sweetproserpina wrote 'Winning Bid' for fearthainn
Title: Winning Bid
Author: sweetproserpina
Rating:G - Not Naughty
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary:As an employee of Wizarding Britain's largest auction house, Ginny often finds herself in the mansions of the upper class installing art and antiquities. When a pricless Zephyrelli landscape is snapped up, Ginny finds herself sent to a mansion where the Master of the House is all too familiar.
Author's Notes:Enjoy!
Beta: Lyndsie
"Do I have forty? Forty is bid. Forty-five? Thank you madam. Fifty?" The wizened gentleman in the heavy tweed suit gazed around the room, watching carefully for the smallest flick of movement. He saw a brief nod given by one of the house employees working the Floos.
"I have fifty on the Floo. Fifty-five in the room." He quickly acknowledged the caramel skinned bidder in the back of the hall. Another nod. "Sixty on the Floo." A pause in the flurry of bidding; the quiet before the gavel falls.
"Sixty going once, sixty going twice-" The man in the back quirked an eyebrow at the old wizard in the dusty suit.
"Gentleman's bid at sixty-five." The wizard at the auction block had done this for a very long time and had a feeling for these kinds of things. The madam with the hat was a regular and always bid with her husband's money. The lot up for bid, though, was not her usual cup of tea; did it tempt her enough? The fellow who was bidding through Floo was a dealer who had a shop up the north end of Diagon Alley. He marked up items outrageously, but was a skinflint when it came to spending here. Perhaps seventy would be too rich for his blood this time; would he loosen his money pouch, or let it go? But the gentleman at the back of the room was known well by the wizard standing on the block--he was a buyer of fine art and antiquities for very discerning clients and his pockets were as deep as Gringotts when it came to the perfect objet d'art or bijou. The question today was, did he want it badly enough?
Henry Hamstead, of Hamstead Auction House, held his small gavel aloft. "That's it at sixty-five then, all done at sixty-five. Final call." He held the little wooden gavel up for one more second before lowering it, and giving the block a firm tap. "Sold. Sold to number Twenty-Three for sixty-five thousand Galleons. Congratulations Mr. Zabini. Now, our next item, if you will all draw your attention to Lot number Three Forty-Five..."
Ginny listened with half an ear as she watched the proceedings from the back doorway, taking notes on the pieces for sale and the amounts bid. She often peeked in like this during her tea break. She found she was rather good at tracking trends at the house and had watched as certain fashions and styles waxed and waned. When she had started Medieval charms had been hot, enjoying a resurgence after the war, though now they had lost quite a bit of value. Recently, she had noticed that ancient relics seemed to be gaining ground. Last week a toenail that allegedly belonged to the giant slayer Gifford Ollerton had gone for forty thousand. Of course, Hamstead Auction House dealt not only in magical knickknacks, but in high end art and antiquities as well, and Ginny found they rarely followed the trends. If a piece was of the best quality, or from a certain artist, one could most assuredly expect a certain price.
Ginny may have been an employee at Hamstead, but seldom did she step onto the auction block. Henry was the man who sold the items and was the face of the company. If truth be told, he liked all the attention, despite his grumblings now and again. At twenty-seven, Ginny was one of the trained staff that installed items after they had been bought. She had started as a cataloguer after the war, and ended up learning the art of installation along the way. She enjoyed getting the lighting and spacing right, or picking the perfect wall colour to set off that one-off piece; plus, her job had good perks. Not only did she get to wander through the houses of the rich and work with incredibly beautiful (well, the toenail notwithstanding) objects, she got to travel. Now, after seven years of loyal, hard work, she travelled all over the world to install art and other items for their new owners. It paid well, and she was very happy there. Well, most of the time. Ginny looked up at the large clock in the hall and turned, striding quickly down the hall towards her small office. Ginny had had many repeat clients over the years, and though most were very pleasant to work for, some could be terribly demanding. They would owl at all hours or when she was on holiday. While it pleased Ginny that her clients were so loyal, it often ruined her social life. Her mum wasn't chuffed either when she'd be owled at the monthly family supper.
Ginny gathered up her equipment and wand and searched her desktop for the Portkey. She had one more appointment this afternoon before she could return home to her small cottage just outside Chipping Campden. It was one of Blaise's clients, and though she had gotten to know Blaise rather well through the House, he was always a wizard of discretion when it came to his clients--hence the Portkey arrangement. Ginny hadn't a clue to whose manor she was scheduled to go to this afternoon. Blaise worked for some of the wealthiest pure-bloods in the country, many of which preferred that their acquisitions be kept a secret from the greater public, so Ginny, not of the privileged elite, was kept in the dark about the identity of her clients. When she worked for Blaise's clients she would work by herself, or would be assisted by that particular manor's house elves if need be. When she had to install a particularly large piece, she would bring assistants from Hampstead by Portkey at the client's convenience.
Clutching a green marble with only a few seconds to go, Ginny squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the tug of the Portkey to take her to her desired location. The pull came, and within seconds she opened her eyes and found herself in familiar surroundings. She was standing in the wide back hall of a lovely Georgian mansion. She recognized the high ceilings and airy feel of the room along with the little elf standing at her knee.
"Missy will show you the way now, Miss Weasley," the small elf said politely.
"Thank you Missy, it's a pleasure to see you again. Are we in the Gallery again today?" Ginny enquired, thinking of the great long room where scores of paintings lined the walls.
"Yes, Miss. If Miss will follow me now." Missy started to walk soundlessly down the hallway and through a myriad of rooms and passageways. Ginny following quietly behind, not bothering to tarry, as she had seen the rooms before, and wanted to finish up her day quickly.
"Here you are, Miss Weasley. I's will make sure you are not bothered while you work. Please call when you are done, Miss." The elf let a small smile escape from her formal demeanor, as Miss Weasley was always very good to the house and never made a big mess for Missy to clean up. She snapped her fingers and disappeared, leaving Ginny alone in the Great Gallery. The paintings that lined the walls of the Gallery echoed the austerity of the house, and were all very well-behaved. They rarely spoke unless spoken to, which suited Ginny just fine, as it was much easier to concentrate on one's job without other paintings offering advice. The piece Ginny was meant to fit was a priceless Zephyrelli oil on canvas that Blaise had snapped up last week. It was a small piece, as far as Zephyrelli's went, but the detail in the little Tuscan landscape was brilliant. She took out her measuring tape and started to slowly walk down the Gallery, eyeing the other pieces and pondering where the little oil would fit for best observation. As she walked, she noticed a few paintings she herself had installed and admired how beautiful they filled their spaces. Ginny stopped once and examined a rather bare patch around a newer watercolour. She measured, then shook her head. It wouldn't do, unless she moved the portrait above as well. She continued to walk and examine the wall. Suddenly she stopped, and stepped backwards. She was staring at a painting she had installed just a month ago in the hall. It was in the wrong place, she was sure of it. It was stuck low on the wall and out of the light. She looked again at the pricey Bruneau oil depicting a raging sea, and watched as the waves crashed over and over against the weathered grey rocks.
"This isn't where you live," said Ginny, breaking the quiet of the Gallery. She tried to lift the painting off the wall manually to return it to its proper place, but it wouldn't budge. "Someone's put a sticking charm on you; how dare they interfere with my work! Well, we'll fix that." Ginny pulled her wand out of her robes and was about to unstick the piece when she heard someone clearing her throat. She looked around the hall and saw no one.
"Ahem."
She scanned the wall nearest her, and her eyes lit upon a charming portrait of a young witch, probably just out of Hogwarts. She was dressed in white empire gown with a purple cloak pooling behind her.
"Yes?" Ginny answered, with a questioning look on her face.
"You shouldn't move that picture, Miss. Master put it there on purpose. I'm sure he'd be terribly cross if you placed it somewhere else." The portrait's doe eyes looked at her seriously.
"Would he now?" Ginny spoke to the portrait. "Well, let me tell you something, he hired me to make sure this was in it's proper place, " she pointed to the seascape, "and I intend to make sure of that." She waved her wand at the picture and murmured an unsticking spell. The witch in the portrait looked horrified and hurried out of her frame. Holding the seascape carefully, she searched the Gallery wall for the spot where she had originally placed the piece. She was so absorbed in her work, she failed to hear the clack of the Master's shoes as he made his way towards the Great Gallery. If Ginny had been paying attention she could have even heard him speaking to someone as he approached.
"I honestly haven't time for this, Missy. Mother and I were about to sit down to te-" The Master of the House had now entered the gallery and noticed a figure at the far end holding a large picture. "You there!" he called. "Stop this instant. What is this all about?" he questioned as he shortened the distance between himself and the figure at the end of the hall. He came up to the comely young witch and stopped short while they both took in each other's appearance. Ginny's eyes twinkled briefly, noticing the fine tall handsome figure of the man, before her face took on a professional appearance. The Master of the House likewise bit back a spark of curiousity, before he spoke.
"Draco Malfoy," he held out his hand for the woman to shake. "I would appreciate it if you tell me why you are moving that piece of art." Ginny took the pro-offered hand and shook it, noticing the warmth of the slim fingers.
"I'm Ginevra Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, of Hamstead Auction House? You must not remember me; I believe you were a year above me at Hogwarts," smiled Ginny, still holding the large oil painting delicately. The years during the war and the eight long years since had softened many petty school rivalries. In fact, Ginny counted graduates from all Houses in her small circle of friends, and saw no reason to be wary of her client.
Draco searched her bright brown eyes, and smirked slightly. “Yes, I remember you were quite popular with the blok- well, you were quite popular there, before I left." Ginny's cheeks pinked slightly. Of all the ways to remember her! Then again, when she had first met Blaise he had made a similar remark, but she had sorted him out. She shrugged her shoulders and smirked back, a look of mischief in her brown eyes.
"Do you remember the time when someone charmed Snape's robes magenta for a week? That was the most enjoyable week of Potions I ever had. He was so cross, and yet at the end of every class I managed to walk out of the dungeons with a smile on my face. I never did find out who did it though. No Gryffindors claimed credit." She grinned up at him with an eyebrow quirked.
"That was Pansy's doing, actually. He gave a her a lower grade than she expected on an essay, and she has a terrible streak of a temper. Good thing she was ten times better at Charms than she was at Potions, or things could have gotten nasty. The whole of Slytherin House stayed away from her that week, she was that scary," remembered Draco, smiling slightly.
It was rather pleasant standing in the middle of the Great Gallery reminiscing about school days with Draco Malfoy. Surreal, but pleasant.
"Have you been back since you left?" Ginny enquired.
Draco shook his head. "No, I haven't. You?"
"No."
Draco suddenly noticed the large picture she was holding onto. "As lovely as this chat is, you still haven't told me why you're moving that painting." He pointed at the oil.
Ginny held it out so he could see it. "It was put in the wrong place. A dramatic painting like this shouldn't be practically hidden below an enclave of Regency portraits."
"I liked it there. Somewhere where I wouldn't have to look at it. If you'd be so kind as to re-stick it," Draco countered as politely as he could.
"If you don't want to look at it, why did you buy it? It's art, it's meant for looking at," exclaimed Ginny, gesturing toward the piece with her free hand.
"I didn't buy it, Zabini bought it as an investment for me. And I don't like it," retorted Draco.
"Why not?" bit back Ginny, temper flaring. She hated when a buyer didn't appreciate a fine work of art. They might as well have left it to a bidder who would, in her opinion.
"Because it reminds me of things I dislike, all right?"
Ginny scoffed, "You dislike the sea? Give over. This is a Bruneau, for Merlin's sake. Look at it."
"Fine," he pursed his lips, and stared at the dark, crashing sea. "It reminds me of the North Sea when I came back from Azkaban. So you can imagine why I don't hold it in high esteem."
"You went to Azkaban? That's not possible, you were working with Snape for the Order. Weren't you?" she said hesitantly. "I thought every thing had been sorted at the end of the war."
Draco shook his head. "No. I mean, yes, it was sorted. I wasn't sent there, I chose to go. I wanted to see my father."
"Oh," Ginny breathed out softly.
Still staring at the endless sea, Draco explained, "I had thought perhaps things might have changed. After all, the war was over for good and-" he shrugged hopelessly, "everything was so different after the war." He looked up to her, trying to hide the look of sadness that had appeared on his face. "So much better, you know. I couldn't help but wonder."
She nodded in acquiescence. From various reports, she knew Draco had lost more than most in the war. Snape had sacrificed himself at the end, and Draco's own role as spy had helped kill or capture many of those he had once counted as friends at school. Neither celebrated as a hero or shunned as a villain, he retreated to a quiet life managing his vast estate, and contenting himself with a few select friends. Ginny was about to speak when they both heard the soft clatter of heels across the marble floor. A serene woman in flowing sapphire robes approached them.
"Draco, what has been keeping you? The tea is waiting." She turned to the petite witch with vivid red hair. "Hello, I'm Narcissa Malfoy. You must be the Miss Weasley Mr Zabini sent over. I do hope there is not a problem with the new piece?"
"A pleasure to meet you, mum. No, there is no problem. Mr Malfoy was only sharing his opinion about the recent placement of a piece. It will be moved shortly."
Narcissa smiled. "Wonderful. I am always so pleased with the new pieces Mr Zabini finds for us. Would you care to join us for tea, Miss Weasley? I wouldn't dare take you away from your work, but perhaps you could spare a moment or two? I'm sure we would like the company, wouldn't we, Draco? The house fairly echoes usually, as it's just Draco and I at home most days."
"Of course, mother. Why don't we let her finish up, and then I will bring her to the parlour," replied Draco, who was glad to see his mother pleased.
Narcissa agreed with the arrangement, and left the two alone once again in the Great Gallery with only the paintings for company. Without speaking, Ginny walked over to where she had taken the Bruneau and replaced it, making sure the sticking spell was strong. Draco watched as she walked back, stopping to measure and examine a bare spot of wall on the way. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand, lightly marking the spot on the wall with it.
"That spot should do for the Zephyrelli. It's safe at the House at the moment, but I'll come back Monday and install it for you."
Draco nodded in response, and began to lead the way out of the Gallery towards the parlour. He stopped beside a Medieval tapestry of a unicorn and looked at Ginny, searching for the proper thing to say.
"I didn't want you to- No, that's not right." He rubbed his eyes briefly and started over. "Miss Weasley, Ginevra, you must know I have a difficult time of trusting people, for many reasons--mainly my previous wartime occupation--but that's neither here nor there. However, you seem very genuine." He glanced at her face, waiting for her reaction.
Ginny grinned widely. "Of course I am, Draco. You needn't worry about me repeating a word of our earlier chat. I have learned in my family that the less said, the less that can be used against you." She let out short chuckle at the familiar Weasley saying, and continued her way down the hall, leaving Draco behind. He rushed to catch up.
"You could get lost searching for the parlour, Miss Weasley. The Malfoy Mansion is a maze of rooms and passageways," said Draco as he caught up with her.
"Oh, I know my way pretty well," she smirked at him. "I'm sure I've been here twenty times at least in the past few years. Mostly in the Great Gallery, but a handful of times in the reception rooms."
"Of course," he replied. How strange that someone as vibrant as she had been here before and he had not noticed it.
They entered the parlour where Narcissa was seated awaiting them. Ginny looked around and recognized the room at once.
"Mrs Malfoy, I'm so pleased you've kept the Larkin piece beside the mirror. I had such a time finding the right light for it."
Afternoon tea progressed surprisingly easily, with the three talking of art and other interests. When it was finished, Narcissa excused herself to speak to her housekeeper, and Draco escorted Ginny to the Apparition point in the front hall and said goodbye. It had been a brilliant afternoon, completely unexpected and more than little strange if she were to think about it too much, but all together quite enjoyable. Ron would be utterly gobsmacked if he ever found out, but that surely wouldn't happen.
In her office Monday morning, Ginny sorted through her post, sipping her third cup of tea of the day, and noticed a heavy fine parchment envelope with the Malfoy seal on the back. Opening it, she discovered a letter.
Dear Miss Weasley,
I am writing to thank you for an enjoyable afternoon this Friday past. Mother thought it a delight to have a young woman of education in the house. She was in good spirits all weekend thanks to you. Your company was welcome to both of us. Thinking back to Hogwarts days again, I remembered in fifth year a particular red-headed witch had me running from Bat-Bogeys for hours. I must demand an apology for that, Ginevra. Then again, I'm sure I must have done something rather awful to deserve it. I am much better now, I promise. Allow me to prove it to you.
You mentioned that you would be coming to install the new painting today. Why not come before supper? Mother and I would be pleased if you would stay for supper when you are finished. If you have a prior engagement, I will understand.
Sincerely, Draco Malfoy
A broad grin stretched across her face as she reread the letter. She had been thinking about the encounter all weekend and was intrigued by the handsome character of Draco Malfoy. He seemed much changed by the events of the war, but there was still a spark there of his old sharp self, still the trademark smirk, the quick eyes. Supper sounded excellent.
A knock on her door brought her out of her reverie, and Blaise Zabini popped his head in.
"All right, luv? No problems on Friday?"
Ginny shook her head. "None at all. I met them, by the way."
"The Malfoys? Took you long enough, I've been waiting three years for it to happen. I always had an idea you would suit." Blaise grinned in his sleek manner. Ginny's eyes went wide for a moment before she rolled them upwards and let out a laugh. Slytherins never changed; they grew up but never really changed. Blaise was retreating from the doorway when Ginny called out to him.
"It's different since the war, isn't it?"
Blaise winked at her and smirked, saying as he left, "Better though, luv. Much better."
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to recieve: Post-Hogwarts, non-fluffy (though not necessarily dark), non-established relationship (aka first time)
The tone/mood of the fic: Generally upbeat. No angst, please!
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic:
Canon or AU? Doesn't matter
Rating of the fic you want: Anything goes
Deal breakers (what don’t you want): I want a happy ending. :)
Author: sweetproserpina
Rating:G - Not Naughty
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary:As an employee of Wizarding Britain's largest auction house, Ginny often finds herself in the mansions of the upper class installing art and antiquities. When a pricless Zephyrelli landscape is snapped up, Ginny finds herself sent to a mansion where the Master of the House is all too familiar.
Author's Notes:Enjoy!
Beta: Lyndsie
"Do I have forty? Forty is bid. Forty-five? Thank you madam. Fifty?" The wizened gentleman in the heavy tweed suit gazed around the room, watching carefully for the smallest flick of movement. He saw a brief nod given by one of the house employees working the Floos.
"I have fifty on the Floo. Fifty-five in the room." He quickly acknowledged the caramel skinned bidder in the back of the hall. Another nod. "Sixty on the Floo." A pause in the flurry of bidding; the quiet before the gavel falls.
"Sixty going once, sixty going twice-" The man in the back quirked an eyebrow at the old wizard in the dusty suit.
"Gentleman's bid at sixty-five." The wizard at the auction block had done this for a very long time and had a feeling for these kinds of things. The madam with the hat was a regular and always bid with her husband's money. The lot up for bid, though, was not her usual cup of tea; did it tempt her enough? The fellow who was bidding through Floo was a dealer who had a shop up the north end of Diagon Alley. He marked up items outrageously, but was a skinflint when it came to spending here. Perhaps seventy would be too rich for his blood this time; would he loosen his money pouch, or let it go? But the gentleman at the back of the room was known well by the wizard standing on the block--he was a buyer of fine art and antiquities for very discerning clients and his pockets were as deep as Gringotts when it came to the perfect objet d'art or bijou. The question today was, did he want it badly enough?
Henry Hamstead, of Hamstead Auction House, held his small gavel aloft. "That's it at sixty-five then, all done at sixty-five. Final call." He held the little wooden gavel up for one more second before lowering it, and giving the block a firm tap. "Sold. Sold to number Twenty-Three for sixty-five thousand Galleons. Congratulations Mr. Zabini. Now, our next item, if you will all draw your attention to Lot number Three Forty-Five..."
Ginny listened with half an ear as she watched the proceedings from the back doorway, taking notes on the pieces for sale and the amounts bid. She often peeked in like this during her tea break. She found she was rather good at tracking trends at the house and had watched as certain fashions and styles waxed and waned. When she had started Medieval charms had been hot, enjoying a resurgence after the war, though now they had lost quite a bit of value. Recently, she had noticed that ancient relics seemed to be gaining ground. Last week a toenail that allegedly belonged to the giant slayer Gifford Ollerton had gone for forty thousand. Of course, Hamstead Auction House dealt not only in magical knickknacks, but in high end art and antiquities as well, and Ginny found they rarely followed the trends. If a piece was of the best quality, or from a certain artist, one could most assuredly expect a certain price.
Ginny may have been an employee at Hamstead, but seldom did she step onto the auction block. Henry was the man who sold the items and was the face of the company. If truth be told, he liked all the attention, despite his grumblings now and again. At twenty-seven, Ginny was one of the trained staff that installed items after they had been bought. She had started as a cataloguer after the war, and ended up learning the art of installation along the way. She enjoyed getting the lighting and spacing right, or picking the perfect wall colour to set off that one-off piece; plus, her job had good perks. Not only did she get to wander through the houses of the rich and work with incredibly beautiful (well, the toenail notwithstanding) objects, she got to travel. Now, after seven years of loyal, hard work, she travelled all over the world to install art and other items for their new owners. It paid well, and she was very happy there. Well, most of the time. Ginny looked up at the large clock in the hall and turned, striding quickly down the hall towards her small office. Ginny had had many repeat clients over the years, and though most were very pleasant to work for, some could be terribly demanding. They would owl at all hours or when she was on holiday. While it pleased Ginny that her clients were so loyal, it often ruined her social life. Her mum wasn't chuffed either when she'd be owled at the monthly family supper.
Ginny gathered up her equipment and wand and searched her desktop for the Portkey. She had one more appointment this afternoon before she could return home to her small cottage just outside Chipping Campden. It was one of Blaise's clients, and though she had gotten to know Blaise rather well through the House, he was always a wizard of discretion when it came to his clients--hence the Portkey arrangement. Ginny hadn't a clue to whose manor she was scheduled to go to this afternoon. Blaise worked for some of the wealthiest pure-bloods in the country, many of which preferred that their acquisitions be kept a secret from the greater public, so Ginny, not of the privileged elite, was kept in the dark about the identity of her clients. When she worked for Blaise's clients she would work by herself, or would be assisted by that particular manor's house elves if need be. When she had to install a particularly large piece, she would bring assistants from Hampstead by Portkey at the client's convenience.
Clutching a green marble with only a few seconds to go, Ginny squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the tug of the Portkey to take her to her desired location. The pull came, and within seconds she opened her eyes and found herself in familiar surroundings. She was standing in the wide back hall of a lovely Georgian mansion. She recognized the high ceilings and airy feel of the room along with the little elf standing at her knee.
"Missy will show you the way now, Miss Weasley," the small elf said politely.
"Thank you Missy, it's a pleasure to see you again. Are we in the Gallery again today?" Ginny enquired, thinking of the great long room where scores of paintings lined the walls.
"Yes, Miss. If Miss will follow me now." Missy started to walk soundlessly down the hallway and through a myriad of rooms and passageways. Ginny following quietly behind, not bothering to tarry, as she had seen the rooms before, and wanted to finish up her day quickly.
"Here you are, Miss Weasley. I's will make sure you are not bothered while you work. Please call when you are done, Miss." The elf let a small smile escape from her formal demeanor, as Miss Weasley was always very good to the house and never made a big mess for Missy to clean up. She snapped her fingers and disappeared, leaving Ginny alone in the Great Gallery. The paintings that lined the walls of the Gallery echoed the austerity of the house, and were all very well-behaved. They rarely spoke unless spoken to, which suited Ginny just fine, as it was much easier to concentrate on one's job without other paintings offering advice. The piece Ginny was meant to fit was a priceless Zephyrelli oil on canvas that Blaise had snapped up last week. It was a small piece, as far as Zephyrelli's went, but the detail in the little Tuscan landscape was brilliant. She took out her measuring tape and started to slowly walk down the Gallery, eyeing the other pieces and pondering where the little oil would fit for best observation. As she walked, she noticed a few paintings she herself had installed and admired how beautiful they filled their spaces. Ginny stopped once and examined a rather bare patch around a newer watercolour. She measured, then shook her head. It wouldn't do, unless she moved the portrait above as well. She continued to walk and examine the wall. Suddenly she stopped, and stepped backwards. She was staring at a painting she had installed just a month ago in the hall. It was in the wrong place, she was sure of it. It was stuck low on the wall and out of the light. She looked again at the pricey Bruneau oil depicting a raging sea, and watched as the waves crashed over and over against the weathered grey rocks.
"This isn't where you live," said Ginny, breaking the quiet of the Gallery. She tried to lift the painting off the wall manually to return it to its proper place, but it wouldn't budge. "Someone's put a sticking charm on you; how dare they interfere with my work! Well, we'll fix that." Ginny pulled her wand out of her robes and was about to unstick the piece when she heard someone clearing her throat. She looked around the hall and saw no one.
"Ahem."
She scanned the wall nearest her, and her eyes lit upon a charming portrait of a young witch, probably just out of Hogwarts. She was dressed in white empire gown with a purple cloak pooling behind her.
"Yes?" Ginny answered, with a questioning look on her face.
"You shouldn't move that picture, Miss. Master put it there on purpose. I'm sure he'd be terribly cross if you placed it somewhere else." The portrait's doe eyes looked at her seriously.
"Would he now?" Ginny spoke to the portrait. "Well, let me tell you something, he hired me to make sure this was in it's proper place, " she pointed to the seascape, "and I intend to make sure of that." She waved her wand at the picture and murmured an unsticking spell. The witch in the portrait looked horrified and hurried out of her frame. Holding the seascape carefully, she searched the Gallery wall for the spot where she had originally placed the piece. She was so absorbed in her work, she failed to hear the clack of the Master's shoes as he made his way towards the Great Gallery. If Ginny had been paying attention she could have even heard him speaking to someone as he approached.
"I honestly haven't time for this, Missy. Mother and I were about to sit down to te-" The Master of the House had now entered the gallery and noticed a figure at the far end holding a large picture. "You there!" he called. "Stop this instant. What is this all about?" he questioned as he shortened the distance between himself and the figure at the end of the hall. He came up to the comely young witch and stopped short while they both took in each other's appearance. Ginny's eyes twinkled briefly, noticing the fine tall handsome figure of the man, before her face took on a professional appearance. The Master of the House likewise bit back a spark of curiousity, before he spoke.
"Draco Malfoy," he held out his hand for the woman to shake. "I would appreciate it if you tell me why you are moving that piece of art." Ginny took the pro-offered hand and shook it, noticing the warmth of the slim fingers.
"I'm Ginevra Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, of Hamstead Auction House? You must not remember me; I believe you were a year above me at Hogwarts," smiled Ginny, still holding the large oil painting delicately. The years during the war and the eight long years since had softened many petty school rivalries. In fact, Ginny counted graduates from all Houses in her small circle of friends, and saw no reason to be wary of her client.
Draco searched her bright brown eyes, and smirked slightly. “Yes, I remember you were quite popular with the blok- well, you were quite popular there, before I left." Ginny's cheeks pinked slightly. Of all the ways to remember her! Then again, when she had first met Blaise he had made a similar remark, but she had sorted him out. She shrugged her shoulders and smirked back, a look of mischief in her brown eyes.
"Do you remember the time when someone charmed Snape's robes magenta for a week? That was the most enjoyable week of Potions I ever had. He was so cross, and yet at the end of every class I managed to walk out of the dungeons with a smile on my face. I never did find out who did it though. No Gryffindors claimed credit." She grinned up at him with an eyebrow quirked.
"That was Pansy's doing, actually. He gave a her a lower grade than she expected on an essay, and she has a terrible streak of a temper. Good thing she was ten times better at Charms than she was at Potions, or things could have gotten nasty. The whole of Slytherin House stayed away from her that week, she was that scary," remembered Draco, smiling slightly.
It was rather pleasant standing in the middle of the Great Gallery reminiscing about school days with Draco Malfoy. Surreal, but pleasant.
"Have you been back since you left?" Ginny enquired.
Draco shook his head. "No, I haven't. You?"
"No."
Draco suddenly noticed the large picture she was holding onto. "As lovely as this chat is, you still haven't told me why you're moving that painting." He pointed at the oil.
Ginny held it out so he could see it. "It was put in the wrong place. A dramatic painting like this shouldn't be practically hidden below an enclave of Regency portraits."
"I liked it there. Somewhere where I wouldn't have to look at it. If you'd be so kind as to re-stick it," Draco countered as politely as he could.
"If you don't want to look at it, why did you buy it? It's art, it's meant for looking at," exclaimed Ginny, gesturing toward the piece with her free hand.
"I didn't buy it, Zabini bought it as an investment for me. And I don't like it," retorted Draco.
"Why not?" bit back Ginny, temper flaring. She hated when a buyer didn't appreciate a fine work of art. They might as well have left it to a bidder who would, in her opinion.
"Because it reminds me of things I dislike, all right?"
Ginny scoffed, "You dislike the sea? Give over. This is a Bruneau, for Merlin's sake. Look at it."
"Fine," he pursed his lips, and stared at the dark, crashing sea. "It reminds me of the North Sea when I came back from Azkaban. So you can imagine why I don't hold it in high esteem."
"You went to Azkaban? That's not possible, you were working with Snape for the Order. Weren't you?" she said hesitantly. "I thought every thing had been sorted at the end of the war."
Draco shook his head. "No. I mean, yes, it was sorted. I wasn't sent there, I chose to go. I wanted to see my father."
"Oh," Ginny breathed out softly.
Still staring at the endless sea, Draco explained, "I had thought perhaps things might have changed. After all, the war was over for good and-" he shrugged hopelessly, "everything was so different after the war." He looked up to her, trying to hide the look of sadness that had appeared on his face. "So much better, you know. I couldn't help but wonder."
She nodded in acquiescence. From various reports, she knew Draco had lost more than most in the war. Snape had sacrificed himself at the end, and Draco's own role as spy had helped kill or capture many of those he had once counted as friends at school. Neither celebrated as a hero or shunned as a villain, he retreated to a quiet life managing his vast estate, and contenting himself with a few select friends. Ginny was about to speak when they both heard the soft clatter of heels across the marble floor. A serene woman in flowing sapphire robes approached them.
"Draco, what has been keeping you? The tea is waiting." She turned to the petite witch with vivid red hair. "Hello, I'm Narcissa Malfoy. You must be the Miss Weasley Mr Zabini sent over. I do hope there is not a problem with the new piece?"
"A pleasure to meet you, mum. No, there is no problem. Mr Malfoy was only sharing his opinion about the recent placement of a piece. It will be moved shortly."
Narcissa smiled. "Wonderful. I am always so pleased with the new pieces Mr Zabini finds for us. Would you care to join us for tea, Miss Weasley? I wouldn't dare take you away from your work, but perhaps you could spare a moment or two? I'm sure we would like the company, wouldn't we, Draco? The house fairly echoes usually, as it's just Draco and I at home most days."
"Of course, mother. Why don't we let her finish up, and then I will bring her to the parlour," replied Draco, who was glad to see his mother pleased.
Narcissa agreed with the arrangement, and left the two alone once again in the Great Gallery with only the paintings for company. Without speaking, Ginny walked over to where she had taken the Bruneau and replaced it, making sure the sticking spell was strong. Draco watched as she walked back, stopping to measure and examine a bare spot of wall on the way. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand, lightly marking the spot on the wall with it.
"That spot should do for the Zephyrelli. It's safe at the House at the moment, but I'll come back Monday and install it for you."
Draco nodded in response, and began to lead the way out of the Gallery towards the parlour. He stopped beside a Medieval tapestry of a unicorn and looked at Ginny, searching for the proper thing to say.
"I didn't want you to- No, that's not right." He rubbed his eyes briefly and started over. "Miss Weasley, Ginevra, you must know I have a difficult time of trusting people, for many reasons--mainly my previous wartime occupation--but that's neither here nor there. However, you seem very genuine." He glanced at her face, waiting for her reaction.
Ginny grinned widely. "Of course I am, Draco. You needn't worry about me repeating a word of our earlier chat. I have learned in my family that the less said, the less that can be used against you." She let out short chuckle at the familiar Weasley saying, and continued her way down the hall, leaving Draco behind. He rushed to catch up.
"You could get lost searching for the parlour, Miss Weasley. The Malfoy Mansion is a maze of rooms and passageways," said Draco as he caught up with her.
"Oh, I know my way pretty well," she smirked at him. "I'm sure I've been here twenty times at least in the past few years. Mostly in the Great Gallery, but a handful of times in the reception rooms."
"Of course," he replied. How strange that someone as vibrant as she had been here before and he had not noticed it.
They entered the parlour where Narcissa was seated awaiting them. Ginny looked around and recognized the room at once.
"Mrs Malfoy, I'm so pleased you've kept the Larkin piece beside the mirror. I had such a time finding the right light for it."
Afternoon tea progressed surprisingly easily, with the three talking of art and other interests. When it was finished, Narcissa excused herself to speak to her housekeeper, and Draco escorted Ginny to the Apparition point in the front hall and said goodbye. It had been a brilliant afternoon, completely unexpected and more than little strange if she were to think about it too much, but all together quite enjoyable. Ron would be utterly gobsmacked if he ever found out, but that surely wouldn't happen.
In her office Monday morning, Ginny sorted through her post, sipping her third cup of tea of the day, and noticed a heavy fine parchment envelope with the Malfoy seal on the back. Opening it, she discovered a letter.
Dear Miss Weasley,
I am writing to thank you for an enjoyable afternoon this Friday past. Mother thought it a delight to have a young woman of education in the house. She was in good spirits all weekend thanks to you. Your company was welcome to both of us. Thinking back to Hogwarts days again, I remembered in fifth year a particular red-headed witch had me running from Bat-Bogeys for hours. I must demand an apology for that, Ginevra. Then again, I'm sure I must have done something rather awful to deserve it. I am much better now, I promise. Allow me to prove it to you.
You mentioned that you would be coming to install the new painting today. Why not come before supper? Mother and I would be pleased if you would stay for supper when you are finished. If you have a prior engagement, I will understand.
Sincerely, Draco Malfoy
A broad grin stretched across her face as she reread the letter. She had been thinking about the encounter all weekend and was intrigued by the handsome character of Draco Malfoy. He seemed much changed by the events of the war, but there was still a spark there of his old sharp self, still the trademark smirk, the quick eyes. Supper sounded excellent.
A knock on her door brought her out of her reverie, and Blaise Zabini popped his head in.
"All right, luv? No problems on Friday?"
Ginny shook her head. "None at all. I met them, by the way."
"The Malfoys? Took you long enough, I've been waiting three years for it to happen. I always had an idea you would suit." Blaise grinned in his sleek manner. Ginny's eyes went wide for a moment before she rolled them upwards and let out a laugh. Slytherins never changed; they grew up but never really changed. Blaise was retreating from the doorway when Ginny called out to him.
"It's different since the war, isn't it?"
Blaise winked at her and smirked, saying as he left, "Better though, luv. Much better."
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to recieve: Post-Hogwarts, non-fluffy (though not necessarily dark), non-established relationship (aka first time)
The tone/mood of the fic: Generally upbeat. No angst, please!
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic:
Canon or AU? Doesn't matter
Rating of the fic you want: Anything goes
Deal breakers (what don’t you want): I want a happy ending. :)