In Which Draco Malfoy is Jealous of a House

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mind.

A/N: This was written for a challenge made by Aerileigh at the DG Forum. The rules are:

1. The story must feature Draco and Ginny as the prominent pairing.

2. The story must have a minimum length of 1,500 words.

3. The story must contain a following line of dialog: "The house always wins," OR "The house always wins, [Draco/Ginny]," and it must be spoken by one of the two.

In Which Draco Malfoy is Jealous of a House

Never fall in love: it was the mantra of all serious bachelors, and Draco Malfoy was no different. At the age of twenty-six, he was proud to claim that he had never once had his heart touched by a woman. This was no mean boast, as the number of witches he had actually bedded was quite extensive.

But why should we enumerate all of Draco Malfoy's conquests as a young, handsome womaniser? It was the end of his heyday that really matters in this tale, the day that his heart decided to ignore the first rule of bachelordom and take the plunge into unknown waters. For, you see, Draco Malfoy did eventually fall in love. And although he tried his best to deny it (and struggled many more months quite hopelessly trying to persuade the woman of his heart that his feelings for her were genuine) there came a point when everything fell into place and the blond in question suddenly found himself living with the redhead he now called his wife.

Draco glanced at said redhead, a slight scowl forming on his lips. It had been one month since the wedding day. This meant, at least in Draco's mind, that they were still entitled to act like a couple simply enjoying an extended honeymoon. His darling wife, on the other hand, seemed to have other ideas about what a couple should be occupying their time with one month into their marriage.

“Can you pass me the smaller paintbrush?” asked his wife, not even glancing his way as she held out a hand expectantly.

Barely managing to repress a sigh, Draco grabbed the desired object from the table and handed it up to his wife. She thanked him absently, dipped the brush in the bucket of paint hovering beside her, and then ran the bristles along the skirting connecting the ceiling with the wall.

“You know, Ginny,” said Draco in a voice that suggested he had made this same speech several times before, “we could just use magic to paint the house. Or we could get a house-elf to do it for us. It would get things done a lot faster.”

Ginny looked down at him from the ladder she was currently standing on. “Look, Draco, I realise that it is beyond your pampered little brain to understand the concept of enjoying something like renovating a house, but I'll try explain it to you simply so your precious brain cells won't shrivel and die from the strain.”

But Draco had already switched off by this point. He'd heard it all before, sentimental rubbish that it was. She wanted their house to really feel like their own, and to do that she felt like they needed to redecorate the place with their own hands. This meant no house-elves. However, Ginny, much to Draco's dismay, had gone further with her redecorating fervour and had decided they should use as little magic as possible.

Well, she was right about one thing: he didn't understand it. All this physical work was making him feel like a Muggle, something a Malfoy was never allowed to feel, no matter how reformed that Malfoy may be. He knew he should have bought the modern apartment for them to live in until the manor was ready for them—Lucius having made it quite clear that he was not leaving the family manor simply because his fool of a son had decided to marry a Weasley—but Ginny had insisted they find a house with character, whatever that meant. Draco, lovesick fool that he was, had agreed to her wishes.

And so it was that Draco found himself purchasing the rambling old home in Yorkshire, a house that Ginny assured him had Great Potential. It seemed, however, that this potential could only be reached by a vast deal of menial work.

First it was the gardens, which Ginny insisted they clear and plant themselves. Then came the house itself. To Draco it felt like they weren't just renovating their new house; they were raging war with it. The curtains had to be replaced, the carpets needed to be refurbished, new light-fittings were soon demanded, and then, when he finally thought they were through with it all, Ginny decided all the walls needed to be painted because she didn't like the “aura” the present colours exuded.

Draco didn't know anything about auras, but he did know when he was tired of spending all his time redecorating a house, not to mention all the nasty creatures and surprises that cropped up because of said redecorating. All he wanted was to enjoy some quality time with his wife in that lovely, soft bed they had up in that bedroom of theirs. Was that really too much to ask?

Apparently it was, for Ginny was now demanding that he stop scowling at her and get back to painting. They still had five rooms to go, and then, of course, the second coating needed to be applied. Oh, and she was considering getting a new bath installed in the bathroom. What did he think of that?

Draco knew exactly what he thought of that, but he resisted the urge to call his wife mental and wash his hands of her completely, and instead tried a different tactic.

“Ginny, love,” he said in his best persuasive voice, “I don't think the paint is going to run away from us if we have a small break. Why don't you and I—”

“No.”

“You didn't even hear what I had to say,” said Draco, quite affronted.

“I don't need to hear what you have to say; I already know what it will be,” responded his wife. “And the answer is no.”

“But—”

“I'm not leaving this room until all four walls are done. I can't stand this horrible blue a minute longer. It's so cold and unwelcoming.”

Draco let out a small sound of exasperation. “The house always wins! Merlin, Ginny, when are you going to forget about this ridiculous renovating scheme of yours and start paying attention to your husband?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Ginny dumped the paintbrush in the hovering bucket, her cheeks already going a splotchy, if not unflattering, shade of red. It was a sure danger sign that she was about to get very angry, but Draco couldn't find it in him to care at that moment. The redhead was spending more time doing up a house than being his wife. He felt perfectly justified in his frustrations, and he most certainly was not going to apologise.

“Ridiculous renovating schemes, you say?” repeated Ginny in a surprisingly soft voice. He had been in enough arguments with her to know it was only the calm before the storm.

“Considering the fact that you're refusing to be with your husband because you want to paint a few walls, then yes, I would say they're ridiculous.”

Quick as a flash, Ginny was down the ladder and standing in front of him, one finger poking menacingly into his chest. “Well maybe if you helped more instead of complaining, we would actually get this finished a lot faster.”

“It's just a stupid colour, Ginny! What difference does it make?”

“It makes all the difference, you twit!” shrieked his wife, and gave him a hard clout to the ear for good measure.

“Ow. Why'd you do that for?” growled Draco, rubbing the side of his head.

“Because you're annoying me.”

“Well, you're annoying me. When was the last time we went on a date, Ginny? Oh, that's right: never. Why? Because you wanted to de-gnome the garden, and then you wanted to fight Doxies, and then you wanted to paint the walls. It's always about the damn house with you.”

“Can't you see that I'm only doing this for us? I want our house to really feel like our home.”

“Yeah, well I didn't marry you for a house, Ginny. I married you for you.”

For a moment the redhead just stared at him. Then she was throwing her arms around him and kissing him fiercely on the lips. Draco was so stunned by this assault that he lost his footing, sending them both stumbling back into the freshly painted wall. Neither seemed to mind this fact. Draco was far too pleased to find his wife finally showing him attention again, and Ginny was too busy babbling between kisses about how sorry she was, and how sexy and romantic he had just sounded. However, it was the question of what she could do to make it up to him that really piqued his interest.

He pulled his lips away, a smirk quickly working its way to his mouth as he met her earnest brown gaze. “Well, there is one way you could make it up to me…”

Ginny grinned in perfect understanding and then dragged him by his collar up towards the bedroom. There was a long-due appointment with a certain bed that needed to be met. The house, they both agreed, would just have to wait.

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