question was the Malfoy Code of Conduct, and an additional few to note that the booth to his right was occupied by the temporary care-taker of that book.

Draco stared blankly at the bouquet of white lilies and gladioluses leaning against the divan in front of Ginny's booth. He looked at the flowers, and then at the curtain on his right; it was slightly ajar. He focused his attention on the flowers again. Then his eyes slid toward the opening of the booth. Draco shut his eyes, pressed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, and debated with himself. A few seconds later, he leaned in to peak into the booth.

Ginny Weasley stood there, as Astoria had minutes before, looking at herself in a full-length mirror. Expressionless, she twisted an arm to unhook her bra and dropped it on the floor. Draco watched intently as her gesture liberated two generous breasts, full but no longer as perky as they had been in her youth. He who had always admired opulent cleavages and found in Astoria's pointy breasts a daily source of attraction for the first time understood the beauty of a mature woman's body. There was something inherently fascinating about the fullness of her shape, the lightly padded belly and the roundness of her hip, about the resigned sadness with which she cupped her right breast with her hand and weighed it. Draco released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

Ginny gazed at her body with heavy-hearted resignation. There had been a time when, admiring her shape in the mirror after Quidditch practice, she had dreamed of sparking desire in a man, of turning their friendship into rock-solid love, of carrying a child to her breast and being fulfilled by the life of her family. In the past years, however, as she let sadness gnaw at her and her cynicism push back slews of men, she had become accustomed to the idea that she would grow old amidst her precious stones and jewellery. The irony of it was not lost upon her, as she who had grown without wealth but never desired it now found herself with more than enough money, but none of the things she had dreamed of as a child. The war had taken that away from her. As far as she was concerned, Voldemort had won.

The young woman shook her head and banished these dark thoughts. She picked up another bra and in one, deft movement, had it clasped. Coiling arabesques of brown cloth wound around her torso, similar in shape to those that surrounded her hips. Coppery threads laced through the brown bra and panties, and a small, leaf-shaped piece of amber sat right below Ginny's left hip-bone. This was by no means the racy material Astoria purchased on a regular basis, but, without being ostentatious or spectacular, it was incredibly alluring. Draco promptly glanced away, just in time for him to hear Astoria's whisper.

“Come look.”

She now donned a corset the colour of Autumn Damask roses, strung with small diamonds and silvery threads. It was not the gray he had recommended, but, quite frankly, Draco was not about to complain.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I think that if we don't leave the store within the next five minutes, Miss. Brown will have to kick us out for indecent behaviour in her changing- rooms.”

Astoria giggled and snapped the curtain shut.

***

During the following week, Draco did not have much time to think about what he had seen in the changing rooms of Lavender's Lovely Lingerie. The expansion of Heaven On Earth to France and Italy left him with little time on his hands, so that he regretfully postponed the last appointment scheduled with Ginny. Astoria appeared to find his absences increasingly difficult to bear, and he found with much regret that though they did not fight, tension mounted between them. His disillusioned attempts at broaching the topic were met with moodiness and snappy retorts like, “It doesn't matter- this whole Heaven stuff will be over with soon, right?” He tried explaining to her that the “stuff” she mentioned was, in fact, the bulk of his work, and unlikely to vanish from their mutual future, but she would not listen. He eventually settled with accompanying her to a dinner with the Zabinis, and later that week to a charity cocktail, as a tentative way to placate her.

Draco and Astoria arrived fashionably late, as was expected of them. They were immediately greeted by Rebecca Rosenthal, the CEO of the Parkinson Foundation for Magical Orphans, a charity that addressed the needs of orphans of all species - including but not limited to wizards, giants, dwarves, and more. Draco hoped to avoid his ex-girlfriend for as long as he could, but Astoria, with her usual luck, found Pansy Parkinson within a few minutes of their arrival. They immediately began chatting, a fact so unwelcomed by Draco that his only solace came from the fact that Pansy was steadily ignoring him. After five minutes of polite attentiveness, Draco kissed Astoria on the cheek - she did not even notice, as she was busy admiring Pansy's new necklace of amethysts - and left the two women, hoping to run into business associates, or, worse comes to worst, friends from Hogwarts. Around him, couples hopped from group to group, the women in floor-length gowns and the men in designer dress- robes, their footsteps resonating lightly on the impeccably waxed wooden parquets.

When he caught a glimpse of red hair, his first instinct was to smoothly walk away, as he did not particularly fancy a chat with Arthur Weasley - who for some reason was often eager to chat with him - and even less so with the man's sons. When he noticed that this was none other than Ginny Weasley speaking with Catalina Zabini, he decided he could perhaps casually head over in that direction. She had her back turned to him, and he immediately decided he liked the way her black dress left her entire back bare. The dress itself, otherwise of a conservative - if flattering - cut, gained much from the audacity of the exposure.

“Ah, Draco, how lovely to see you,” !” Catalina Zabini exclaimed as soon as she caught a glimpse of his blonde hair. She raised her arm in greeting and wrapped it around his shoulder as he bent to kiss her cheek.

Ginny had taken a step to the side and was looking evenly at the newcomer, noting that the dress- robe he wore was undeniably flattering. The light from the crystal chandelier gave her the best view of his gray eyes yet.

“Draco, this is Ginevra Weasley. Ginevra, my dear, Draco Malfoy, a charming lad.”

Ginny acknowledged him with a distant smile and was about to offer him her hand, since that seemed to be his preferred means of greeting her, when he smoothly kissed her cheek instead. The smell of his cologne made her heart skip a beat; he, on the other hand, regretted having chosen this course of action, as the softness of her skin under his lips had ignited a desire for more. However, this was not the first time a woman's flesh had tempted him since beginning his relationship with Astoria, and he was confident he would not give in—- his foolish eagerness to get closer to Ginny Weasley merely needed to be smothered in the nest.

“I see you two know each other,” Catalina Zabini commented slyly.

“Let's just say that Miss Weasley is helping me with… a surprise for Astoria,” Draco said, and the eagerness that coursed through Mrs. Zabini's eyes left no doubt as to the fact that she had well understood the meaning of his words.

“Indeed. Ginevra truly knows where the keys to a woman's heart lie.”

“Luckily for me, she agreed to hand over one of these keys to me,” Draco replied unctuously.

He saw that Ginny, utterly unaffected by the discussion that was taking place, gazed calmly at their surroundings. Draco admired the graceful curve her slender neck made with her shoulders, left free of sleeves and straps by the cut of her dress. Some part of Draco wanted to take her away from this setting in which she did not seem to be having a good time, though he could think of no reason why she was there in the first place.

“Catalina, would you mind if I borrowed Miss. Weasley? There are some details we still need to settle and -“

“But of course! Go, go, go,” the elder woman said, waving them away with a flick of her wrist. Her fingers shone with an impressive display of rings and two massive bracelets, so that Draco had no difficulty guessing in which capacity she was familiar with Arthur Weasley's daughter.

As they strolled towards the buffet, Draco expected Ginny to thank him for his improvised rescue. She did not reward him with so much as a smile, her eyes still lost in the crowd, her features oddly emotionless. The chandeliers above them cast glittering light on the heavy carpets and wooden panes, enveloping the guests in the beautiful but muted hues of glass and gold.

“What brings you here tonight?” he finally asked.

“I support the Magical Orphans' cause,” she said, turning to answer him with limited enthusiasm.

She had abandoned her glasses, which allowed for the light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks to be more visible. A single earring hung from her left ear. It was a small sphere of a black, gleaming stone, engraved with colourful designs the nature of which he could not determine. He wondered if she had lost the second earring and failed to notice it, but figured it might be rude if he pointed it out and decided not to do so.

“It's a worthy cause,” he observed.

She smiled at him with a hint of sarcasm.

“Obviously,” she said.

“Champagne?”

“Please.”

He took two flutes of champagne from a waiter's silver plateau and handed one to her.

“Thank you. This,” she nodded to the glass, “always makes this,” her eyes roamed the assembly once again, “easier.”

“What do you mean?”

She did not answer but finished her glass in a few sips. From the low hum of the crowd rose the haunting sound of a violin, soon accompanied by cellos' soft wails. Ginny obtained another one easily and turned back to Draco, a smile on her lips but with the same distance in her posture.

“So you've been busy?”

“Let's speak of this elsewhere, ; I would rather no one heard of my plans with Astoria.”

“Yet you told Mrs. Zabini…”

“If the woman did not know how to keep a secret, I am not sure she would still be here today.”

“Rather than in jail?”

Draco nodded.

“It is true that I have made two new engagement rings for her in the past ten years,” Ginny acknowledged, amused. “The balcony?”

Draco nodded again, and linked his arm to hers to escort her there. It was a familiar gesture, one that he used frequently with his mother's friends or even Astoria's cousins, but he realised it may not have been appropriate in this context. Outside, the air was warm - the day had been particularly hot and the stars shone like diamonds in the summer sky.

Ginny went to sit on the stone -railing, and then lifted her legs so that they, too, could rest on the railing.

“Not afraid of heights, are you?”

“I would have made a horrible Chaser if that had been the case,” she retorted dismissively.

“I had forgotten.”

She smiled sadly at him, and he knew that she was not thinking of Quidditch when she murmured, “It's so easy to forget…” Not even the soft breeze that blew then could dislodge a strand of her hair from her typically tight chignon. Absently, Ginny played with her earring, and then addressed Draco once again. This time, though her tone was serious, it no longer held the distress some of her earlier expressions had conveyed.

“If you don't mind, I would like to meet with you one more time before I complete the engagement ring. Your relationship with Miss. Greengrass has given me much to ponder, but I am not ready to forge the ring just yet.”

“I'm sorry, but did you just say `forge'?”

Ginny smirked.

“Of course. Did you expect me to make a few designs and leave the rest to some ruffians who may improperly interpret my notes, my intentions? No, Mr. Malfoy, I single-handedly create each and every piece of my jewellery.”

“And the stones? The metals?”

“Those are provided to me by dwarves across the world.”

“I was not aware that dwarves exchanged goods with wizards,” Draco observed.

“They don't, but I suppose it runs in the Weasley family to weave the most unlikely associations with magical creatures of all sorts - Bill with Goblins, Charlie with dragons, Ron - I don't even know why I'm telling you this.”

She gave him an apologetic look, uncertain of the reasons that had pushed her to divulge that information to Draco Malfoy of all people. She was even more surprised when Draco returned her smile with ease.

“Are you free next Wednesday for tea?” he asked.

“Yes. If possible, I would like for us to meet at a place that is of significance to both you and Miss. Greengrass.”

Draco thought briefly, an idea coming to him as the fresh scent of lilacs reached him from the garden below.

“Does it matter if I can't actually offer you tea there?”

“Certainly not. I will be content with water. Or Firewhiskey, even though I doubt I could find any in the locations you and Miss. Greengrass frequent.”

“You'd be surprised,” Draco said, casting her a meaningful look that made her laugh.

He decided he really liked her laugh and would have enjoyed hearing more of it. He was about to berate himself for the thought when, from the corner of his eye, he caught a silhouette walking promptly towards Ginny and himself.

“Draco!” Astoria snapped as she reached them. “I've been looking everywhere for you. I thought you were getting me a drink.”

“I'm sorry, Astoria, I didn't -“

“What took you? Mr. Parkinson wants to speak with you, and at least three of the Board members from Piece of Heaven -“

“Heaven On Earth.”

“Who cares?” she said shrilly. “They asked where you were. Do you know how ridiculous I looked when I couldn't tell them?”

“Darling,” Draco said, tenderly wrapping his arm around Astoria, “you couldn't look ridiculous if you tried.”

“Don't patronize me!” she screeched, shaking off his arm.

Ginny watched impassively as the couple before her fought, letting her instincts assess the situation so as to better incorporate that part of their relationship in the engagement ring. She was, after all, in an excellent place to know that disputes are a part of any relationship, and that only the strongest ties resist to the persistent gnawing of discord. Draco straightened and stared at Astoria, a muscle in his temple twitching. She, however, appeared positively livid.

“I have -“ she began.

“You've been drinking,” he said flatly.

“No. Yes. Yes, I have, because I had nothing better to do while you -“

Only then did she take note of Ginny's presence. She eyed her quickly, and a wave of anger hit her when she took in the jeweller's refined aspect, the sobriety of her demeanour associated with the sensuality of her shapes.

“Good evening, Miss. Greengrass,” Ginny said politely, but the hint of amusement in her words went unnoticed by neither Draco nor, unfortunately, Astoria.

“Why, you…” she seemed to be looking for the right choice of words.

“Astoria…” Draco said, the note in his voice both pleading and cautionary.

Astoria's eyes darted back at him.

“'Astoria' what?” she barked. “Nothing. Astoria,`Astoria' nothing! Astoria can be left to wander alone while you and Weasley here have a chat?”

“We only just got here,” Draco pointed out, his voice cold.

“I have been looking for you for the past half-hour!” she screeched. “Your own girlfriend, looking for you while you cosy up to a tramp too poor to buy a matching earring!”

Draco looked at Ginny in time to see her face to become void of emotions. The haunted look that appeared in her eyes then was only as impressive as the hateful disdain the rest of her features marked, and Draco knew Astoria had crossed a line whose existence she could not even fathom.

“Astoria,” he repeated sharply, but she wouldn't listen, turning instead to face Ginny.

“What? Why else would she not wear the second earring?” Then, in a cooing, baby voice that turned increasingly venomous, she cooed, “Or did Weasley loose the other earring in the Chamber of Sec—“

“Enough!” Draco snapped, and seized Astoria in his arms. “You're drunk. We're going home. Miss. Weasley,” he said, nodding.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Ginny responded in kind. “Miss. Greengrass,” she added almost as an after-thought, though her eyes were blazing like the fire in a forge, “I would watch my tongue in the future, lest you as well find yourself missing an important piece of jewellery.”

Surprise shot through Draco's eyes, but he did not seek to further analyze Ginny's words. As he Apparated both himself and his intoxicated girlfriend away, the vision he had of the redhead allowed him to measure how much she had matured, and probably suffered, her beauty but a disturbing consequence of these processes. She was hard now, like a diamond - stunning and untouchable.

-->

A Girl's Best Friend, Part IV - Amber

“Amber prevents losses caused by fire or inundations. It ensures virility. It prevents adultery.”

Leonine de Beaufort. “Flora, fauna, and oddities of the Foret de Blois”.

France. XVIII^th century A.D.

“Dear Miss. Weasley,

I apologize for the events at the charity. Astoria was rather inebriated and did not realise the consequences of her words. I hope you will forgive her, though I understand that her actions are not worthy of clemency, and that you will agree to keep working on our engagement ring.

If you are willing to pursue our agreement, please meet me, as planned, on Wednesday at five o'clock, in front of Malfoy Manor. We will then head over to what you referred to as a “place of significance” for Astoria and myself.

If you would like our agreement to cease, please indicate so, but I will admit that I would be sorry to cease dealing with you.

Warm regards,

-- Draco Malfoy”

***

Ginny had met Draco on the front porch of Malfoy Manor, where they took a calèche headed only he knew where. They drove along a path that, Draco explained, ran across the entire Malfoy estate, leading them through fields of grass and fields of wheat so golden Ginny could have turned the ochre strands into necklaces. The coach stopped right next to a small wood, where rows of sunflowers sprawled until they reached the horizon. Draco helped the young woman descend from the coach, handed her a white umbrella, and proceeded to guide her through the tall sunflowers that reached their shoulders. Ginny, pleasantly surprised by the trip and the glorious sun, followed him with enthusiasm and curiosity. At last, they reached a clearing amidst the sunflowers, lost in the shimmering sea of yellow petals. Draco unfurled a white cloth and motioned for Ginny to sit on it as he summoned a picnic basket from the calèche.

“This is interesting, to say the least,” Ginny said brightly as sandwiches, cheese, fruits, and wine danced from the basket to the center of the cloth.

“I took Astoria here for her twenty-sixth birthday,” he explained, and sat down in front of her. “She wanted something different, so I brought her to this place, because it's exactly that.”

“How did you find it?”

Draco shrugged.

“During the summers, my father kept me for an extra month after classes were over so that I could learn things.”

“Things,” Ginny said dubiously.

“Not Dark Arts, if that's what you're wondering,” he retorted, and from the blush that spread across her cheeks he saw guessed it had been the case. “Latin, French, a bit of German, some fencing, horse-back riding, of course… Need I say more?”

“No, I think I have a fairly good idea of the education your father was trying to impart upon you,” Ginny snickered.

“Only the best,” he replied, and handed her a glass of wine.

“Only the best, indeed,” she repeated, rolling her eyes.

He was happy to see the ease with which she had adopted the clearing, and the fact that her tight demeanour seemed to be relaxing somewhat.

“So you brought Astoria here for her twenty-sixth birthday. Did you bring enough wine to quench her thirst?” she added sarcastically.

“Astoria doesn't usually drink as much as she did the other night, and I am really sorry she behaved that way. She is incredibly ashamed and begs your forgiveness.”

Somehow, Ginny strongly doubted that, but she nodded nonetheless, and then motioned for him to carry on.

“You see, Astoria grew up in a family much like my own, where one measures love in terms of Galleons squandered on presents, and where time together is only spent at mealtimes. I was lucky enough that my parents loved each other so strongly that, in their desire to fully experience their love before they walked into the steps of their ancestors, they took a year to travel the world.”

The news surprised Ginny, who had never expected Draco's parents to be united by ties of actual affection.

“During that year, they saw many beautiful things - from landscapes to museums, jungles so deep the sun could not seep through their canopies, and temples so ancient that only magic held them up - but none so beautiful as the simple pleasures wizards across the world find. My mother claims she never felt more at peace than she did on the flank of a mountain in Switzerland; apparently it overlooked a lake and several other mountain ranges, and sitting there with my father in the cool air of the morning made her understand the importance of happiness not obtained through money.”

Ginny was quite familiar with that happiness, as it had carried her through childhood and had bathed her family with constant contentment despite their relative poverty. Of course, nowadays, monetary comfort was added to her relatives' blessings, so that even though the Burrow's garden remained her favourite vacation place, her parents and siblings occasionally travelled to Provence or Romania.

“I wanted to communicate some of that happiness to Astoria, because the feeling of wholeness I get from sitting here and watching the sunflowers slowly follow the sun's course is unlike anything else I've ever experienced.”

In any other circumstance, Draco would have been horrified at the poetic honesty he could feel pouring from his heart; but this clearing had an almost magical effect on him - he had always known it - and he decided to blame his comfort and sense of intimacy on the place rather than Ginny's presence.

“Unfortunately, she…” he shrugged and smiled. “She didn't like it as much as I did. She didn't really understand.”

Ginny nodded.

“Of course, she pretended to be thrilled, and acted like she didn't mind the occasional bits of grass or petals that got stuck in her hair.”

He neglected to explain how exactly the grass and petals had found their way into Astoria's hair, but he had the sense that Ginny understood what, overall, he was trying to explain. They were silent for a few minutes, until Draco let out a breath and looked straight into Ginny's eyes.

“You see, I think this clearing is important to Astoria and I, because this is where, for the first time, I questioned our relationship. I wondered if we wanted the same things, if we could be satisfied with the same things - if we would ever be content with each other. That doubt was an unpleasant, if not entirely new, feeling.” He shrugged. “It took me a few weeks to understand that questioning did not mean the end of a relationship - that, in fact, once one gets past the questioning and understands this is the right choice, then the relationship is all the stronger for the fact. I don't think I ever loved her more than the day I realized that.”

He sighed.

“But that was one year ago, and we've been fighting. She's jealous of the time I spend with anyone besides her, but when we are together all she wants to do is sleep or go shopping.”

“I'm sure you don't mind the sleeping bit…” Ginny pointed out, putting an emphasis on the word “sleeping”.

Draco smiled but did not comment. A delicate wind slithered through the sunflowers, making them oscillate rigidly.

“I keep looking for the friend who supported me when everyone turned away, for the young woman who helped me hold my head high and stare down those who called me Death Eater scum to my face or behind my back.” His tone became increasingly vehement. “I look for her in this woman whose new favourite past-time is playing with the kitten I got her for Christmas and who won't grant me a smile unless she has a new bracelet on her vanity. I look for her in the home we've been sharing and in the dinners we attend, at the charity banquets and in all of Diagon Alley's most expensive stores, and I can't find her anymore!”

His fists were clenched into balls, his knuckles turning white from the pressure he exerted on his strong fingers. His words, sharp and cold like Canadian blizzards, held more distress than his face revealed, as though he had long ago severed himself from his emotions and had merely stated their content for Ginny's sake. She did not touch him.

“And I don't know if it's her, or if it's me, or if it's us together, but this is not what I wanted and I have no idea what to do about it.”

She let him calm himself. She waited for his breathing to slow down, for him to look up from the sunflower at which he'd been glaring.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered. “I did not mean to say all this.”

She ignored him.

“Why did you come to me for an engagement ring?” Ginny asked in a low voice.

“I was hoping that the prospect of the engagement would make me see things clearly,” he gritted out. “I thought that if I could no longer look back, what I saw ahead would only be brighter.”

Ginny stood up and dusted her dress.

“You said yourself that overcoming doubt can make a relationship stronger. Only you can find out whether that will be the case for you and Miss. Greengrass.”

With a swish of his wand, Draco expedited the cloth, basket, and everything else into their coach. He was surprised by how abruptly Ginny had put an end to the conversation, but felt so relieved to have these burning thoughts off his chest that he didn't think more of it until, when he helped her climb into the calèche, she tightened her hold on his hand and leaned close to his face. Her brown eyes burned with a harsh fire.

“Regardless of what you do, Mr. Malfoy, remember this: when all choice, all freedom is taken away from you, there is nothing bright in the path that faces you.”

The intensity of her voice shocked both of them, and the proximity of their faces even more so. From where he stood, Draco could smell the sugary fragrance that emanated from her skin, and wanted nothing more than to bury his nose in the crook of her neck. For a second Ginny considered reaching out to touch the perfect angle of his cheekbone, that insolent slant that looked carved out of stone and led right to his thin lips. Her eyes drifted shut as he leaned forward, the same ripple of desire coursing through their veins.

Ginny drew back abruptly. In one, easy leap, she sat inside the carriage and waited, staring blankly at the scenery. She seemed so distant that Draco wondered if he had imagined the last few seconds. Only the pink tinge on her cheeks indicated that he had not, but he was certain that, if he were to use that as evidence, she would claim it that was a sunburn. He motioned for the carriage to start, and they headed back to the Manor in a silence that was not awkward, but not entirely unaffected either. Behind them, oblivious to what happened in their midst, the sunflowers continued to track the sun's progression with the regularity of a metronome.

***

Two weeks later, Ginny's owl delivered a medium sized package to Draco's office. He was grateful it reached him at work rather than at home, as Astoria had been increasingly moody and intolerant of his various solicitations. Some part of him felt guilty, as he knew, in some way or another, that he was responsible for the growing tensions in his household. He could not pinpoint it exactly, but it seemed as though Astoria was expecting something from him that he couldn't or wouldn't give her, and both her expectation and increasingly obvious disappointment were slowly driving him to the bring of madness.

Perhaps, he realized suddenly, the object of their unspoken litigation was the very box he held in his hands. She had been dating Draco for the previous four years, and most witches, by that point, laid claim to their right to a marriage proposal. Draco opened the box and pulled out a smaller, square jewel-box from the package. It was made of black velvet and sealed with a golden clasp, which he snapped open.

The engagement ring was snuggled between two folds of velvet, light playing gently on the gold. Minuscule rubies and diamonds flanked a pearl the size of a blueberry with swirls of red and white. They reminded Draco of droplets of blood, fallen on the snow of a fairytale whose princess would be Astoria. The ring was incredibly beautiful in a sweet and sad way, like one's goodbye to childhood, like one's departure from the family house into the wedded couple's new home, like the incertitude of days ahead.

Ginny Weasley had given Draco exactly what he had asked for, but he wondered if he had not asked for more than he could handle. The young Malfoy closed the jewel box and owled Astoria.

***

When Astoria showed up at the Galileo, Draco knew he had understood what she had been aching for, the very reason for her having pestered him through the past months. She was absolutely superb, joy and confidence radiating from her as she beamed at him. The grey dress she wore, a bit too fancy even for London's most renowned restaurant, left no doubt about her intentions; neither did the hint of the garters he could discern through the cloth of her garment. She seemed so radiant that Draco suspected she had caught a glimpse of the jewel-box in his personal belongings. He rose and helped her sit down after the exchange of a very tender kiss.

“How was work?” she asked pleasantly, unfolding her napkin.

“Busy, as usual,” he replied. “The Germans simply won't have us on their territory; I don't know what got into Herr Hesse - I thought we had an agreement - but apparently our plans are falling through. It's rather unnerving.”

Astoria squeezed his hand gently.

“I'm sure things will work out.”

“Of course they will. They always do. I just wish I didn't have to rely on him so much - we're thinking of expanding to the US and until Germany is -“

“Should I take the crab cake or the foie gras?” Astoria interrupted him.

She had opened the menu and was staring intently at the food. Draco bit back a sigh, used as he was to her lack of interest for his affairs. He gazed fondly at the thick curtains of her eyelashes as they cast small shadows on her cheeks, obscuring the green ice of her gaze. She looked up and caught him staring. A dazzling smile stretched her lips.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

She smiled harder still, and a pang of nostalgia hit Draco. These were the smiles he no longer saw, the easy and spontaneous smiles that had helped him through years of searching and fighting to regain his honour, his possessions, and his name.

The waiter, armed with the typical obsequiousness, came to take their orders. He was shortly followed by the sommelier, an Asian witch whose name was becoming increasingly popular amongst wine connoisseurs. She recommended a 1990 Chateau Margaux and left them alone to admire the shifting skies above them. The Galileo prided itself on the intriguing layout of its premises; the main dining room was located at the center of a globe of rotating cosmos, which customers could admire from above since the floor was transparent. Glass passerelles granted access to the dining room, while the occasional comet shower cast bits of light to each table's candles.

The dishes were delivered by puffy little clouds, and the couple began eating. For the first time in a few days, Astoria opened up and volunteered information about her thoughts, her days, her life; Draco had been so occupied that his meagre attempts at catching up with her earlier that week had been met with resentment. Unfortunately, she had been spending time with her sister and Pansy Parkinson, so that Draco acquired a bit too much knowledge on Pansy's attempts to seduce Blaise Zabini. When their empty plates vanished, Astoria turned expectantly to Draco. A small smile graced her lips.

“Astoria, we need to talk about us.”

She nodded mutely.

“I'm incredibly grateful for everything you've done for me, from the day you picked up whatever remained of me at the end of the war through today. Thank you for standing by me, as a friend and as a lover, because I really don't think I would be here today if it hadn't been for your support.”

Astoria blushed but looked intently into his eyes.

“Now, I -“

Draco's voice faltered, and he reached deep into himself to garner strength. The happy innocence with which Astoria looked at him did not help his inner struggle; she did not notice how his fingers clutched the tablecloth, too enthralled to see her boyfriend's distress.

“Astoria, I'm sorry,” was all he could muster.

He hated himself for the way her face fell. She did not understand what he meant, of course, but part of her knew already - it was that part that made Draco's mind well with sadness as he saw Astoria frown and her eyes narrow.

“What do you mean?”

Draco had rarely been at a loss for words, but the slight hitch in her voice, indicating the imminence of tears, temporarily erased all coherent thought from his mind.

“Draco.” It was more than tears, though, that edge to her voice. “What are you trying to say?”

“Look,” he began again in a feeble attempt to find the right words. “I know that we've been together long enough for you to expect a more lasting commitment.” For a second she seemed like she was about to say something, but she stopped when he went on. “I know you want it. But the truth is, Astoria, much as I love you, I think I am not ready to propose to you.”

Her nostrils flared and her eyes filled with tears. She jerked her head back slightly to prevent it, but a big, round tear slid down her cheek.

“You think?” Astoria whispered.

“I know,” he confirmed what they both knew.

Draco watched sadly as Astoria fought to maintain her countenance, her hands wringing the napkin, her knuckles turning freakishly white. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, and when she opened them, a dark anger burned through her green irises. They sat there, staring at each other, for a few minutes, Draco utterly dejected by what he had done but surprised by her reaction, that she was mute and glaring like a Gorgon. At last, she stood up and looked down at him with blithering hatred.

“I want you out of my life.”

Of course, Draco had expected something dramatic. He had braced himself for the tears and the screams, for the threats and the evocation of broken promises. He had been ready to buy her lots of jewellery and to wait a bit before she tolerated him in her bed again, until finally he could summon the will to propose. When she turned to leave and without an other word walked out of the restaurant, leaving him in front of the open dessert menu, he understood that she had the courage to do what he could not - put an end to their relationship. Only then did he fully grasp that he had profoundly hurt her. He buried his head in his hands and grappled with the guilt of feeling so intensely liberated.

The waiter chose that moment to tactfully remove the dessert menus he had discreetly placed there earlier.

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A Girl's Best Friend, Part V - Epistretes

“The epistretes is a stone of a brilliant red, born from the sea. It protect virgins from natural dangers (earthquakes, lighntning, etc.) It also has the power to appease lovers' quarrels.”

Miyako Shuemaki. “Precious stones, their power, their usage.”

Japan. IXX^th century.

The jewellery shop was as dark as ever when Draco walked in that morning, chased inside by the unyielding rain. His eyes adapted rapidly to the penumbra, the outside skies being barely paler than the store. A storm was brewing.

“You look awful.”

Ginny's voice rang clear, neither compassionate nor cutting.

“Yes, the rain does wonders for my hair,” Draco retorted sarcastically.

“I wasn't talking about your hair,” she said, coming forward.

She did not care to give him any further explanation, and so failed to elaborate. He noted that she was wearing gray pants and a black button-up, an outfit that would have seemed nearly masculine had her curves not surreptitiously shaped the cloth. Part of him considered the indecency of having such thoughts only a week after his break-up with Astoria, but there seemed to be no remedy to his wandering ideas.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy. What can I do for you?”

“It's the ring.”

He pulled out the jewel-box from his robes and handed it back to her without another word.

“Are you not satisfied with it?” she asked, genuine surprise rearranging her features. She peered at him, curious, and took in the dark circles under his eyes, the wry pull of his mouth, the economy and precision of his usually flowing movements. “No, that isn't it, is it?”

He shook his head.

“I didn't propose. I realized I no longer wanted to - that I had never really wanted to.”

Ginny looked at him sadly, her eyes filled with compassion. How well she knew that feeling; how hard it had been living with herself after she had expressed it to Harry! She did not understand the motion that pushed her closer to Draco and that made her place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Better to make difficult choices, no matter how difficult they may be, than to find yourself inside in a prison of your own making.”

He looked at her oddly, appreciating the unadorned placation of her reaction.

“As for the ring,” she said, “you needn't have bothered.”

She opened the jewel-box. There was nothing in it.

“I'm sorry, I - I must have dropped it somewhere…” Draco said, knowing full well that it could not have been the case and wondering if Astoria had taken it.

“The ring was not a mere trinket, to be forgotten at the bottom of a pocket, Mr. Malfoy,” Ginny said with a smile. “When your desire to marry Miss. Greengrass disappeared, so did the ring. It's part of its magic. It might even have vanished before you knowingly made the decision to break things off.”

Her smile widened and acquired a mischievous quality.

“Besides, I don't recycle.”

Confusion spread on Draco's face as he wondered what “recycle” meant. Suddenly, a question of an entirely different nature presented itself to him.

“Is that what happened to your second earring?” Draco asked.

He could tell from the way her face fell that he had made a mistake. From amused, her eyes had gone to cold and mute. Her entire silhouette tensed.

“I don't know you well enough to answer that question, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, her voice now sharp.

“I apologize,” was all he could find to say.

She appraised him frigidly, trying to understand whether he had meant the comment to be hurtful or whether he truly had no idea what he had inquired about. Finding his countenance satisfying and moved by a feeling she couldn't quite explain, Ginny did something she would never have suspected of herself.

“I must do some research on certain stones dwarves have offered me from Tronjheim. Would you care to accompany me to the Dumbledore Library?”

Draco looked at her with curiosity. He felt he deserved the rebuke and could not understand why she now extended a hand to him. Perhaps she felt pity for his recent separation. Perhaps she needed his phenomenal research skills. Or perhaps she, too, could not resist the growing complicity between them.

“It appears that even the Gryffindors heard of my talent as library researcher, then?” he said, smiling.

“Trust me,” she retorted as she summoned her purse, “whatever rumours concerned you at Hogwarts, they had more to do with girls than with books.”

He smiled knowingly and escorted her out. Though the jewellery store was not immediately on Diagon Alley, it occupied one of the small streets that branched from it. Within a few seconds, they were back on the main street and followed it to the Dumbledore Library. Ginny thought fondly of her Headmaster whenever she walked past, as she knew he would have preferred giant candy-canes to the marble columns lining the façade, and the statue of a striped sock to the imposing rendition of himself as it stood inside the hall. The library was a beautiful building, with high ceilings and interminable corridors, the greatest wizarding library since its construction a few years after the end of the war.

Draco and Ginny entered the library, and she made a sharp left turn to head into the sections that were closed to the public.

“Good morning,” she said to the guard stationed at a wooden booth in a well-lit corridor. “I'm Ginny Weasley,” she showed him a library badge, “and I need access to the Mineralogy department for myself as well as -“

“Mr. Malfoy, what an honour to see you here!”

Ginny turned as quickly as Draco did. They were met by a small, plump man with a thick white mustache and a dark costume.

“Hello, Albriecht. Good to see you,” Draco said smoothly, and shook his hand. “This is Ginevra Weasley, a childhood friend. Ginevra, Albriecht Vanhall, the very capable director of this establishment.”

“Now, Mr. Malfoy…” Albriecht scolded him, turning pink and looking like he had been bestowed with the Order of Merlin. “I won't keep you, but I hope you will find the library's collection to your liking.”

He bowed to Draco, and then to Ginny, and wandered off. The pair headed back toward the guard, who stood up and bowed obsequiously as they passed.

“Well, well, Mr. Malfoy, it seems like your fame precedes you,” Ginny snickered.

“Please, call me Draco,” he drawled, and then added, “I donated the quasi-totality of the funds for this library. Few wizards are aware of the fact, but,” he grinned ferally, “Mr. Vanhall most definitely is one of them.”

Ginny stared at Draco, wide eyed.

“You - donated - the Dumbledore library?”

“It's always a pleasure to find you so coherent, Miss. Weasley,” Draco said, secretly pleased at her display of emotion.

Though during their sessions to prepare Astoria's ring Ginny Weasley had progressively warmed up to him, he had always felt a barrier between them; it had become a wall when he had asked about the earring, and now, suddenly, presented a possible breach.

“Please,” she cooed, imitating his tone to perfection, “call me Gin.”

“Not Ginny?”

He had heard her brothers calling her loudly enough times for her pseudonym to have remained engrained in his memory.

“Not Ginny,” she repeated, the ghost of the morning's distance coursing through her eyes and then disappearing.

“Gin it is,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She smiled and directed him expertly to the Mineralogy section. The entrance to each department looked pretty much the same: a tall doorway with a golden oil-lamp, beyond which little could be seen of the ceiling-high stacks and the rows of neatly packed books. While the corridors were brightly lit, the sections were less so in order to preserve rare books and manuscripts from damaging rays of light. Draco was therefore surprised by the coppery penumbra of the Mineralogy section, but appreciated the cool and dry climate maintained for the sake of the books.

“The air smells like… sand,” he heard himself saying.

“Sand, really, in the mineralogy section? No way,” Ginny replied. When she saw he hadn't been joking, she looked at him quizzically. “A spell does that. Today, it makes the air smell like sand roasting in the sun, I think, although I'm surprised you could identify that without any training.”

“You mean you can actually tell what type of rock this smells like?”

Ginny smiled briefly.

“Well, you yourself said it smelled like sand. I can tell you that there's limited saline content to that sand, so it's probably not from the sea; in fact, I'd say that the chlorite-glauconite content makes it basaltic sand. They like to mix it up.”

“I thought you differentiated rocks based on what they looked like,” Draco noted, following her knowing progression through the book-shelves. He enjoyed the way the rich, brown light made her hair seem like tarnished gold.

“I would be a poor jeweller if that were the case. You see, there is so much more to stones than just their appearance. Their smell is unique, of course, but their texture is absolutely fascinating, as well; not to mention, it changes so much!” She had stopped in front of a stack and let her fingers drift across the spines of the books. “When you get a diamond from the rock in which it became a diamond, it smells and feels entirely different from when you have it polished and inserted into a precious metal. It's amazing to watch it change, and even more to have a hand in that evolution from a coarse, natural set of carbon atoms to a finely carved gem worth hundreds of Galleons.”

Ginny pulled out a book and handed it to Draco. He took it, amused by the notion that she was using him as a book-carrier, but too interested by her rant to comment upon it. He sensed an enthusiasm the likes of which he had never heard in her voice, and felt somewhat privileged to be present when she let her guard down. The fact that he got to watch her reach for books highly placed and note the strain in her garments also helped.

“What got you into rocks in the first place?” he asked.

She was already moving onward, casting brief glances down different alleys, as though she had memorized the location of different books. He guessed that she may well have had.

“You probably don't know this, but during your first year at Hogwarts, Hagrid got a dragon.”

“Oh, I remember,” Draco muttered darkly.

Ginny cast him a brief glance but did not press the issue.

“Well, my brother adopted it and brought it to Romania with him. A few years later, when I was visiting Charlie—“

“You named the dragon Charlie?”

“Charlie's my brother…”

“So plebeian,” Draco snickered. She handed him the next book with a bit more force than was necessary, and very nearly hit his hand in the process.

“When I was visiting Charlie, Norbert - the dragon - got sick. He vomited a stone that Charlie let me keep, because he said it was a bezoar, and had magical properties. It looked like a small egg, black and perfectly polished - probably by Norbert's stomach juices.”

Draco did not look thrilled by the description.

“So I looked it up, and found it was called a draconite. Not very original, if you ask me, but it's supposed to make you capable of vanquishing all your enemies.” She giggled self-depreciatingly. “I thought of giving it to Harry, of course, but by then he had already left to find Voldemort's horcruxes,” she did not see Draco wince, “and I kept it.”

She pulled out another book and gently placed it on top of the seven that Draco was carrying. As she turned to face him, he noted the look of tiredness that marked her features.

“I forgot about it for a while, and then, well… After the war, I wasn't sure of what I wanted to do. I found the stone again and remembered how it had felt in the palm of my hand, how I could almost hear it whisper of unparalleled victories and successful enterprises.” She shrugged and gave him a small smile. “As Minister Weasley's daughter, I had no difficulty obtaining an apprenticeship with Creon, the founder of Glauce's Jewellery and the best jeweller in England, and that's how I ended up here.”

“Well, you've reduced a Malfoy to servitude, so clearly polishing dragons' vomit has its advantages.”

She smacked him playfully on the arm. They found an empty reading room by one of the windows and sat at a table facing each other. Ginny took the first book from Draco's hands and opened it.

“So what exactly are you looking for?” he asked.

“Information on this stone,” she said, flipping through pages quickly. “Dwarves from the city of Tronjheim have offered to sell me some, even though it's one of their most precious stones. I just want to make sure that it's actually the case and that the gem's properties outweigh its value.”

“Reasoned like a Slytherin.”

“How else would I have made such a business?”

Ginny smirked, and he could tell she was proud of having achieved such a standing in the wizarding community, independently of her father, brothers, and Harry Potter. Thinking of the latter brought no happy memory to mind, but he did not feel the ravaging hatred that had once plagued him when Draco had recalled he owed Potter his life.

“Ah, look,” Ginny said suddenly, and turned the book so that Draco could see it.

Under the name of “epistretes”, he saw a bright, rich, red stone drawn with inks of different colours. He gave a cursory glance to the explanations below it.

“Supposed to preserve virgins from natural disasters?” he read, a sarcastic grin creeping into his voice. “I don't see how this stone could be of use to most women nowadays.”

“You understand ancient Greek?” she asked, mocking but pleasantly surprised.

“Sure, don't you?”

“No, I was going to use these,” she produced an enormous pair of Translation Glasses from her purse.

“Please don't let me stop you. I haven't seen a Weasley make a fool of themselves in years and must admit I miss it sorely.”

She leaned toward him with an expectant look on her face; this was not the reaction he had been expecting, and he did not like the interested smile on her lips.

“Actually, I was rather hoping you would help me translate.”

The light shining through her irises suddenly made them look more like amber than the dark brown Draco imagined. He realized that the darkness that usually pooled around her orbits had nothing to do with the actual colour of her eyes so much as the thick rim of her eyelashes and the distant sadness within. As it was, he had a hard time resisting the wide-eyed innocence of her gaze, and the sugary perfume that emanated from her skin.

“What's in it for me?” he asked.

The smile Ginny returned was unmistakeably impish. Neither knew full well whether it was also flirtatious or simply amused.

“The pleasure of my company?”

“I also read Latin,” Draco pointed out as though this would get him additional favours.

“Now you're just bragging,” she teased him. “It's brownie points or nothing.”

“You'll bake brownies? I have house-elves to do that for me, you know.”

“It's an expression, Draco. And no, I don't make brownies. I'm a jeweller, not a baker. Much to my mother's despair, I might add.”

As they spoke, Ginny had kept perusing through one of the books. She stopped and read what it said, then nodded to herself.

“Yes, that's what I thought.”

Draco looked at the page and could not decipher the script. It looked like none of the alphabets he had ever encountered, full of thick, sharp lines and points.

“Dwarvish,” she explained as though she had read his thoughts. “It says here that the epistretes' properties apply to unmarried women, not virgins.” She shrugged. “The Greeks were already obsessed about the sanctity of virginity when that book was written, but for dwarves it has never been an issue. I tend to trust their knowledge rather than the Greeks' where stones are concerned, but you can still have a look at this and tell me what you find.”

She handed him two dusty, worn-looking books, one of which was in Latin, the other in ancient Greek, then took a third book for herself. She toyed absent-mindedly with her lower lip as she read through that volume.

“You see, if the stone is a protection for virgins, then I won't buy it from the dwarves. But if it's meant to protect all unmarried women, then any father or even fiancé could want a piece of that gem for his daughter or beloved.”

“Although, admittedly, the odds of a lightning bolt or earthquake harming a wizard are rather slim…”

Ginny found his mocking smile absolutely charming and chose to ignore the warning bells that trilled in her mind.

“If I remember correctly, “natural” means not only “from nature”, but also occurring in a normal way, in accordance with the laws of nature. So imagine that you fall from a broom - your fall is made possible and necessary by gravity, which draws you downwards as opposed to say, upwards. If you're wearing the stone, the fall won't be as bad. Or, if you get into an accident with one of those fancy carriages of yours, the stone should limit the shock.”

Draco, interested as he was by her explanation, had a hard time believing the validity of her words.

“And you actually believe this?” he asked dubiously.

She looked at him, her eyes round with wonder, and started laughing. The more she relaxed with him, the more, he found, her laughter enthralled him. There was something inherently free and happy about it that changed from the polite giggles women around him had to provide in response to appropriate jokes.

“Of course I believe this! Otherwise, I would not be the jeweller that I am today.” She nodded to the book he was holding and added, “And part of my talent lies in my excellent capacity to assess the exact nature of these stones' properties. Research counts for a lot, but sometimes you have to look beyond what the texts say and know which sources to trust. I learned that the hard way.”

Draco was ready to see a wave of sadness hit her when she said that, but she gave no sign of falling apart at her own allusion to the Chamber of Secrets. Whatever kept exacting a toll on her happiness, her time with Tom Riddle's diary was not it. He resolved to find out what it was, with the understanding that success in that endeavour was highly unlikely.

“Well, what does your book say?”

“I don't know, I was too busy listening to you,” he replied glibly.

She glared at him and motioned for him to keep reading, but he was obviously not as used to this kind of research as she was. In the time it took her to peruse two Dwarvish texts, he had only managed to reach the portion concerning the epistretes in his volume.

“Unmarried women,” he confirmed.

“See? I told you so.”

Ginny beamed with confidence as she snapped her book shut. She removed her glasses, rubbed her forehead, and leaned conspiratorially toward him. Draco made a conscious effort to avoid looking down her shirt.

“So. If you knew what we now know about this stone, would you purchase it?” she asked him.

“It depends on whether it looks good or not.”

“Mmh, always does, doesn't it?,” she teased him. He smirked. “The stones the dwarves manage to extract from the earth are, in my opinion, some of the most beautiful things one can find in nature. The drawings you saw obviously can't give the gem justice, but imagine something ten times redder than the darkest ruby you've ever seen, burning with a fire the likes of which must exist only in Hell.”

“Impressive,” Draco said, sounding utterly unimpressed.

“It only is because of its properties. A lot of stones exist that are much more spectacular than diamonds or emeralds, but very few actually possess properties worthy of notice. Coincidentally, one epistretes is worth five rubies of the same size, cut, and purity.”

“Now you're talking.”

Ginny shrugged, rolled her eyes as if wondering what she would ever do with him, and pushed the books back for him to carry. As she rose, Draco gave an appreciative glance to her curves. He followed her through the stacks, enjoying the secretive intimacy of their surroundings. The young woman stopped without warning and his bumped into her, a rush of adrenaline coursing through him like cold fire as his body came into contact with hers. She turned to him, her pupils dilated - but with desire or the attempt to see through the darkness, he couldn't tell. She took a book from his hands, and reached for the shelf where she had to replace it.

“Here,” he said, putting his hand on her hip and gently taking the book from her hands, “let me do it.”

Ginny did not understand why she did not subsequently step back to let him manoeuvre more freely. His arm, as it brushed against her, made her blood sing with anticipation. Draco let his hand drop and she headed for a different set of racks. He helped her with the remainder of the books, negotiating his movements well enough that their skin kept touching. In the silence of the library, their increasingly rapid breathing whispered of a yearning neither was willing to satisfy. When at last they emerged from the Mineralogy section and stepped into the vast, brightly lit corridor, they knew they were safe. They also knew they had missed their chance.

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A Girl's Best Friend, Part VI - Jadeite

“Morsels of jadeite bring luck to the household.”

Lao Xin Yen. “Stones of Yulong Mountain”.

China. XX^th century A.D.

There was something profoundly soothing, Ginny noted, about letting your hands dig into a vat and emerge, streaming with pearls of all colours and sizes. She had always liked to keep them gathered together rather than categorized by their shape or provenance, as though their common mineralogical make-up could overcome their differences in appearance. She ambled through her workshop, well aware of all the work she had but unwilling to get around to it. Though the blue lighting of the room appeased her, her restlessness would not entirely vanish.

“Oh, hell,” she berated herself one last time and finally sat down in front of her workbench.

She summoned her sketches for Hermione's new bracelet. After learning that Hermione was yet again pregnant, Ron had asked Ginny for a worthy piece of jewellery to celebrate the arrival of the fifth child; she had been more than happy to oblige, especially given how generous he and Hermione were when it came to sharing their children, and had declined any form of monetary compensation. Catalina Zabini alone could have supported Ginny's industry, and since the last Weasley's reputation as jeweller had been growing, she had more than enough to spend on her beloved family. Thus she often chose to spoil her nieces and nephews, in a not so covert attempt to make up for her own lack of children.

Ginny thought of the way in which Hermione led her family, setting up all sorts of rules but getting a devious pleasure of breaking them to make any of her children smile. She also knew that her friend secretly loved her jewellery, but never made a show of it so as to prevent Ron from calling in old family favours. She decided she would make something that did not look expensive, so that Hermione could guiltily give in and allow herself some indulgent pleasure.

Hundreds of glass globes were magically suspended from the ceiling. With a swish of her wand, Ginny called forth several of these globes, at the bottom of which lay precious stones, semi-precious stones, and scraps of metal. From one of the globes she took several cabochons of pale green jadeite from Birmania; from another, a handful of red tourmalines a correspondent in Madagascar regularly provided her with. She selected about as many chrysolites, the vivid, apple green of their carved facets shining in the palm of her hand, and small spheres of Namibian thulite. Together, the stones would be beautiful enough that the jewellery would make Hermione happy, but the hues discrete enough that she would never suspect its price.

Ginny thought long and hard about what metal to use, knowing full well that yellow gold would work best. For her sister-in-law's sake, however, she picked a large band of white gold, intending to shape it for Hermione's slender wrist. She was about to cast the spell when her defence wards started flashing brightly. Immediately Ginny cast the gold aside and got up, her wand firmly held, to check the various quartz crystals hanging at the side of the entrance door. As expected, a dark shape was struggling against the wards she had set up, visible from different angles in the pieces of quartz.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked sharply.

“Merlin's beard, Weasley, cut off your wards, will you?” came Draco's decomposed voice, shortly followed by an, “Argh!”

“Finite Incantatem,” she murmured several times, tapping different crystals with her wand as she did so.

As she touched the final one, she heard a slight “bump” against her door. She opened immediately, half expecting Draco to be leaning against the door, but he stood there, straight as a stick, his hair tousled and his robes slightly out of place.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled.

“I'm a jeweller, Malfoy, not a hostess,” she explained testily as she showed him in. “I wouldn't have a gem on my hands if these wards couldn't keep you- or anyone else, for that matter- out of my workshop.”

He glared at her but she stared straight back, an eyebrow lifted daintily. At last he relented and allowed himself a small smile, still preoccupied by the petrifying thoughts and sensations communicated by the wards.

“Those were nasty spells, by the way. Are you sure they're legal?”

“Bill helped me with them, so yes,” she said, adding evilly, “although there are a few variations of which I didn't see fit to inform him.” She grinned. “Cup of tea?”

“Yes, please. Anything to make all of this feel normal.”

In a few, expert gestures, Ginny had two cups of freshly brewed tea ready for them- Molly Weasley had taught her daughter well. She quickly transfigured two of her metallic stools into armchairs and invited him to sit, which he did.

“So,” he began after a few sips, “this is where you work.”

“Yes,” she said, feeling oddly vulnerable after the initial commotion of his arrival.

Few people ever came to her workshop; of those, the vast majority had red hair; and of all of them, none were customers. This was her safe-haven, so much in fact that even the Weasleys had to be announced if they wanted to enter the workshop unscathed. For Draco Malfoy, in person, to be sitting there drinking tea was beyond the realm of rational possibilities, and yet here he was.

“It doesn't really look like the image I had of a… forge, as you put it,” he went on, looking all too at ease for Ginny's taste.

“I use spells to do all the heavy-duty forging work, so I don't really need large furnaces and pools of ice-cold water. Or the big, heavy, macho metallic tools that usually come with.”

“Or the billowing clouds of smoke, judging by the spotlessness of your walls and ceiling.”

Ginny's walls were indeed of an immaculate white. She had liked the idea of dealing with gems, which are inherently minerals of light, in a bright and clean environment, so she had kept the decoration to a minimum: a few workbenches, metallic stools, glass bubbles hanging from the ceiling, and some white cupboards, were all she needed to work. It gave her a freedom of movement she had never had either at the Burrow or at Hogwarts, and allowed her to spread stones, metals, paper, wand, utensils, and anything else she pleased, across working surfaces and floor alike.

“The tea is delicious, by the way,” Draco pointed out politely, interrupting the peripheral look Ginny was casting at her workplace.

“I got it from some Pakistani merchants selling me topazes,” she responded automatically.

“It's true that you have quite a fortune up there,” he said, and nodded to the glass bubbles.

“Did you come here to steal it?”

She grinned wickedly and he hesitated to answer that he had come to steal something much more precious than that. Astoria would have loved such a remark, he thought ironically, and probably even completed it with a delightful, “My heart?” He could tell that Ginny Weasley was not one to be charmed by such a romantic platitude, so he did not even bother with it, but instead gave her a smouldering look.

“No. Actually, I—“ He let his word trail and when he saw how she briefly glanced at his mouth, a minuscule feeling of victory pooled inside his chest, “—found these in my library and thought of you.”

Ginny gave no sign of being disappointed, but berated herself for having hoped for something else- Draco had just broken up with a long-term girlfriend, and even if that had not been the case, she was in a good position not to expect much of men, and a Slytherin more so than others. She quelled her thoughts of hands brushing against each other and the near kiss in the field of sunflowers, knowing full well it would do her no good to let her guard down.

“Really? Thank you. What are they?” she asked evenly.

“Mayan, Babylonian, and Japanese manuscripts on the properties of minerals. I'm not sure why we would have such works under the Malfoy roof, which is why I brought them here. I cross-referenced them with the Dumbledore Library and they don't own any copies, so hopefully this will be a valuable addition to your usual set of sources.”

Ginny simply gaped at him as he handed her the scrolls.

“Do you have any idea how valuable these—“

“Of course I do, Gin,” he replied smoothly, using his strong hands to close her unwilling fingers gently around the scrolls. “However, they are of no use whatsoever to me and my family, and I wanted you to have them. Not to mention, they are significantly lighter than the books you made me carry last week.”

Ginny grinned unrepentantly then became serious again.

“Thank you. These are very precious, and I am indebted to you for—“

“Then make it up to me by accepting my invitation to dinner.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, but, being Draco Malfoy, he did not stop to regret them or find them inappropriate at all. Ginny did, though, and eyed him quizzically. They stared at each other for a few seconds, he amused by the growing awkwardness, she envisioning all the possible meanings for his invitation.

“My mother's birthday is coming up,” he lied at last.

Immediately, Ginny switched back into her professional mode, one she was grateful to return to after the oddity of the moment with Draco. She decided she liked things better this way, clear-cut and emotionally un-invested.

“What are you thinking of?” she asked.

“I'm not sure yet, which is another reason why I wanted to see you here. Perhaps seeing you work will let me get a taste of what my mother could appreciate.”

It was the first time any of her clients had expressed an interest in the process of jewellery creation, and Ginny felt both flattered and shy. These were not feelings to which she was accustomed, especially since the rational part of her knew full well she was the best in her trade; for someone whose knowledge in the matter was as limited as was Draco's, any part of the process would probably feel spectacular.

“I'm actually forging a bracelet for Hermione, so you're welcome to take a look if you want,” she said, rising.

He assented and followed her to the workstation, where she transfigured the armchairs back into metallic stools. Ginny then muttered an incantation under her breath, and a thick-skinned, transparent bubble started forming around the jewels she had set aside for Hermione's bracelet. The bubble grew to be the size of a large beach ball and hovered, mid-air, right in front of Ginny. Without thinking about it twice, she pushed her arms straight into the bubble. As she did so, the membrane extended to form gloves around her forearms and hands, protecting her from whatever handiwork she planned to do.

“Ebullio,” she said, touching the pieces of white gold with the tip of her magic-coated hand.

The gold curled onto itself, and then a few bubbles erupted from the solid mass and popped. Draco understood the metal was boiling. It formed a perfect sphere the size of a golf ball.

“It has reached about one thousand, six hundred, sixty five degrees Celsius,” Ginny explained casually, and then prodded the ball with her finger, failing to see Draco's wince as she did so. “The other gems are unaffected because the magic inside this sphere is very selective. It's also what allows me to do this,” she seized the pale sphere between four fingers and stretched it easily, “without getting my fingers burned to ashes.”

In a few, agile movements, Ginny manipulated the gold to acquire the shape of a thick bracelet. She kept a very small portion of the gold on the side, and started placing the gems where she wanted them on the gold. Draco watched, fascinated by the malleability afforded by the forging sphere. He noted that the muscles in Ginny's arms flexed and bulged as she kept working the metals and precious stones, revealing that though the task appeared easy, it was far from being effortless. Part of him was also thrilled by the unsuspected strength of her limbs, envisioning how the lithe musculature he now discovered could be put to more interesting use.

“Bhendhi,” Ginny added at last, and the piece of gold she had set aside turned into a very long and thin ribbon.

She extracted her hands from the bubble with some effort and exhaled. Though the work often left her tired, she rarely felt as alive as she did following the completion of the manual work leading to the finished jewellery. She loved sensing the resistance of the metal against her will, loved making it twist and bend with a joint push from her mind and hands. That satisfaction showed, making her cheeks glow with a healthy fire. Draco was amused to find that though her surroundings were the epitome of control and modernity, there was something very savage and natural about Ginny at that moment.

“The rest isn't as intensive,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. Her voice was hoarse. “The sphere simply transfers my will to the ribbon of gold, but because it's so thin, I don't get tired.”

To illustrate her words, she once again set her fingers against the walls of the bubble. The golden ribbon started breaking into smaller pieces that then wrapped around some precious stones or coiled into floral arabesques, linking some of the gems with leaves and exotic flowers. At last, Ginny murmured a final incantation, and removed her hands from the surface of the bubble.

“I just let it cool down at a natural pace,” she told Draco, “so that the attachments are more solid.”

“It really is an impressive process,” he said calmly, satisfied by the blush that suddenly tinged her cheeks with pink.

“Oh, not really. Once you get the hang of it, it's not nearly as difficult as it may appear at first.”

Yet he could tell that she was pleased by the compliment- women usually are. She, on the other hand, was annoyed to find herself blushing like a schoolgirl in front of a man who, but a few weeks prior, would not have elicited more than a polite “Mr. Malfoy” from her lips. And though his charm was obviously to blame for the ease with which he had eased into her life, she faulted herself for her eagerness to believe his flattery. The feeling was simply too pleasant. She had not felt that thrilled, that interested in someone else's proximity to her in a very long time.

Draco hopped onto a stool and leaned forward, looking keenly into her wide eyes.

“Would you be willing to do the same for my mother?” he asked. “For a price, of course.”

She shook her head.

“I would never `do the same', as you put it, and the documents you just gave me are worth more than—“

“Please,” he said, interrupting her with a gesture of his aristocratic hand. “I thought we'd agreed to dinner in exchange for the documents?”

She gave him a look indicating clearly that she still thought he was joking, but the winsome smile he sent her way promptly convinced her otherwise.

“Very well,” she conceded at last, barely aware of how close their bodies stood when she took a seat on the neighbouring stool. “Where will you take me?”

“That is for me to know and you to find out,” he replied mysteriously.

Ginny gave him a heartfelt smile, excited at the prospect, and wondered how best to get him out of her workshop before she accepted any other offers he had to make.

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A Girl's Best Friend, Part VII - Lapis lazuli

“Lapis Lazuli: chases away melancholy. Puts an end to evil spells. Protects from pathological despair.”

Reema Al Mejhoui. “Gems, metals and their usage in the Badakhshan province.”

Afghanistan, XX^th century.

When, several days later, Draco knocked on Ginny's door, she had been crying for several hours and had absolutely forgotten about their dinner arrangements. He showed up at her door with an impressive bouquet of lilies, having remembered she liked those from the day he had spied on her in the lingerie shop. He knocked. He waited. Draco Malfoy was not used to waiting, much less when he was picking up a witch for a date; they usually had the door wide open by the time his hand touched the door's wood for the second time. So when Ginny did not immediately answer the door, he frowned, and knocked a second time. After a few, exceedingly patient minutes, he knocked a third time. He thought he heard some rustling inside, which prompted him to knock an additional time.

After a few minutes, the door opened ever so slightly to reveal a gaunt, red-eyed Ginny.

“Oh,” she croaked. “I forgot. I'm sorry. I'll apologize properly tomorrow.”

And with that, she made to shut the door in his face. Draco was not one to tolerate impoliteness, but the look he caught in Ginny's eyes was one of such despair that he stuck his foot in the door's way. She groaned and tried pushing it shut, with mechanical little pushes that showed she had barely registered the presence of a foot in the door's path.

“Gin, it's not going to close. My foot's in the way.”

“Take it out,” she said softly, her voice still hoarse from the tears.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Ginevra…”

“Take it out.”

He had to give it to her, she could be incredibly childish when she wanted. Unfortunately, he had years of dealing with Astoria and even Pansy, so that he knew how to deal with petulant reluctance without falling prey to the Bat Bogey Hex. Gently, he started pushing the door toward her until he heard a feeble squeak and all resistance abated. He walked into her flat and softly closed the door behind him, then turned to see her standing in the dark, her face barely illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the curtains.

“Ginny, what's wrong?” he asked flat out.

“Why are you here?” she asked almost venomously, though her voice lacked the energy he liked to hear in it.

“We had dinner plans. It appears you forgot,” he said coldly

She groaned. “I said I was sorry. Can you leave me alone now?” she asked rhetorically, letting herself fall on the sofa.

“No.”

“Please,” she murmured.

Draco crossed the room and sat next to her, close enough that he could hear her every breath, but without touching her. As his eyes accommodated to his surroundings, he saw that the floor and coffee table were littered with tissues, looking very much like fallen birds of white paper. The moon, shining through the curtains, cast a silvery sheen on his surroundings, revealing the high ceilings and wide windows of the living room in which they found themselves. The furniture seemed modern, made mostly of glass and clear wood or metal.

“Why don't you calm down and tell me what's going on,” he suggested gently.

She gurgled something in response that sounded suspiciously like, “I can't calm down and I don't want to tell you.” This was accompanied by a miserable sniff, so Draco handed the woman at his side a tissue and waited. These moments allowed him to become aware of Ginny's relative state of undress, as she appeared to only be wearing a bathrobe of a dark material. He tried to think no more of it than was necessary, but when she pulled her legs up and hugged them the task became significantly more difficult. He once again had to observe that she had very nice legs.

“Today's Fred's birthday,” Ginny said at last.

He could tell she was staring at some empty place far ahead of her.

“Well, why aren't you at his birthday?” he asked kindly, rummaging through is memories to figure out who the guy was.

“Because he's dead,” she replied despondently as two big tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I'm sorry.”

And he realized he truly was. Not because he remembered the guy, although he assumed this was the brother who had been killed by his aunt during the last battle against Voldemort, but because nothing, in his mind, should make a grown woman like Ginny Weasley cry like a child and bury herself in darkness as she had for what he now understood to be the past several years. There was something absolutely sick about how miserable she now looked, the skin around her eyes red and dry from the saltiness of her tears, her full lips trembling to the rhythm of unbidden sobs. He wanted nothing more than to enfold her in her arms, but knew full well that until she turned to him for comfort, the gesture would not be welcome.

“It's been twelve years,” she went on sadly, “and George still can't bring himself to celebrate their birthday.”

From this, Draco gathered that Fred had been one of the crazy twins who had opened the joke store somewhere in Diagon Alley. The remaining brother, George apparently, seemed to be doing fairly well for himself, though he was not about to point that out now. He did not know how those who claimed to love her could leave her like that, eaten away by nostalgia, walled up in the prison of memories she created for herself day after day since her brother's death.

“I think everyone else has moved on but George and me. Ron has Hermione; Bill and Fleur are happy as a clam; Harry's having a blast as the head of the Auror department, but I lost a piece of myself when my brother was killed and no matter where I look, no one can return it.”

Fresh tears coated her eyelashes and trickled in thin rivulets across her cheekbones.

“He was my favourite brother, you know. Well, him and George, together- they made me laugh like crazy. I always got to decide who the target of their next joke would be, even though we usually agreed on Ron.” Her harsh laugh broke into a sob. “They got into a big row the day they found out about Dean. George wanted to let me do as I pleased, but Fred thought he wasn't good enough for me.” She sighed. “I miss his over-protectiveness so much.”

Slowly, Ginny had inched closer to Draco's attentive but immobile form. Eventually she huddled against him, shaking softly, and he slid an arm around her.

“After I met Tom,” she went on, and Draco did not have to ask who that person was, “I thought I could overcome anything. It took a while, but my family was there and I was able to piece myself back together. The twins helped more than I could say,” she said with the hint of a smile shining through her voice, “treated me like a princess and everything. They did everything it took to extract a smile from me as tediously as if it were a bad tooth, until from one smile to the next I was laughing again like nothing had ever happened.”

Her long, thin fingers wrapped themselves around a fold of Draco's robes as she started crying again.

“But you see- now he's gone,” she sobbed, “and- and I can't laugh the way I used to. I- It kills me to see George, because he always looks like- like part of him is missing- and part of me is mi—missing too!”

Draco had seen that from the day he'd run into her again, in her jewellery store. He had noted the absence and the distant politeness of her behaviour, how she walked through life as though part of a different dimension. He had attributed her coldness and the darkness in her eyes to emotional troubles, though he had, of course, suspected they were Potter's fault. Draco, of all people, could never understand the gaping void left by a sibling's death.

“I wish I had been the one to die that day.”

“Don't say that,” he admonished her tenderly.

“No?” she asked, looking up to him, her eyes fierce. “Do you know what it's like to turn toward someone when you know he no longer is there? To think of calling that person to ask how they are when they're dead? Just because he's no longer alive doesn't mean he's not alive in my heart.” Her voice broke. “And how can you tell your heart to stop reaching out to your brother, no matter where he is? He is - he was- my brother,” she hiccupped.

When she started crying again, Draco knew that she was feeling better. Her sobs were lighter and gradually softened as the somnolence that follows any good cry settled over her. He caressed her head, running his fingers through the soft mass of her red, wavy hair. That seemed to further soothe her. She sighed sadly, curling against him.

“That's what happened to the other earring,” she mumbled after a while. “Fred and George gave me the pair of obsidian earrings when I turned ten. It was my first piece of real jewellery, and I never found out how they managed to get it.”

Draco could tell a fond smile was creeping into her voice. He thought of how most girls he had grown up with received gold and pearls from their earliest birthday.

“When he- when Fred died, one of the earrings disappeared. I thought I had lost it- even though it never left a box I kept at the Burrow. I hated myself. I missed him so much, and losing that earring felt like treason to his memory.”

Soothingly, Draco began caressing her hair. She had obviously been too harsh on herself, but he understood why, so that he could not offer her the usual words of denial but only the gesture of appeasement.

“When I started working as a jeweller, I learned a thing or two about stones and metal wrought together into jewellery. I found out that my despair for the loss of Fred had made the earring disappear as surely as if I had cast a Vanishing charm upon it.”

“Why do you still wear the other one, though? People must notice that it's on its own.”

“Because everyone pretends to have forgotten what happened during the war,” Ginny spat. “The dinners I attend because of my new status as London's best jeweller are filled with people whose role in the war was tactfully erased, people who stood by your aunt when she killed my brother. People like your parents.”

She sensed Draco's fingers as they tensed around her neck then kept brushing her hair. She would never have admitted it, but she liked the sensation of his large, capable hands on her skin.

“My parents made amends,” he murmured.

“Everyone did,” she retorted. “Yet, as you can tell, my earring never came back. Neither did my brother.”

There was no more bitterness in her voice, just a hollow sadness.

“So you wear the remaining earring as a reminder. The silent accusation of the people you now work for.”

She nodded. They sat in silence, thinking of what had been said between a witch and a wizard who, several years back, had found themselves at opposite ends of each other's wand. The darkness that now enfolded them, the chaos of the living room in which they sat, held nothing of the tragic events that had separated them. An unsuspected intimacy, perhaps engendered by those very tragedies, now crept between them like a slither of hope.

“I may not be the best person to tell you this,” Draco began, “but you will never be happy if you don't learn to forgive.”

For years, he had survived off the hope that people around him could live by that notion. Astoria had shown him that many witches and wizards did.

“But can I live with myself if I do?” she whispered pleadingly.

Draco placed two fingers between her chin and lifted her face towards his. Looking into her eyes with all the faith he could muster, he said, “Yes,” in a clear, strong voice. He expected her to break away from his grip, or to snap back an, “Easy for you to say”. He was startled by the profound vulnerability that shone in her eyes. He was shocked when, in one easy and quick movement, she wrapped her fingers around his neck and kissed him.

She kissed him without softness or hesitation, pressing her lips against his until his body responded to what his mind still wouldn't believe. Suddenly Draco seemed to awaken, his arms closed around Ginny, and he embraced her so vehemently that she arched backwards on the sofa's pillows. She welcomed him against her. They sank into the couch.

Draco, who had been actively ignoring Ginny's satiny bathrobe, found himself blessing the skies for the ease with which it parted under his fingers. One fluid pull and the belt came undone, the bathrobe's folds opening to reveal the redhead's splendid breasts. Draco paused for a second, reliving his voyeuristic moments in the lingerie shop, fascinated by the opulence and perfect smoothness of her skin. He pressed a kiss along her jaw, his nose grazing her throat as he descended to the clavicle and the hollow of her sternum. He did not notice the delicate trails of freckles that constellated her skin with light patterns as he was too busy absorbing the overwhelming feel of her limbs wrapped around his.

When she saw how hungrily he stared at her, Ginny no longer hated her mature body, as she had grown to over the past few years. She discovered her nerve endings were not blunt, as she had thought, when Draco's hand cupped her breast and his thumb brushed her nipple. She discovered her muscles were not old, as she had thought, when he kissed her throat and she pulled him harder against her, locking her ankles behind his back. She wanted him so strongly that need pulsed through her belly. She divested him of his clothes as quickly as she could, relishing the feel of his skin against her as much as he did.

Draco felt like fire. The hunger that burned through him seemed insatiable and the urgency of Ginny's movements did nothing to appease it. He let his hands wander toward her hips, feeling the roundness of her bum, the responsiveness of her limbs to his touch. Within a few seconds they were naked. Ginny's bathrobe lay in a pool of shiny green folds on the floor.

Ginny was alive. The awakening of her flesh was like thunder, coursing through her limbs and lighting sparks at the tip of her fingers. It made her aware, suddenly, of Draco, and of the way his usually measured and controlled movements now centered without question around her. She felt his hip bones digging into her belly. She felt his lips engendering trails of electricity on her breasts. She felt his erratic breath against the skin of her throat. She felt everything.

The preciseness and confidence of his touch had her blood humming with lust within minutes. She curled around him, wrapped around him, pulled her to him until they forgot everything- who they were, what they did, what this meant- any lucidity in their thoughts washed away by inexorable pleasure. When he entered her she felt so full she was shocked, having missed without knowing it the sensation of absolute completion afforded by the act. He sensed her surprise and held her tight, too inebriated by the sensation to let her get away. But she had no intention of doing so. She rocked against him with increased intensity, their joint motion made strong and fluid by the sheen of sweat that covered their skin. He drove into her relentlessly, pushed by instinct and gratification and a feeling of boundless freedom he could not explain.

When he came he felt like a teenage boy praying for the feeling to last forever. The pure, blissful current of pleasure that shot through him then and there could never live long enough. Ginny grabbed his hair and arched under him, welcoming the final, erratic thrusts and his moan, lost in the undulating coils of her hair. He collapsed on top of her. They lay together, waiting for their skin to cool, their muscles to relax, their satiated body to rest. Eventually Draco rolled over and pulled Ginny with him, nestling against her back. He fell asleep with an arm across her waist and his nose buried in her neck, having bitten at last into the forbidden fruit.

***

Ginny awoke to the morning sun. She was in her bed, her limbs tangled in the sheets, the pillow next to hers smooth and pristine. She closed her eyes, remembered the night's events and her companion, and fought really hard to bury the disappointment that welled up inside her. She should have known better than to sleep with Draco Malfoy, she told herself, and much better than to expect him to still be around when she woke up. She sat up, stretched her arms, and smiled. She did not regret anything.

She strolled into the living room, pleasantly surprised by the cool breeze that came through her open window. The white curtains curled gently in the wind, barely obstructed by large jars of a lapis-lazuli colour; smaller, similarly coloured articles of decorations sat on glass shelves. Draco was sitting, calm and composed with the Daily Prophet in hand, on the sofa where they had made love the night before. Her green bathrobe lay perfectly folded on one of her armchairs, so she seized it and put it on before he could see her. He looked up as she finished wrapping the belt and smiled at her.

“I didn't know what you eat for breakfast so I asked for a bit of everything,” he explained.

Only then did Ginny notice that her coffee table was laden with croissants, toast, fresh fruit, and other viennoiseries. She laughed.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. I owed you dinner, so I figured I'd settle for breakfast,” he explained with ease.

She was startled to see him acting so coolly, as though nothing had happened. She eventually figured that this was the most mature way to maintain a cordial relation and avoid any of the drama that usually accompanies this sort of situation. Part of her was grateful for the way he was acting; the other wanted more from him, but she chose to ignore it.

“Coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please,” was his response.

He had folded the Daily Prophet and watched her every movement in the hopes of figuring out how she felt. He could tell she had been glad to find him here, but knew that something was on her mind; he could not determine whether that entailed him staying or leaving. The sight of her auburn hair, in stark contrast with her bathrobe, made him ache to run his hands through it and pull her to him. He did not dare fulfil that desire.

Ginny returned with coffee, sugar, and milk on a tray. She placed them on a table, then took a seat on the armchair next to Draco. He noted the distance she was placing between them and held back a sigh of annoyance.

“So,” she said.

“So,” he repeated, eyeing her amusedly.

“Thank you for breakfast,” she said enthusiastically.

The speed with which she consumed a croissant convinced him that her gratitude was heartfelt.

“Thank you for—“ he hesitated, then stopped.

She smiled almost sheepishly, then seemed to take control of herself and smiled brightly.

“I'm sorry that I snore so loudly that you had to sleep on the couch,” she joked.

Draco stared at her as though she had just professed an enormous absurdity. Then his eyes narrowed and impatience ran across his features.

“Is that really what you think?”

“Trust me, Ron's made fun of me often enough that—“

“Don't try to evade the subject, Ginny,” Draco snapped. “We both know you don't believe that, although this is a very polite way of explaining why I didn't sleep in your bed.”

She shrugged, wary.

“Aren't you going to ask me why I didn't?” he asked.

“No. You're an adult,” she said, smiling self-depreciatingly, “you do what you want.”

Draco rolled his eyes, leaned to grab the armchair in which she was sitting, and pulled it so that they sat face to face. Looking straight into her eyes, he put a hand on her neck and let his thumb play with her full lips.

“I wanted to give you the choice. What we did yesterday, we—you weren't thinking straight.”

She made to answer but he kept a finger on her mouth.

“Tucking you in bed and staying on the couch was, well, a good way for me to learn self-control… and the best way to let you decide whether you want this or not.”

His voice was low, even gentle, but she could tell he made an effort to keep it as it was and not demand the answer to his unspoken question. Draco had grown up screaming, “I want!” not asking, “Do you?” and the price to pay for a childhood of treats was the simmering impatience that only barely prevented him from kissing the woman facing him.

In the years that followed, Ginny would tell herself that she had considered the situation with all its aspects and come to her conclusion after a mature, well-pondered and structured weighing of the pros and cons. She would promise her mother that Draco and she had taken the requisite time to get to know each other before they took any drastic measures that they might regret. She would assure her father that Draco had accosted her with noble intentions, the noblest of which undeniably was marriage. She would swear to her brothers that Draco had placed her under no spell whatsoever, though by then she would know full well that his charm and sex-appeal were more potent than any spell or potion.

As it was, however, she did not think of the years that lay ahead of them, envisioning them more as days and willing to pay the price for any happiness they may bring. She peered meaningfully into his grey eyes. She sensed how her heart beat when his thumb trailed across her cheek. She remembered the ecstasy and liberation that had followed his arrival.

She kissed him feverishly, he pulled her to him, and the intensity of what passed between them was the promise of a new beginning.

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