♥ 60sfreak wrote "The Sleepwalkers" for bluecamosis ♥
Title: The Sleepwalkers
Rating: sorta naughty, just to be safe
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: AU after HBP
Summary: They walk around like sleepwalkers, pantomiming their lives while sound asleep…
The Sleepwalkers
Someone tapped at her door before cracking it open. “Ginny dear,” Molly said, “Mr Malfoy’s here.”
Ginny, standing in front of her wall mirror, turned and rolled her eyes. “He has a first name, Mum,” she said dryly. “You’re allowed to use it, you know.”
Molly stepped further into the room. “You never do, though,” she pointed out, watching her daughter curl her hair. “I didn’t think it would be right if we did.”
Ginny laughed helplessly and reached for her makeup kit. “Fine, fine,” she said. “Let him know I’m not quite ready?”
“Of course.” Her mother came up behind her and rested a hand on her back. “You look lovely, by the way, Gin.”
“Thanks, Mum,” she said, grinning. She continued her primping as Molly left the room and shut the door behind her.
She was especially pleased with the evening gown she had chosen for the occasion. It was made of that sort of fabric that never looked the same colour twice, instead shifting and shimmering in the light; sometimes it looked emerald green, and others it looked a deep, royal blue. It clung to her body in all the right places, showing off a figure toned and fit from playing professional Quidditch, and dipped low enough in the back - and front - that Ginny knew heads would be turning.
With her light, tasteful makeup done, and the Curling Charm just about finished twisting her copper hair into loose spirals, Ginny grabbed her silver clutch and wrap and pulled on her shoes. One floor below she could hear Malfoy’s low, musical voice in the kitchen, her mother’s higher one responding. Ginny snickered. If given the chance she knew Malfoy capable of charming the socks right off Molly Weasley, so it was time to rescue them from each other.
When she arrived down in the kitchen, Molly was laughing and blushing about something Ginny hadn’t quite heard, while Malfoy smiled from his seat at the table, amused.
“Oh Ginny!” Molly cried, wiping the corners of her eyes, “I don’t know why I let you hang about with this evil, evil man.”
“Come now, Molly,” he drawled charismatically. “That’s not fair t’all.”
Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. “Been slumming, Malfoy?” she asked. “Your Wiltshire is showing.”
“You poor thing,” he shot back, switching over at once to his proper, perfect Queen’s English, “someone’s made off with half your frock. I’d ring the MLES.”
Ginny rolled her eyes again, as her mother seemed to really look at her gown for the first time that evening.
“Ginny dear, you’re not actually going out in that scrap?” she said, standing and frowning. “Why, you’re half-naked!”
“It’s the fashion, Mum,” she said, raising her arms to further show off said scrap. “I won’t be cold, Zabini has all kinds of heating charms in his house.”
“Mrs Weasley didn’t raise her only daughter to be a trollop,” Malfoy said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Molly shook her head. “You’re lucky your father is working late, because if he was here-”
“He’d tell me to have a good time but make good decisions,” Ginny finished, stepping over to kiss her mother’s cheek. “We have to go, Mum, we can’t be late.”
“Malfoys are never late,” Malfoy said imperiously. “We are always right on time.”
“When will you be home?” Molly asked.
“Late,” Ginny replied. “Very late, well past midnight.”
“I’ll bring her home in one piece, Molly,” Malfoy promised.
“All right,” Molly said slowly. She was obviously still hung up on Ginny’s dress or lack thereof, but Ginny took advantage of her indecision and grabbed Malfoy’s hand and pulled him out into the back garden.
“Prat,” she said, once they were out of earshot, smacking his arm with her clutch. “You always take her side.”
“Just trying to win points,” he said, pretending to nurse his wound. “I’m hoping for a chocolate cake on my next birthday, though I’ll try to hold out for strawberry ice cream.”
“But you’re my mate, not hers!”
Malfoy snorted. “Merlin, Weasley, if this is going to turn into a fight over whom I like better, please let me know time and place so I can watch.”
Ginny tried to sustain her anger, but she dissolved into laughter. “You’re never serious about anything,” she accused him.
“There’s no fun in it.”
“And you haven’t even said if you like my ‘scrap’ of a dress yet, so I’m very put out and the evening’s barely begun.”
Malfoy grabbed her hand to stop her, and she spun so she stood right in front of him. The changeable fabric shifted and shone in the dying sunlight as he gave her a searching head-to-toe look. Now that she had the chance to study him in turn, she saw that he was wearing neat black dress robes, with a cravat the exact shade of blue as her dress, just as he’d promised. It brought out the faint bluish tones in his eyes - not that he needed to hear that. Malfoy was incredibly vain, and she avoided flattering him whenever she could.
“I stand by what I said earlier,” he declared at last.
“Which was?”
“I know a wizard in MLES who specialises in stolen property-”
Ginny smacked him again with her clutch and marched towards the edge of her parents’ property. “You’re impossible!”
Malfoy, laughing, caught up with her again and threaded his arm through hers. “But that’s why you love me.”
“Impossible and mad,” Ginny corrected herself.
“I don’t like hiding my accent around your mother.”
“What?”
Malfoy tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and covered it with his own. “I think when I speak the way my parents taught me to, she thinks of me as an intruder,” he said thoughtfully. “But when I speak the way I actually do, she starts mothering me. I like it.”
“You get mothered enough at home, you spoiled little boy,” Ginny said, poking him.
“I think I might qualify as a man now, actually.”
“My mistake, it’s so difficult to tell sometimes.”
“Bint.”
“Prat.”
They finally reached the outer edge of the land surrounding the Burrow, where the wards ended and they were allowed to Apparate freely. The night was warm still, with the day’s heat radiating up from the ground. Deeper into the woods that encircled the Burrow and Ottery St Catchpole, faint noises reached their ears, as the animals and birds started settling in to sleep. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, sending streamers of rouge and gold through the sky and gilding the tall trees around them.
“A Gryffindor invented sunsets,” Ginny said happily, basking in the fading light.
Malfoy snickered. “But he had a Slytherin streak to him. Look.” He pointed up to the sky, and they both caught the brief flash of green light that ends each day.
“Ah, well,” she sighed, “nothing’s perfect.”
When Blaise Zabini’s mother, Yolanda Zabini Carpenter, had passed away a few years earlier of some unspecified disease, she had left her only child seven estates scattered across the British Isles, of which he became sole owner. At once he had become the Wizarding world’s most sought-after bachelor: attractive, not entirely unpleasant to be with, and possessed of one of the largest fortunes in recent memory. What the magazine spreads failed to mention, however, when they made Blaise their Bachelor of the Year three times running, was that he was very much already taken - with Morag McDougal.
It was Morag, dressed elegantly in a long black evening gown, who greeted Ginny and Malfoy at the door of one of Blaise’s estates. “I was beginning to think you’d never come,” Morag said bluntly, as she directed a House Elf to take Ginny’s wrap and Malfoy’s cloak.
Ginny laughed as she kissed Morag’s cheeks. “And leave you here to die of boredom by yourself?” she said. “I’m not that cruel, darling.”
Morag raised a questioning, well-shaped eyebrow as her eyes darted from Ginny to Malfoy and back. “But you’re cruel enough to-”
“I take it we’re the last to arrive?” Malfoy asked.
“No, we’re still waiting on the Longbottoms.” Morag led them out of the foyer and down the corridor, towards the source of the low rumble of voices Ginny had noticed immediately upon their arrival. “That Neville, poor dear. Couldn’t be on time for anything if you hung a grandfather clock round his neck.”
“He’s got Hannah to keep him straightened out now,” Ginny said, just before they turned and found themselves in Blaise’s magnificent ballroom. A cathedral ceiling arched high above their heads, supported by six giant white marble columns and covered in ornate frescoes depicting Merlin’s adventures and achievements. Tall French doors along one wall led out to a portico overlooking lush gardens. The floor was already filled with their friends and their spouses, enjoying food from the lavish banquet tables that lined the walls. It was like stepping into a fairy tale, and Ginny tried to suppress the wide grin that wanted to split her face.
“What a lovely little party,” Malfoy said wryly.
“Blaise is somewhere,” Morag told them, waving her arm carelessly at the room. “I haven’t seen him in almost an hour. I’d stay to chat and catch you up on the gossip, Gin, but I think I hear the door again.”
“Go, be hostess,” Ginny said, shooing her. Morag spun on her heel and returned to the foyer.
“Well, Weasley?” Malfoy said, taking her hand and leading her down the few steps into the ballroom. “What shall it be? Something to drink first, a dance…?”
“Oh, do let’s say hello to Cormac McLaggen,” Ginny said, grinning wickedly up at him. “I want to rub in his face our victory last week.”
“And your mother says I’m the evil one,” Malfoy said mildly, but he let himself be dragged across the room to where McLaggen stood, surrounded by three witches hanging on his every word. McLaggen was an attractive sort, Ginny would give him that, but spending more than ten minutes at a time with him often made her want to end her misery in as drastic a way as possible.
“Cormac,” Ginny said with mock warmth. “How lovely to see you.”
“If it isn’t the Girl Weasley,” McLaggen said, kissing the air on either side of her face, “with Draco Malfoy, you old moonraker!” He pumped Malfoy’s hand vigorously. “Hope you didn’t lose too much money on the match last week.”
“On the contrary,” Malfoy said with a sneer, “Weasley’s made me a very rich man indeed time and again.”
“Because you were so destitute before,” Ginny said dryly.
“The winters were difficult, but I somehow managed,” Malfoy returned.
“Then I reckon it’s a good thing you didn’t bet for us to win,” McLaggen said, leaning against the nearest marble column; his harem followed suit. “I would’ve played better, but you know how it is when you’ve spent the night before having too much of a good time - Malfoy knows what I’m talking about,” he said, elbowing him in the side.
“Quite,” Malfoy said with a grunt.
“I was so hoping for a challenge too,” Ginny said with a sigh. “Most of the Keepers in the league get predictable after awhile. You can guess their flight patterns and blocking strategies.”
“I try to be fresh and original each game I play,” McLaggen bragged.
“Mm, shame you weren’t last week,” Ginny said. “Oh well. I’m sure it’s just a one-time occurrence. I’ve heard Oliver say excellent things about you in the past, after all.”
“Of course he would,” McLaggen said, chest swelling with pride. He turned to the closest witch. “I’m good mates with Oliver Wood, you know.”
“Ooh, can you introduce me?” the witch asked.
Ginny tugged Malfoy lower so she could whisper in his ear. “Let’s go while he’s busy with his delusions of grandeur.”
“Thank God,” Malfoy murmured back, and they quietly stalked off, darting amused glances back at McLaggen and his adoring fans. “You weren’t telling the truth, were you?”
“Cormac McLaggen isn’t even in the same class as Oliver Wood,” Ginny said disdainfully. “Wood remains to this day the only professional Keeper who can block my hardest shot. McLaggen’s style is so holey he should have taken religious orders.”
Malfoy snorted, and to anyone else it would have sounded put on, but Ginny knew he was actually amused by her comment. “You witty thing, you,” he said to her.
“I try, darling.”
“There you are, Malfoy! Hiding are you?”
They both turned to see Blaise Zabini bearing down on them, a glass of champagne in hand. He extended the other to Malfoy to shake, then leaned in to kiss Ginny’s cheeks. “Enjoying yourselves, I hope?” he asked.
“So far,” Ginny said. “We’ve only just arrived, actually.”
“Merlin, and you haven’t been plied with copious amounts of alcohol yet? What kind of host does that make me?” Immediately, Blaise led them to one of the banquet tables and had a House Elf pour them some champagne. “Much better,” he said, once they had accepted their glasses. “And I thought I should warn you, Draco - Astoria came tonight.”
Malfoy arched his eyebrows. “What of it?”
“With Adrian Pucey.”
“Again, what of it? She’s free to come and go as she pleases, with whomever she pleases.”
Blaise shrugged. “Well, I’m glad someone’s comfortable with it,” he said darkly. “Morag almost had a heart attack when she showed up.”
“You forget, Blaise,” Ginny said, somewhat stiffly, taking Malfoy’s arm, “Draco Malfoy is the most well-adjusted man there ever was. We should all take lessons from him.”
“You’re one to talk,” Blaise said, shaking his head. “What’s this I hear that you broke up with Kevin Entwhistle last month?”
“Oh, him,” she said, drinking deeply from her glass.
“Give me the chance and I will find your soul mate for you,” Blaise declared. “I don’t believe for one minute that you’re still carrying a torch for Potter like everyone says.”
Ginny’s spine straightened at that. “Good,” she said sharply, “because it isn’t true.”
“You’ve hit upon a sore spot,” Malfoy murmured. He placed a comforting hand at her waist.
“Still,” Blaise pressed, “there are a few wizards here tonight that you must meet, Ginny. And if you haven’t gotten a Floo address from at least one of them by the end of the night, then I’ll consider it a failure on my part.”
Ginny laughed. “You’re welcome to try anything you want, Blaise darling.”
“I think only Morag is supposed to say that to me,” Blaise said cheekily, winking. “I have my guests to attend to, Malfoy, Ginny, enjoy yourselves.” He waved and sank back into the crowds.
She turned on Malfoy at once, eyes hard with anger. “Was he being serious? Everyone thinks I still have feelings for Harry?”
“Look at it from an outsider’s perspective,” Malfoy said, steering her away from the banquet tables. “You haven’t been in a serious relationship since Potter died in the final battle. How long was the longest one, the one with Wayne Hopkins?”
“Six months,” she said. “He was good in bed, but not much else.”
“Hufflepuffs,” Malfoy agreed. “Very giving sorts, aren’t they?”
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Ginny said petulantly. “It just means I’m selective about the men I see, not that I’m pining after a dead one, for Merlin’s sake.”
“Would you see someone like me?”
Ginny tossed her hair. “You? You’re unique, Malfoy, there is no one else like you.”
“Ginny! Gin, is that you?”
They turned once more and saw Colin Creevey approaching them, some unidentifiable witch on his arm. Ginny squealed with delight and ran into his outstretched arms, allowing him to twirl her around.
“Careful, she’s had alcohol,” Malfoy said.
“Look at you! You’re stunning!” Colin said, holding Ginny at arm’s length. “How Mrs Weasley ever let you walk out the door in that dress-”
“Oh, be quiet,” Ginny said. “You look absolutely incredible, Colin. And this is…?”
Colin threw his arm around the witch he’d brought with him. “Vicky, this is my good mate Ginny Weasley and her friend Draco Malfoy. Gin, Malfoy, Vicky Frobisher.”
“Colin talks about you all the time,” Vicky said shyly, offering her hand. Ginny brushed it aside to kiss her cheeks.
“Don’t believe half the things he tells you,” Ginny warned her. “Colin likes to tell stories.”
“I do not!” Colin cried, feigning hurt. “That story about how you snuck into Snape’s office to steal the sword of Gryffindor is all too true.”
“All right, well,” Ginny said, blushing, “you flatter me. I didn’t do it alone.”
“Ginny’s the star Chaser for the Montrose Magpies,” Colin said proudly. “She’s led them to their past five Quidditch Cup Championships.”
“What do you do, Mr Malfoy?” Vicky asked him politely.
“He accumulates interest on his bank accounts, mostly,” Ginny said, winking up at him.
“Don’t talk about money, Weasley, it’s vulgar,” he said. “Miss Frobisher, I’m a financial speculator and investor, and I own the Appleby Arrows Quidditch Team.”
“Oh wow,” she said, eyes wide.
“See, Weasley?” Malfoy said to her. “At least some people are impressed by me.”
“What, you mean you still haven’t gotten Ginny to go out with you?” Colin said.
Ginny chuckled. “Like he’d want to date me when he has his pick of the bluebloods.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” he said, showing his teeth when he smiled.
They agreed to speak again before the party had concluded, and parted ways. “You’re never serious about anything,” Ginny complained.
“Maybe you just think I’m not being serious,” Malfoy said, with a feral grin.
“I somehow doubt that. Nobody knows you as well as I do, admit it.”
“I will, and freely,” he said. “No one was more surprised than me when I became best mates with a Weasley.”
The assembled guests in the ballroom hushed at once, and everyone focused their attention on the front of the room, where Morag stood tapping her wine glass with a fork. Blaise joined her a moment later, and took her hand in his.
“I wanted to take a minute to thank you all for coming this evening,” Morag said, looking impossibly elegant and refined. Ginny envied her smooth, straight hair and olive skin. “The first time we celebrated the fall of Voldemort it was just me, Ginny Weasley, and Luna Lovegood in a back corner of the Leaky Cauldron. Now look how many of us there are.” She spread her arms wide. “This is a day meant for setting aside our differences, for forgetting what Hogwarts house we belonged to. Everyone here in this room stayed behind to fight when our way of life was threatened. We are a big part of why the world is peaceful again today, and our participation in the war will always bind us together.”
Blaise raised his glass once she had done. “A toast,” he declared. Ginny and Malfoy raised their glasses, as did everyone around them. “To a future free from prejudice and hate,” Blaise cried.
“Here, here!” The guests all drank their champagne.
“My God,” Malfoy muttered in Ginny’s ear. “He must really love McDougal if he’s spouting idealistic rubbish like that.”
Ginny thwacked him with her clutch. “Don’t be a wet blanket,” she scolded. “We have every right to toast whatever we want to, and I didn’t see you objecting.”
“By all means, we can toast whatever we wish,” he said, “but hoping it will come true is like hoping the moon is made of cheese.”
Ginny giggled. “You really are a moonraker,” she teased.
“I have never been one to deny my ancestry,” Malfoy said loftily. “I’m from Wiltshire and proud of the fact.”
“Here, here.” Ginny drained her own glass. “Now for eating. I’m starved, and this champagne is just going through me.”
“As you wish,” Malfoy said.
The party had begun at sundown, with lavish spreads of food stretching from wall to wall, a small orchestra in the corner playing music for dancing, and everyone clustered in groups that did not necessarily abide by divisions of house. Hufflepuffs spoke openly with Slytherins, Ravenclaws danced with Gryffindors, and nowhere was the disregard for houses more obvious than with the host and hostess, the Slytherin and the Ravenclaw, making eyes and cooing at each other all night long.
“You’ve been practicing,” Malfoy said to Ginny, as they danced sometime later in the evening. “And here I was thinking perhaps I should have worn my steel-toed shoes.”
“You are so mean to me,” Ginny huffed. She let him twirl her and pull her back into his arms. “I am a fabulous dancer, you merely choose not to see it.”
“No, you are a fair dancer,” he admitted, “but I just like pushing your buttons.”
“That too.” She looked up at him and smiled. “This has been fun, hasn’t it? I look forward to this night all year.”
Malfoy smiled back. “As a matter of fact, I do as well.”
Ginny’s smile broadened, and she rested her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply. “I don’t know who I’d go to parties with if you weren’t around, Malfoy,” she murmured.
“Your boyfriend.”
“But I never have one when events come up.”
“Well, there’s a simple solution to that. Don’t dump them.”
She sighed again and put her arms around his neck. They continued swaying to the music, as Malfoy put his hands at her narrow waist. “But that would mean spending time with them,” she said. “I have an uncanny knack for dating wizards I don’t actually like.”
“I don’t like them all that much either,” Malfoy said, but Ginny didn’t hear him.
As most of the people present had young children at home waiting for them, the official party did not go long past midnight. Before long the Finch-Fletchleys had gone back home, telling Morag that young Lucas was sick with a fever; Lee Jordan and his wife were leaving early the next morning to go on a short holiday and they followed soon after. Two by two the party dwindled down, until there was only a handful of guests left, Ginny and Malfoy among them.
“Let’s not stand on ceremony any longer,” Blaise declared, after the Cornfoots had bid them goodnight. He dismissed the orchestra, had the House Elves start cleaning up the ballroom, and led the remaining few to the billiard room, where a blazing fire and a snifter of brandy awaited them all.
“We should play a game,” Ginny decided, clasping her hands together. Malfoy sat down in a wing chair near the fire and playfully pulled her down onto his lap.
“That’s a good idea,” Zacharias Smith said. “What about Never Have I Ever? Whoever finishes their drink first is out.”
“No, because that means the most pathetic person here is the winner,” Malfoy said. “It’s the other way round.”
There was some discussion on how the winner should be determined, and then everyone settled either in chairs or on overstuffed pillows piled on the floor, seated in a wide circle. Blaise and Morag passed everyone glasses of brandy.
“Who’s going first?” Terry Boot asked.
“I will,” Morag said. “Never have I ever played Quidditch.”
Groans rang out, and Ginny, Malfoy, Blaise, Boot, and Smith all took their first sip. “You’re cruel, love,” Blaise said pitifully.
“I want to win, love,” Morag said sweetly.
“Clockwise, we’ll go,” Smith said. “Never have I ever been to Madame Puddifoot’s.”
“You’re such a liar!” Ginny cried. “I dragged you in there in my fourth year!”
“The rules are clear,” Boot said. “Take a drink, Smith.”
“Bugger all,” he complained, but he took the required sip from his brandy.
“Never have I ever had sex in a public place,” Romilda Vane said boldly. Amidst hoots from the men present, Ginny, Malfoy, and Morag all drank.
“Where?” Malfoy asked Ginny, eyes wide.
“The alley behind Honeydukes,” Ginny said. “Dreadfully uncomfortable, and quite cold. Would probably never do it again.”
“Why, Weasley, you’re more daring than I give you credit for.”
“Never have I ever had detention with Professor McGonagall,” said Boot’s date, Eleanor.
Everyone drank. “Wonder what old Minerva’s up to these days,” Ginny wondered aloud. “Merlin, she used to put the fear of God in me when she looked at me-”
“That stare!” Blaise agreed. “Snape could be petrifying, but one look from McGonagall and I’d just about soil myself!” Everyone dissolved into laughter at that.
“Never have I ever been in the Gryffindor common room,” Boot said. Ginny and Romilda both drank.
“Come on, be adventurous,” Malfoy said. “Never have I ever smoked a cigarette.”
“Like that’s so adventurous,” Ginny scoffed, after Smith, Boot, Blaise, and Romilda had drunk. “Never have I ever been to France.”
“My God, Weasley, why didn’t you tell me?” Draco cried. “We’re getting the next Floo connection to Paris.” He drank, as did Blaise and Eleanor.
“Never have I ever been to a Weird Sisters concert,” Blaise said regretfully. Ginny, Malfoy, Romilda, and Morag drank, and one full rotation had completed.
Ginny was out first, after only the second round, as she had been miles ahead of everyone else. Not far behind her were Romilda and Blaise. By then they were all so drunk that their words were more than a little slurred and difficult to hear, and more often than not they were laughing uproariously about nonsense things that likely weren’t funny at all. Malfoy alone seemed to hold his drink with surprising strength, though every now and then Ginny heard a little undisciplined and uncharacteristic giggle escape his lips.
Ginny leaned in and left a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Having a good time?” she asked, grinning.
He grinned back. “The best.”
Soon it was down to Malfoy and Eleanor, who had barely drunk half her brandy. “Come on, the game’s gone on long enough,” Smith complained. “It’s almost two…three…something. Let’s go home.”
“Right,” Blaise cried. “Here’s what we’ll do. Let’s team up against Malfoy.”
“S’noa fair,” Malfoy moaned, his Wiltshire accent creeping back into his speech.
“But I don’t know what to say,” Eleanor said timidly.
“I’ve got the perfect thing!” Laughing, Blaise stood and stumbled over to where Eleanor sat on her pile of pillows, where he proceeded to whisper something in her ear. Eleanor blanched.
“What is it, Ellie?” Boot asked.
“Say it!” Romilda said. “Say it, I want to hear!”
“It’s perfect!” Blaise boasted. “Malfoy only has one drink left, he’ll be out!”
“Say it!” Romilda repeated.
Eleanor looked at Blaise, who nodded his encouragement. Then, taking a deep breath, she said softly, “Never have I ever been married and divorced in the same week.”
Everyone froze, not even daring to breathe. Underneath her legs, Ginny felt Malfoy tense violently. “Nice job, you arse,” she spat at Blaise. “You’re such a bastard, Zabini-”
“It’s just a game among friends!” Blaise said, too drunk understand her anger.
Ginny stood up, straightening and tugging on her dress. “We’re going,” she announced. “Thanks for nothing, you prize git.”
“I think you’re overreacting a bit there, Weasley,” Smith warned her.
“Overreacting?” she cried. “Malfoy doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t care how pissed you are, it’s no excuse to bring it up!”
“You don’t need to pretend, Ginny,” Morag said calmly. “We all know you’re the reason why it happened.”
Ginny’s jaw dropped. “How - how dare - come on, Malfoy, we’re leaving. I’ve had it with this lot.” She stormed out of the room, her high heels clicking furiously on the marble floor.
Malfoy stood and stared at the silent group around him. He drained his glass to the bottom, murmured, “Congratulations, Eleanor,” and followed Ginny out.
“I hate them,” Ginny said bitterly, marching through the dense woods around Ottery St Catchpole and the Burrow. “They’re - mean, they’re horrible-”
“I’d forgotten what a rotten drunk you can be,” Malfoy said idly.
“Everywhere we go! ‘Malfoy, Astoria’s here,’ ‘Malfoy, Astoria says hello,’-”
“It’s in the past, Ginny.”
“Whatever happened to human decency? I mean really?” She picked up her long, trailing dress to step over a fallen log in their path; Malfoy instinctively offered her his hand to help her over. “Everywhere we go. Literally. It’s rude, is what it is.”
“That’s enough, Ginny,” he said quietly.
“And tonight’s the last straw!” Ginny went on without hearing him, stumbling slightly in her impractical heels. “You should tell them, Draco, once and for all - you don’t like hearing about it. Stop bringing it up, you - you mean gits.”
“That’s enough,” he repeated, taking her upper arm to guide her. “If you don’t stop now I know you’re going to say something that’ll upset me and that you’ll regret in the morning.”
“I’ll say what I want to!” she cried angrily. “They’re no friends of mine!”
“You and Morag McDougal have been close for years.”
“Well, I’ll - I’ll - do something once the world stops spinning,” Ginny moaned, pausing in her path. “Bloody hell, why did I agree to a drinking game?”
Malfoy chuckled. “I think it was your idea in the first place.”
“Remind me - no more drinking games. Not until the next party. Not until-” She looked down at his helping hand. “Really, Draco, I can walk just fine.”
“I know you can, you showed me back there.”
“Just because I’m a - what am I?”
“A Quidditch player?”
“Yes.” She nodded emphatically, which made her weave on her feet again. “Oh dear oh dear - I’m falling.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m a Quidditch player - doesn’t mean I’m not coordinated enough to walk on the ground.” Ginny frowned up at him. “You got me off-topic.”
Malfoy groaned. “No, we’re not going back to that.”
“Your idiot ex-friends going on about Astoria ‘Miss Congeniality’ Greengrass,” she growled. “Merlin, I’ve got more personality in my pinkie finger than she has in her whole body.”
“That’s enough,” he snapped, stopping her roughly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me!” Ginny shrieked.
They both froze as her words hung in the silent, still, pre-dawn air. Neither of them dared to breathe, neither made a move, until Ginny gave a strangled, half-sobbing sound.
“Oh God,” she whispered, hitching on the words. “I’m so drunk, I didn’t mean-”
“What did you mean?” When she tried to break from his grasp, Draco grabbed her chin and forced her eyes upwards to his. “Explain yourself.”
Angrily, Ginny yanked herself away from him. “You’re never serious about-”
“You say that again I’m going to ram the words down your throat,” Draco spat.
“But you aren’t! When you married her it was just the same story: you were thinking with your pants instead of your brains, thought Astoria would be a good wife, then once you tired of her you were done with her. Same story each time, each time you find a shiny new toy and finish playing with it.”
Draco spluttered in surprise, taking a few steps back. “Is your opinion of me so low?”
“I was never good enough for you,” she said, and this time there were genuine tears rolling down her face. She scrubbed at them halfheartedly, wiping some of her makeup off in the process. “I was just Ginny, the best mate, but Astoria, she - she was the kind of girl you marry.”
Draco said nothing, so Ginny continued, laughing through her tears. “In for a Knut, yeah?” she said miserably. “I felt so betrayed when you announced you were marrying her. I was sobbing in Hermione’s lap the day of the ceremony; I wasn’t sick with the flu like I told you.”
“Why did you lie to me?” he said softly, hardly daring to speak aloud.
“What does it matter?” she bit off, glaring up at him. “You never thought of me the same way I thought of you.”
“Because I’m not serious about anything,” he said, a slight smile curling his lip. “Including my romantic relationships.”
Ginny huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. After a moment, she started down the path towards the Burrow again.
Draco followed behind, a few steps back. “You Floo’d me that night, remember? The fifth night of my marriage. Because one of your teammates had been in a serious Quidditch accident and had died, and you were a right mess-”
“Kennefick,” Ginny said sadly, not breaking her stride. “I miss her so much.”
“I went to you immediately,” Draco said. “I didn’t even think twice about it. And I stayed there all night with you while you cried.”
He reached out to grab her hand and Ginny, exhausted and drunk, stumbled face-first into his arms and didn’t move away. “Astoria was furious,” Draco whispered into her fragrant hair. “She made me choose. I chose you. She served me with divorce papers later that day.”
“Coincidence,” Ginny murmured against his robes.
“Cause and effect,” he corrected her. “I choose you, and I will always choose you.”
“Draco,” she whimpered, “why did you marry her in the first place?”
He smiled grimly. “Because I’d convinced myself that you didn’t feel about me the way I felt about you.”
The sky, until then only faintly gray with the coming daylight, then brightened more perceptibly - the sun had shown itself at last over the ridge of the hills surrounding the Weasleys’ land, blanketing the countryside with timid, reaching golden bars of light. And as the darkness evaporated, and the birds came to life in their hidden nests, realization dawned on Draco and Ginny’s faces.
“You never said what you thought of my dress,” Ginny murmured, lowering her eyes in embarrassment.
Draco lifted her chin again. “Ginny,” he said, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
She reddened. “Well?” she said boldly. “Aren’t you going to kiss me now?”
He laughed and, without warning, suddenly scooped her up into his arms; Ginny gave a weak protesting yelp. “Kiss you while we’re both dead drunk and exhausted? I think not. I’d like to have a first kiss that doesn’t end with one of us passing out cold, if you don’t mind.”
“Ugh, you’re impossible,” she complained, burying her face against his shoulder.
He crested the next hill, and they both looked out to see the Burrow’s familiar crooked shape breaking up the horizon, a trail of smoke coming from the chimney. “Your mum’s up,” he said. “She’ll take care of you.”
“She’s excellent at Hangover Potions,” Ginny mused tiredly.
“Good.” He started down the hill, taking it slowly with his added burden. “Because I’ll tell you what you’re going to do now.”
“Bossy,” she muttered.
“You’re going to get a decent eight hours of sleep,” Draco said as though he hadn’t heard her. “Then, a nice relaxing bath. Use whatever soap you used yesterday, because it’s delicious.”
“Check.”
“Then, dress in your best formal wear. We’re going out tonight, and I want you looking your best.”
“Out?” she said, mildly interested through her sleep-deprived haze. “Like as in a date?”
They arrived at the Burrow’s back door, which Molly already had opened to accommodate them. “Well,” she said, hands on her hips. “When you said late I didn’t think it would be this late.”
“But she’s all in one piece,” Draco said cheerfully. “It was a splendid party, Molly. We both had a lot of fun.”
“Lot of fun,” Ginny said.
“I’ll just put her up in her bedroom?” Without waiting for Mrs Weasley to reply, Draco headed up the crooked stairs to Ginny’s room, where he lay her down on the bed.
“I’ll get a potion,” Mrs Weasley said, going back out.
Draco paused above Ginny’s face, staring down into her wide, liquid brown eyes. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said. He brushed a kiss against her forehead.
“I’m in love with you,” she whispered. “Have been for years.”
He smirked at her. “Of course you are, Gin,” he whispered back. “But I’m in love with you too.” He kissed her forehead again. “Remember what I said. Eight hours’ sleep.”
She nodded, already half-unconscious, and Draco left the room quietly, bidding goodbye to Mrs Weasley and stepping out into the sunlit back garden. He paused briefly on the back step, inhaling deeply the crisp morning air, and smiled at the rising sun.
He had not slept a wink the night before. But for some reason, however mysterious, he felt like he had just awoken from a deep, restful sleep.
As a side note and point of interest: People from Wiltshire come to be called “moonrakers” because of an old story told there. Two Wiltshire men, smuggling barrels of brandy into the county, needed to hide their goods from tax collectors. They dumped the barrels into a pond, but the tax collectors found them while they were raking the water to bring the barrels back up. The men quickly told the taxmen that they were trying to reach the big wheel of cheese in the middle of the pond - which was actually the reflection of the full moon. The taxmen laughed to themselves about simple-minded rustics and left them, never noticing the barrels of brandy. Hence, the term moonrakers: they’re sharper than you might think.
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
What would you like to receive?
The tone/mood of the fic: I am open to anything. I would like to fic to depict a mutual love for each other.
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic:
Preferred rating of the the fic you want:
Canon or AU? AU
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No rape or forced relations.
Rating: sorta naughty, just to be safe
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: AU after HBP
Summary: They walk around like sleepwalkers, pantomiming their lives while sound asleep…
The Sleepwalkers
Someone tapped at her door before cracking it open. “Ginny dear,” Molly said, “Mr Malfoy’s here.”
Ginny, standing in front of her wall mirror, turned and rolled her eyes. “He has a first name, Mum,” she said dryly. “You’re allowed to use it, you know.”
Molly stepped further into the room. “You never do, though,” she pointed out, watching her daughter curl her hair. “I didn’t think it would be right if we did.”
Ginny laughed helplessly and reached for her makeup kit. “Fine, fine,” she said. “Let him know I’m not quite ready?”
“Of course.” Her mother came up behind her and rested a hand on her back. “You look lovely, by the way, Gin.”
“Thanks, Mum,” she said, grinning. She continued her primping as Molly left the room and shut the door behind her.
She was especially pleased with the evening gown she had chosen for the occasion. It was made of that sort of fabric that never looked the same colour twice, instead shifting and shimmering in the light; sometimes it looked emerald green, and others it looked a deep, royal blue. It clung to her body in all the right places, showing off a figure toned and fit from playing professional Quidditch, and dipped low enough in the back - and front - that Ginny knew heads would be turning.
With her light, tasteful makeup done, and the Curling Charm just about finished twisting her copper hair into loose spirals, Ginny grabbed her silver clutch and wrap and pulled on her shoes. One floor below she could hear Malfoy’s low, musical voice in the kitchen, her mother’s higher one responding. Ginny snickered. If given the chance she knew Malfoy capable of charming the socks right off Molly Weasley, so it was time to rescue them from each other.
When she arrived down in the kitchen, Molly was laughing and blushing about something Ginny hadn’t quite heard, while Malfoy smiled from his seat at the table, amused.
“Oh Ginny!” Molly cried, wiping the corners of her eyes, “I don’t know why I let you hang about with this evil, evil man.”
“Come now, Molly,” he drawled charismatically. “That’s not fair t’all.”
Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. “Been slumming, Malfoy?” she asked. “Your Wiltshire is showing.”
“You poor thing,” he shot back, switching over at once to his proper, perfect Queen’s English, “someone’s made off with half your frock. I’d ring the MLES.”
Ginny rolled her eyes again, as her mother seemed to really look at her gown for the first time that evening.
“Ginny dear, you’re not actually going out in that scrap?” she said, standing and frowning. “Why, you’re half-naked!”
“It’s the fashion, Mum,” she said, raising her arms to further show off said scrap. “I won’t be cold, Zabini has all kinds of heating charms in his house.”
“Mrs Weasley didn’t raise her only daughter to be a trollop,” Malfoy said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Molly shook her head. “You’re lucky your father is working late, because if he was here-”
“He’d tell me to have a good time but make good decisions,” Ginny finished, stepping over to kiss her mother’s cheek. “We have to go, Mum, we can’t be late.”
“Malfoys are never late,” Malfoy said imperiously. “We are always right on time.”
“When will you be home?” Molly asked.
“Late,” Ginny replied. “Very late, well past midnight.”
“I’ll bring her home in one piece, Molly,” Malfoy promised.
“All right,” Molly said slowly. She was obviously still hung up on Ginny’s dress or lack thereof, but Ginny took advantage of her indecision and grabbed Malfoy’s hand and pulled him out into the back garden.
“Prat,” she said, once they were out of earshot, smacking his arm with her clutch. “You always take her side.”
“Just trying to win points,” he said, pretending to nurse his wound. “I’m hoping for a chocolate cake on my next birthday, though I’ll try to hold out for strawberry ice cream.”
“But you’re my mate, not hers!”
Malfoy snorted. “Merlin, Weasley, if this is going to turn into a fight over whom I like better, please let me know time and place so I can watch.”
Ginny tried to sustain her anger, but she dissolved into laughter. “You’re never serious about anything,” she accused him.
“There’s no fun in it.”
“And you haven’t even said if you like my ‘scrap’ of a dress yet, so I’m very put out and the evening’s barely begun.”
Malfoy grabbed her hand to stop her, and she spun so she stood right in front of him. The changeable fabric shifted and shone in the dying sunlight as he gave her a searching head-to-toe look. Now that she had the chance to study him in turn, she saw that he was wearing neat black dress robes, with a cravat the exact shade of blue as her dress, just as he’d promised. It brought out the faint bluish tones in his eyes - not that he needed to hear that. Malfoy was incredibly vain, and she avoided flattering him whenever she could.
“I stand by what I said earlier,” he declared at last.
“Which was?”
“I know a wizard in MLES who specialises in stolen property-”
Ginny smacked him again with her clutch and marched towards the edge of her parents’ property. “You’re impossible!”
Malfoy, laughing, caught up with her again and threaded his arm through hers. “But that’s why you love me.”
“Impossible and mad,” Ginny corrected herself.
“I don’t like hiding my accent around your mother.”
“What?”
Malfoy tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and covered it with his own. “I think when I speak the way my parents taught me to, she thinks of me as an intruder,” he said thoughtfully. “But when I speak the way I actually do, she starts mothering me. I like it.”
“You get mothered enough at home, you spoiled little boy,” Ginny said, poking him.
“I think I might qualify as a man now, actually.”
“My mistake, it’s so difficult to tell sometimes.”
“Bint.”
“Prat.”
They finally reached the outer edge of the land surrounding the Burrow, where the wards ended and they were allowed to Apparate freely. The night was warm still, with the day’s heat radiating up from the ground. Deeper into the woods that encircled the Burrow and Ottery St Catchpole, faint noises reached their ears, as the animals and birds started settling in to sleep. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, sending streamers of rouge and gold through the sky and gilding the tall trees around them.
“A Gryffindor invented sunsets,” Ginny said happily, basking in the fading light.
Malfoy snickered. “But he had a Slytherin streak to him. Look.” He pointed up to the sky, and they both caught the brief flash of green light that ends each day.
“Ah, well,” she sighed, “nothing’s perfect.”
When Blaise Zabini’s mother, Yolanda Zabini Carpenter, had passed away a few years earlier of some unspecified disease, she had left her only child seven estates scattered across the British Isles, of which he became sole owner. At once he had become the Wizarding world’s most sought-after bachelor: attractive, not entirely unpleasant to be with, and possessed of one of the largest fortunes in recent memory. What the magazine spreads failed to mention, however, when they made Blaise their Bachelor of the Year three times running, was that he was very much already taken - with Morag McDougal.
It was Morag, dressed elegantly in a long black evening gown, who greeted Ginny and Malfoy at the door of one of Blaise’s estates. “I was beginning to think you’d never come,” Morag said bluntly, as she directed a House Elf to take Ginny’s wrap and Malfoy’s cloak.
Ginny laughed as she kissed Morag’s cheeks. “And leave you here to die of boredom by yourself?” she said. “I’m not that cruel, darling.”
Morag raised a questioning, well-shaped eyebrow as her eyes darted from Ginny to Malfoy and back. “But you’re cruel enough to-”
“I take it we’re the last to arrive?” Malfoy asked.
“No, we’re still waiting on the Longbottoms.” Morag led them out of the foyer and down the corridor, towards the source of the low rumble of voices Ginny had noticed immediately upon their arrival. “That Neville, poor dear. Couldn’t be on time for anything if you hung a grandfather clock round his neck.”
“He’s got Hannah to keep him straightened out now,” Ginny said, just before they turned and found themselves in Blaise’s magnificent ballroom. A cathedral ceiling arched high above their heads, supported by six giant white marble columns and covered in ornate frescoes depicting Merlin’s adventures and achievements. Tall French doors along one wall led out to a portico overlooking lush gardens. The floor was already filled with their friends and their spouses, enjoying food from the lavish banquet tables that lined the walls. It was like stepping into a fairy tale, and Ginny tried to suppress the wide grin that wanted to split her face.
“What a lovely little party,” Malfoy said wryly.
“Blaise is somewhere,” Morag told them, waving her arm carelessly at the room. “I haven’t seen him in almost an hour. I’d stay to chat and catch you up on the gossip, Gin, but I think I hear the door again.”
“Go, be hostess,” Ginny said, shooing her. Morag spun on her heel and returned to the foyer.
“Well, Weasley?” Malfoy said, taking her hand and leading her down the few steps into the ballroom. “What shall it be? Something to drink first, a dance…?”
“Oh, do let’s say hello to Cormac McLaggen,” Ginny said, grinning wickedly up at him. “I want to rub in his face our victory last week.”
“And your mother says I’m the evil one,” Malfoy said mildly, but he let himself be dragged across the room to where McLaggen stood, surrounded by three witches hanging on his every word. McLaggen was an attractive sort, Ginny would give him that, but spending more than ten minutes at a time with him often made her want to end her misery in as drastic a way as possible.
“Cormac,” Ginny said with mock warmth. “How lovely to see you.”
“If it isn’t the Girl Weasley,” McLaggen said, kissing the air on either side of her face, “with Draco Malfoy, you old moonraker!” He pumped Malfoy’s hand vigorously. “Hope you didn’t lose too much money on the match last week.”
“On the contrary,” Malfoy said with a sneer, “Weasley’s made me a very rich man indeed time and again.”
“Because you were so destitute before,” Ginny said dryly.
“The winters were difficult, but I somehow managed,” Malfoy returned.
“Then I reckon it’s a good thing you didn’t bet for us to win,” McLaggen said, leaning against the nearest marble column; his harem followed suit. “I would’ve played better, but you know how it is when you’ve spent the night before having too much of a good time - Malfoy knows what I’m talking about,” he said, elbowing him in the side.
“Quite,” Malfoy said with a grunt.
“I was so hoping for a challenge too,” Ginny said with a sigh. “Most of the Keepers in the league get predictable after awhile. You can guess their flight patterns and blocking strategies.”
“I try to be fresh and original each game I play,” McLaggen bragged.
“Mm, shame you weren’t last week,” Ginny said. “Oh well. I’m sure it’s just a one-time occurrence. I’ve heard Oliver say excellent things about you in the past, after all.”
“Of course he would,” McLaggen said, chest swelling with pride. He turned to the closest witch. “I’m good mates with Oliver Wood, you know.”
“Ooh, can you introduce me?” the witch asked.
Ginny tugged Malfoy lower so she could whisper in his ear. “Let’s go while he’s busy with his delusions of grandeur.”
“Thank God,” Malfoy murmured back, and they quietly stalked off, darting amused glances back at McLaggen and his adoring fans. “You weren’t telling the truth, were you?”
“Cormac McLaggen isn’t even in the same class as Oliver Wood,” Ginny said disdainfully. “Wood remains to this day the only professional Keeper who can block my hardest shot. McLaggen’s style is so holey he should have taken religious orders.”
Malfoy snorted, and to anyone else it would have sounded put on, but Ginny knew he was actually amused by her comment. “You witty thing, you,” he said to her.
“I try, darling.”
“There you are, Malfoy! Hiding are you?”
They both turned to see Blaise Zabini bearing down on them, a glass of champagne in hand. He extended the other to Malfoy to shake, then leaned in to kiss Ginny’s cheeks. “Enjoying yourselves, I hope?” he asked.
“So far,” Ginny said. “We’ve only just arrived, actually.”
“Merlin, and you haven’t been plied with copious amounts of alcohol yet? What kind of host does that make me?” Immediately, Blaise led them to one of the banquet tables and had a House Elf pour them some champagne. “Much better,” he said, once they had accepted their glasses. “And I thought I should warn you, Draco - Astoria came tonight.”
Malfoy arched his eyebrows. “What of it?”
“With Adrian Pucey.”
“Again, what of it? She’s free to come and go as she pleases, with whomever she pleases.”
Blaise shrugged. “Well, I’m glad someone’s comfortable with it,” he said darkly. “Morag almost had a heart attack when she showed up.”
“You forget, Blaise,” Ginny said, somewhat stiffly, taking Malfoy’s arm, “Draco Malfoy is the most well-adjusted man there ever was. We should all take lessons from him.”
“You’re one to talk,” Blaise said, shaking his head. “What’s this I hear that you broke up with Kevin Entwhistle last month?”
“Oh, him,” she said, drinking deeply from her glass.
“Give me the chance and I will find your soul mate for you,” Blaise declared. “I don’t believe for one minute that you’re still carrying a torch for Potter like everyone says.”
Ginny’s spine straightened at that. “Good,” she said sharply, “because it isn’t true.”
“You’ve hit upon a sore spot,” Malfoy murmured. He placed a comforting hand at her waist.
“Still,” Blaise pressed, “there are a few wizards here tonight that you must meet, Ginny. And if you haven’t gotten a Floo address from at least one of them by the end of the night, then I’ll consider it a failure on my part.”
Ginny laughed. “You’re welcome to try anything you want, Blaise darling.”
“I think only Morag is supposed to say that to me,” Blaise said cheekily, winking. “I have my guests to attend to, Malfoy, Ginny, enjoy yourselves.” He waved and sank back into the crowds.
She turned on Malfoy at once, eyes hard with anger. “Was he being serious? Everyone thinks I still have feelings for Harry?”
“Look at it from an outsider’s perspective,” Malfoy said, steering her away from the banquet tables. “You haven’t been in a serious relationship since Potter died in the final battle. How long was the longest one, the one with Wayne Hopkins?”
“Six months,” she said. “He was good in bed, but not much else.”
“Hufflepuffs,” Malfoy agreed. “Very giving sorts, aren’t they?”
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Ginny said petulantly. “It just means I’m selective about the men I see, not that I’m pining after a dead one, for Merlin’s sake.”
“Would you see someone like me?”
Ginny tossed her hair. “You? You’re unique, Malfoy, there is no one else like you.”
“Ginny! Gin, is that you?”
They turned once more and saw Colin Creevey approaching them, some unidentifiable witch on his arm. Ginny squealed with delight and ran into his outstretched arms, allowing him to twirl her around.
“Careful, she’s had alcohol,” Malfoy said.
“Look at you! You’re stunning!” Colin said, holding Ginny at arm’s length. “How Mrs Weasley ever let you walk out the door in that dress-”
“Oh, be quiet,” Ginny said. “You look absolutely incredible, Colin. And this is…?”
Colin threw his arm around the witch he’d brought with him. “Vicky, this is my good mate Ginny Weasley and her friend Draco Malfoy. Gin, Malfoy, Vicky Frobisher.”
“Colin talks about you all the time,” Vicky said shyly, offering her hand. Ginny brushed it aside to kiss her cheeks.
“Don’t believe half the things he tells you,” Ginny warned her. “Colin likes to tell stories.”
“I do not!” Colin cried, feigning hurt. “That story about how you snuck into Snape’s office to steal the sword of Gryffindor is all too true.”
“All right, well,” Ginny said, blushing, “you flatter me. I didn’t do it alone.”
“Ginny’s the star Chaser for the Montrose Magpies,” Colin said proudly. “She’s led them to their past five Quidditch Cup Championships.”
“What do you do, Mr Malfoy?” Vicky asked him politely.
“He accumulates interest on his bank accounts, mostly,” Ginny said, winking up at him.
“Don’t talk about money, Weasley, it’s vulgar,” he said. “Miss Frobisher, I’m a financial speculator and investor, and I own the Appleby Arrows Quidditch Team.”
“Oh wow,” she said, eyes wide.
“See, Weasley?” Malfoy said to her. “At least some people are impressed by me.”
“What, you mean you still haven’t gotten Ginny to go out with you?” Colin said.
Ginny chuckled. “Like he’d want to date me when he has his pick of the bluebloods.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” he said, showing his teeth when he smiled.
They agreed to speak again before the party had concluded, and parted ways. “You’re never serious about anything,” Ginny complained.
“Maybe you just think I’m not being serious,” Malfoy said, with a feral grin.
“I somehow doubt that. Nobody knows you as well as I do, admit it.”
“I will, and freely,” he said. “No one was more surprised than me when I became best mates with a Weasley.”
The assembled guests in the ballroom hushed at once, and everyone focused their attention on the front of the room, where Morag stood tapping her wine glass with a fork. Blaise joined her a moment later, and took her hand in his.
“I wanted to take a minute to thank you all for coming this evening,” Morag said, looking impossibly elegant and refined. Ginny envied her smooth, straight hair and olive skin. “The first time we celebrated the fall of Voldemort it was just me, Ginny Weasley, and Luna Lovegood in a back corner of the Leaky Cauldron. Now look how many of us there are.” She spread her arms wide. “This is a day meant for setting aside our differences, for forgetting what Hogwarts house we belonged to. Everyone here in this room stayed behind to fight when our way of life was threatened. We are a big part of why the world is peaceful again today, and our participation in the war will always bind us together.”
Blaise raised his glass once she had done. “A toast,” he declared. Ginny and Malfoy raised their glasses, as did everyone around them. “To a future free from prejudice and hate,” Blaise cried.
“Here, here!” The guests all drank their champagne.
“My God,” Malfoy muttered in Ginny’s ear. “He must really love McDougal if he’s spouting idealistic rubbish like that.”
Ginny thwacked him with her clutch. “Don’t be a wet blanket,” she scolded. “We have every right to toast whatever we want to, and I didn’t see you objecting.”
“By all means, we can toast whatever we wish,” he said, “but hoping it will come true is like hoping the moon is made of cheese.”
Ginny giggled. “You really are a moonraker,” she teased.
“I have never been one to deny my ancestry,” Malfoy said loftily. “I’m from Wiltshire and proud of the fact.”
“Here, here.” Ginny drained her own glass. “Now for eating. I’m starved, and this champagne is just going through me.”
“As you wish,” Malfoy said.
The party had begun at sundown, with lavish spreads of food stretching from wall to wall, a small orchestra in the corner playing music for dancing, and everyone clustered in groups that did not necessarily abide by divisions of house. Hufflepuffs spoke openly with Slytherins, Ravenclaws danced with Gryffindors, and nowhere was the disregard for houses more obvious than with the host and hostess, the Slytherin and the Ravenclaw, making eyes and cooing at each other all night long.
“You’ve been practicing,” Malfoy said to Ginny, as they danced sometime later in the evening. “And here I was thinking perhaps I should have worn my steel-toed shoes.”
“You are so mean to me,” Ginny huffed. She let him twirl her and pull her back into his arms. “I am a fabulous dancer, you merely choose not to see it.”
“No, you are a fair dancer,” he admitted, “but I just like pushing your buttons.”
“That too.” She looked up at him and smiled. “This has been fun, hasn’t it? I look forward to this night all year.”
Malfoy smiled back. “As a matter of fact, I do as well.”
Ginny’s smile broadened, and she rested her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply. “I don’t know who I’d go to parties with if you weren’t around, Malfoy,” she murmured.
“Your boyfriend.”
“But I never have one when events come up.”
“Well, there’s a simple solution to that. Don’t dump them.”
She sighed again and put her arms around his neck. They continued swaying to the music, as Malfoy put his hands at her narrow waist. “But that would mean spending time with them,” she said. “I have an uncanny knack for dating wizards I don’t actually like.”
“I don’t like them all that much either,” Malfoy said, but Ginny didn’t hear him.
As most of the people present had young children at home waiting for them, the official party did not go long past midnight. Before long the Finch-Fletchleys had gone back home, telling Morag that young Lucas was sick with a fever; Lee Jordan and his wife were leaving early the next morning to go on a short holiday and they followed soon after. Two by two the party dwindled down, until there was only a handful of guests left, Ginny and Malfoy among them.
“Let’s not stand on ceremony any longer,” Blaise declared, after the Cornfoots had bid them goodnight. He dismissed the orchestra, had the House Elves start cleaning up the ballroom, and led the remaining few to the billiard room, where a blazing fire and a snifter of brandy awaited them all.
“We should play a game,” Ginny decided, clasping her hands together. Malfoy sat down in a wing chair near the fire and playfully pulled her down onto his lap.
“That’s a good idea,” Zacharias Smith said. “What about Never Have I Ever? Whoever finishes their drink first is out.”
“No, because that means the most pathetic person here is the winner,” Malfoy said. “It’s the other way round.”
There was some discussion on how the winner should be determined, and then everyone settled either in chairs or on overstuffed pillows piled on the floor, seated in a wide circle. Blaise and Morag passed everyone glasses of brandy.
“Who’s going first?” Terry Boot asked.
“I will,” Morag said. “Never have I ever played Quidditch.”
Groans rang out, and Ginny, Malfoy, Blaise, Boot, and Smith all took their first sip. “You’re cruel, love,” Blaise said pitifully.
“I want to win, love,” Morag said sweetly.
“Clockwise, we’ll go,” Smith said. “Never have I ever been to Madame Puddifoot’s.”
“You’re such a liar!” Ginny cried. “I dragged you in there in my fourth year!”
“The rules are clear,” Boot said. “Take a drink, Smith.”
“Bugger all,” he complained, but he took the required sip from his brandy.
“Never have I ever had sex in a public place,” Romilda Vane said boldly. Amidst hoots from the men present, Ginny, Malfoy, and Morag all drank.
“Where?” Malfoy asked Ginny, eyes wide.
“The alley behind Honeydukes,” Ginny said. “Dreadfully uncomfortable, and quite cold. Would probably never do it again.”
“Why, Weasley, you’re more daring than I give you credit for.”
“Never have I ever had detention with Professor McGonagall,” said Boot’s date, Eleanor.
Everyone drank. “Wonder what old Minerva’s up to these days,” Ginny wondered aloud. “Merlin, she used to put the fear of God in me when she looked at me-”
“That stare!” Blaise agreed. “Snape could be petrifying, but one look from McGonagall and I’d just about soil myself!” Everyone dissolved into laughter at that.
“Never have I ever been in the Gryffindor common room,” Boot said. Ginny and Romilda both drank.
“Come on, be adventurous,” Malfoy said. “Never have I ever smoked a cigarette.”
“Like that’s so adventurous,” Ginny scoffed, after Smith, Boot, Blaise, and Romilda had drunk. “Never have I ever been to France.”
“My God, Weasley, why didn’t you tell me?” Draco cried. “We’re getting the next Floo connection to Paris.” He drank, as did Blaise and Eleanor.
“Never have I ever been to a Weird Sisters concert,” Blaise said regretfully. Ginny, Malfoy, Romilda, and Morag drank, and one full rotation had completed.
Ginny was out first, after only the second round, as she had been miles ahead of everyone else. Not far behind her were Romilda and Blaise. By then they were all so drunk that their words were more than a little slurred and difficult to hear, and more often than not they were laughing uproariously about nonsense things that likely weren’t funny at all. Malfoy alone seemed to hold his drink with surprising strength, though every now and then Ginny heard a little undisciplined and uncharacteristic giggle escape his lips.
Ginny leaned in and left a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Having a good time?” she asked, grinning.
He grinned back. “The best.”
Soon it was down to Malfoy and Eleanor, who had barely drunk half her brandy. “Come on, the game’s gone on long enough,” Smith complained. “It’s almost two…three…something. Let’s go home.”
“Right,” Blaise cried. “Here’s what we’ll do. Let’s team up against Malfoy.”
“S’noa fair,” Malfoy moaned, his Wiltshire accent creeping back into his speech.
“But I don’t know what to say,” Eleanor said timidly.
“I’ve got the perfect thing!” Laughing, Blaise stood and stumbled over to where Eleanor sat on her pile of pillows, where he proceeded to whisper something in her ear. Eleanor blanched.
“What is it, Ellie?” Boot asked.
“Say it!” Romilda said. “Say it, I want to hear!”
“It’s perfect!” Blaise boasted. “Malfoy only has one drink left, he’ll be out!”
“Say it!” Romilda repeated.
Eleanor looked at Blaise, who nodded his encouragement. Then, taking a deep breath, she said softly, “Never have I ever been married and divorced in the same week.”
Everyone froze, not even daring to breathe. Underneath her legs, Ginny felt Malfoy tense violently. “Nice job, you arse,” she spat at Blaise. “You’re such a bastard, Zabini-”
“It’s just a game among friends!” Blaise said, too drunk understand her anger.
Ginny stood up, straightening and tugging on her dress. “We’re going,” she announced. “Thanks for nothing, you prize git.”
“I think you’re overreacting a bit there, Weasley,” Smith warned her.
“Overreacting?” she cried. “Malfoy doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t care how pissed you are, it’s no excuse to bring it up!”
“You don’t need to pretend, Ginny,” Morag said calmly. “We all know you’re the reason why it happened.”
Ginny’s jaw dropped. “How - how dare - come on, Malfoy, we’re leaving. I’ve had it with this lot.” She stormed out of the room, her high heels clicking furiously on the marble floor.
Malfoy stood and stared at the silent group around him. He drained his glass to the bottom, murmured, “Congratulations, Eleanor,” and followed Ginny out.
“I hate them,” Ginny said bitterly, marching through the dense woods around Ottery St Catchpole and the Burrow. “They’re - mean, they’re horrible-”
“I’d forgotten what a rotten drunk you can be,” Malfoy said idly.
“Everywhere we go! ‘Malfoy, Astoria’s here,’ ‘Malfoy, Astoria says hello,’-”
“It’s in the past, Ginny.”
“Whatever happened to human decency? I mean really?” She picked up her long, trailing dress to step over a fallen log in their path; Malfoy instinctively offered her his hand to help her over. “Everywhere we go. Literally. It’s rude, is what it is.”
“That’s enough, Ginny,” he said quietly.
“And tonight’s the last straw!” Ginny went on without hearing him, stumbling slightly in her impractical heels. “You should tell them, Draco, once and for all - you don’t like hearing about it. Stop bringing it up, you - you mean gits.”
“That’s enough,” he repeated, taking her upper arm to guide her. “If you don’t stop now I know you’re going to say something that’ll upset me and that you’ll regret in the morning.”
“I’ll say what I want to!” she cried angrily. “They’re no friends of mine!”
“You and Morag McDougal have been close for years.”
“Well, I’ll - I’ll - do something once the world stops spinning,” Ginny moaned, pausing in her path. “Bloody hell, why did I agree to a drinking game?”
Malfoy chuckled. “I think it was your idea in the first place.”
“Remind me - no more drinking games. Not until the next party. Not until-” She looked down at his helping hand. “Really, Draco, I can walk just fine.”
“I know you can, you showed me back there.”
“Just because I’m a - what am I?”
“A Quidditch player?”
“Yes.” She nodded emphatically, which made her weave on her feet again. “Oh dear oh dear - I’m falling.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m a Quidditch player - doesn’t mean I’m not coordinated enough to walk on the ground.” Ginny frowned up at him. “You got me off-topic.”
Malfoy groaned. “No, we’re not going back to that.”
“Your idiot ex-friends going on about Astoria ‘Miss Congeniality’ Greengrass,” she growled. “Merlin, I’ve got more personality in my pinkie finger than she has in her whole body.”
“That’s enough,” he snapped, stopping her roughly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me!” Ginny shrieked.
They both froze as her words hung in the silent, still, pre-dawn air. Neither of them dared to breathe, neither made a move, until Ginny gave a strangled, half-sobbing sound.
“Oh God,” she whispered, hitching on the words. “I’m so drunk, I didn’t mean-”
“What did you mean?” When she tried to break from his grasp, Draco grabbed her chin and forced her eyes upwards to his. “Explain yourself.”
Angrily, Ginny yanked herself away from him. “You’re never serious about-”
“You say that again I’m going to ram the words down your throat,” Draco spat.
“But you aren’t! When you married her it was just the same story: you were thinking with your pants instead of your brains, thought Astoria would be a good wife, then once you tired of her you were done with her. Same story each time, each time you find a shiny new toy and finish playing with it.”
Draco spluttered in surprise, taking a few steps back. “Is your opinion of me so low?”
“I was never good enough for you,” she said, and this time there were genuine tears rolling down her face. She scrubbed at them halfheartedly, wiping some of her makeup off in the process. “I was just Ginny, the best mate, but Astoria, she - she was the kind of girl you marry.”
Draco said nothing, so Ginny continued, laughing through her tears. “In for a Knut, yeah?” she said miserably. “I felt so betrayed when you announced you were marrying her. I was sobbing in Hermione’s lap the day of the ceremony; I wasn’t sick with the flu like I told you.”
“Why did you lie to me?” he said softly, hardly daring to speak aloud.
“What does it matter?” she bit off, glaring up at him. “You never thought of me the same way I thought of you.”
“Because I’m not serious about anything,” he said, a slight smile curling his lip. “Including my romantic relationships.”
Ginny huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. After a moment, she started down the path towards the Burrow again.
Draco followed behind, a few steps back. “You Floo’d me that night, remember? The fifth night of my marriage. Because one of your teammates had been in a serious Quidditch accident and had died, and you were a right mess-”
“Kennefick,” Ginny said sadly, not breaking her stride. “I miss her so much.”
“I went to you immediately,” Draco said. “I didn’t even think twice about it. And I stayed there all night with you while you cried.”
He reached out to grab her hand and Ginny, exhausted and drunk, stumbled face-first into his arms and didn’t move away. “Astoria was furious,” Draco whispered into her fragrant hair. “She made me choose. I chose you. She served me with divorce papers later that day.”
“Coincidence,” Ginny murmured against his robes.
“Cause and effect,” he corrected her. “I choose you, and I will always choose you.”
“Draco,” she whimpered, “why did you marry her in the first place?”
He smiled grimly. “Because I’d convinced myself that you didn’t feel about me the way I felt about you.”
The sky, until then only faintly gray with the coming daylight, then brightened more perceptibly - the sun had shown itself at last over the ridge of the hills surrounding the Weasleys’ land, blanketing the countryside with timid, reaching golden bars of light. And as the darkness evaporated, and the birds came to life in their hidden nests, realization dawned on Draco and Ginny’s faces.
“You never said what you thought of my dress,” Ginny murmured, lowering her eyes in embarrassment.
Draco lifted her chin again. “Ginny,” he said, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
She reddened. “Well?” she said boldly. “Aren’t you going to kiss me now?”
He laughed and, without warning, suddenly scooped her up into his arms; Ginny gave a weak protesting yelp. “Kiss you while we’re both dead drunk and exhausted? I think not. I’d like to have a first kiss that doesn’t end with one of us passing out cold, if you don’t mind.”
“Ugh, you’re impossible,” she complained, burying her face against his shoulder.
He crested the next hill, and they both looked out to see the Burrow’s familiar crooked shape breaking up the horizon, a trail of smoke coming from the chimney. “Your mum’s up,” he said. “She’ll take care of you.”
“She’s excellent at Hangover Potions,” Ginny mused tiredly.
“Good.” He started down the hill, taking it slowly with his added burden. “Because I’ll tell you what you’re going to do now.”
“Bossy,” she muttered.
“You’re going to get a decent eight hours of sleep,” Draco said as though he hadn’t heard her. “Then, a nice relaxing bath. Use whatever soap you used yesterday, because it’s delicious.”
“Check.”
“Then, dress in your best formal wear. We’re going out tonight, and I want you looking your best.”
“Out?” she said, mildly interested through her sleep-deprived haze. “Like as in a date?”
They arrived at the Burrow’s back door, which Molly already had opened to accommodate them. “Well,” she said, hands on her hips. “When you said late I didn’t think it would be this late.”
“But she’s all in one piece,” Draco said cheerfully. “It was a splendid party, Molly. We both had a lot of fun.”
“Lot of fun,” Ginny said.
“I’ll just put her up in her bedroom?” Without waiting for Mrs Weasley to reply, Draco headed up the crooked stairs to Ginny’s room, where he lay her down on the bed.
“I’ll get a potion,” Mrs Weasley said, going back out.
Draco paused above Ginny’s face, staring down into her wide, liquid brown eyes. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said. He brushed a kiss against her forehead.
“I’m in love with you,” she whispered. “Have been for years.”
He smirked at her. “Of course you are, Gin,” he whispered back. “But I’m in love with you too.” He kissed her forehead again. “Remember what I said. Eight hours’ sleep.”
She nodded, already half-unconscious, and Draco left the room quietly, bidding goodbye to Mrs Weasley and stepping out into the sunlit back garden. He paused briefly on the back step, inhaling deeply the crisp morning air, and smiled at the rising sun.
He had not slept a wink the night before. But for some reason, however mysterious, he felt like he had just awoken from a deep, restful sleep.
As a side note and point of interest: People from Wiltshire come to be called “moonrakers” because of an old story told there. Two Wiltshire men, smuggling barrels of brandy into the county, needed to hide their goods from tax collectors. They dumped the barrels into a pond, but the tax collectors found them while they were raking the water to bring the barrels back up. The men quickly told the taxmen that they were trying to reach the big wheel of cheese in the middle of the pond - which was actually the reflection of the full moon. The taxmen laughed to themselves about simple-minded rustics and left them, never noticing the barrels of brandy. Hence, the term moonrakers: they’re sharper than you might think.
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
What would you like to receive?
The tone/mood of the fic: I am open to anything. I would like to fic to depict a mutual love for each other.
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic:
Preferred rating of the the fic you want:
Canon or AU? AU
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No rape or forced relations.