Fic: Hospitality - 7/? - M - Draco/Ginny
Title: Hospitality
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Rating: R (M) - eventually
Summary: “There was no snide quip though. No deliberately cutting comment. Ginny stared and then a second later the grey eyes rolled dramatically and turned away from her towards the tasteless curtains.” Post-war fic. Ginny was just plodding along, enduring her perfectly well-ordered normal life and dreaming that maybe something more interesting might come along. She just never thought that the ‘something’ might actually turn out to be a ‘someone’.
Spoilers: HBP
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
1: Paperwork
2: The Good Life
3: Cures and Conundrums
4: Escape, with Sandwiches
5: Night Owls
6: Bookworm
PART SEVEN: A SLYTHERIN SUNDAY
Sunday morning dawned bright and early for Ginny. Before she had even opened her eyes, she was frowning deeply as some unexpected yet decidedly familiar sound filled her ears. The redhead rolled over sleepily in bed, burying her face in her pillow and lay there pretending that she was imagining the noise. When it persisted for several more minutes, she reluctantly sat up and wearily rubbed her eyes before looking in the direction of the bedroom window. As expected, there was an owl sitting outside watching her and it appeared to be carrying a letter.
It hooted at her expectantly, almost reprimanding her for being so slow.
After struggling out from beneath a tangle of sheets, the redhead stumbled over to the window and opened it. The bird hoped inside and was quickly followed by another that had her heavy Sunday copy of the Prophet. It took her several more minutes to find a handful of Knuts to pay for the paper and then Ginny sent them both on their way so that she could return to bed.
Curling up beneath the duvet, she turned her attention first to the letter which she discovered to be from her mother after reading the curling script on the front of the envelope. She put it aside to read later and picked up the newspaper, determined to spend at least a little time resting before having to move. Later on, she had a few errands to run in Diagon Alley and undoubtedly there would be some instruction from her mother about one favour or another that she needed doing in the letter that could not be ignored. For the moment though, she was determined to relax. Sunday mornings were simply too precious to waste - especially since she had been up late the night before once again.
It was perhaps unsurprising to discover that her reason for rolling into bed at nearly one in the morning was related to a particular irritating blonde man who seemed capable of driving her mad even from miles and miles away. Despite feeling as if she was not gaining an ground of discovering the root of Malfoy’s illness and exactly how ill he was, Ginny had felt compelled to continue her search the day before even though it had led her around in circles.
After a while, quite naturally, her interest in all things medical had started to wane dramatically and Ginny had found her interest stirred by another line of enquiry, stimulated by a book she had come across quite accidentally.
It appeared that her dear friend, Hermione, had somewhat bizarrely taken a liking to reading about the old magical families and, more specifically, those that had a distinctly pureblood heritage which had been carefully maintained over the centuries.
When Ginny had stumbled across the small selection of books that Hermione had kept on her bedside table she had been amazed. At the time she had been heading to the bathroom in search a pain relief potion at the time for her growing eyestrain related headache but that was soon forgotten as she had felt her curiosity nudged. Instead, she had become rapidly interested in why her friend would be interested in a topic that she had always claimed was nonsense. It was only on further investigation that Ginny had discovered that the books were not specifically about pureblood superiority but rather about the marital habits, traditions and culture from a scientific standpoint. Indeed there appeared to be only one book actively promoting maintaining pure bloodlines and Ginny had discovered that the pages Hermione had apparently found interesting in that one - judging from the way she had marked them - were the ones filled with things like ‘do not marry your own sister’ and similar pieces of advice.
Curiosity stirred, Ginny had retreated with the books to the kitchen where she had briefly ordered some take-out via the floo network and decided to take a break from reading about the assorted bits and piece of nastiness that could be caused by blood curses.
Three hours later and entirely too much caffeine later, Ginny was still engrossed in the books. She had never given much thought to the subject of pureblood families, convinced that the only people who could possibly find such a topic interesting were bigots who had either been Death Eaters or aspired to be one of them. After a while, despite her reservations, Ginny had become genuinely interested. A morbid part of her mind was particularly fascinated when she had found a chapter pertaining to her Mother’s family, the Prewetts, and how they had nearly breed themselves into extinction by intermarrying between first cousins in the seventeenth century. By the time she was done with the chapter, Ginny had begun to feel rather proud that she did not have six toes on each foot or a tendency to randomly cause explosions when she blinked.
Indeed the general gist of the books seemed to be the history of pureblood family lines and the hereditary illnesses that were associated with them. By the time Ginny had devoured one chapter on the statistical probability of freak illnesses occurring in modern day generations because someone had married their own mother five hundred years before she had been more than a little horrified. If they had given classes on the subject at Hogwarts, Ginny doubted that even the most hardened Death Eater would have thought twice the next time he started spouting off about blood purity and noble bloodlines.
Scattered through the books were little notes, placeholders. To Ginny’s eye they had no discernable common trend but doubtless they had meaning to Hermione. She had spent quite a while trying to connect everything but all that she had been able to come up with was that Hermione was apparently researching the attempts by the old pureblood families to prevent weaknesses and illnesses from occurring in their descendants.
It had been late by the time that Ginny had managed to tear herself away. So late in fact that she had not been able to bring herself to make the effort to tidying up, knowing that she would have to return the next day anyway in order to feed Crookshanks.
Speaking of which, Ginny thought and reluctantly dragged herself out of bed after throwing the newspaper down.
She moved quickly around the room, gathering together her outfit for the day before retreating to the bathroom for a quick shower. By the time that she had washed, changed and fixed her hair into something like a presentable state, Ginny’s stomach had begun to rumble. She decided to forgo whatever meagre provisions that she might have been able to summon up for her brunch from her kitchen and head out into Diagon Alley, the letter from her mother stuffed into her coat pocket. Even on a Sunday some of the smaller shops remained open and Ginny knew that there was a small cafe not far from Hermione’s apartment that would serve a delicious continental breakfast if she managed to catch them early enough.
Spring had finally begun; complete with frequent unpredictable showers of rain and alternating cool and warm winds that fluttered around the streets. The change in weather seemed to have markedly improved the mood of many of the occupants of Diagon Alley and as Ginny walked along she was greeted by the smiles of other pedestrians. It lifted her and by the time that she reached the café, Ginny was ready to offer a smile to the girl behind the counter as she placed her order. The girl returned it and then hurried away, leaving Ginny to contemplate the cabinet full of sweets and Danishes, rooting around in her the pocket of her coat to find her purse.
“I’ll get this,” a voice drawled by her ear even as a hand reached around her and placed some coins on the countertop.
Ginny spun around sharply, her hand going automatically to press against her chest and her heart which was beating thunderously just beneath. She found herself staring at a broad expanse of dark wool and had to consciously redirect her eyes upwards before she realised who she was looking at.
“Blaise!” she exclaimed, a smile appearing easily on her lips. “What are you doing here?”
He raised one dark eyebrow, the corner of his lips turning up in the smallest of smiles. “Well I was planning on getting a cup of coffee. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Oh yes, of course you can,” Ginny answered quickly then flushed slightly, worried that she had managed to sound overeager. Ginny consoled herself with the thought that even if she had wanted to then she would not have been able to say no - not after Blaise had already taken it upon himself to pay for her meal.
Mentally, she rolled her eyes at the thought, well aware that she was in all probability just making excuses.
The girl returned with her order and while Blaise acquired his cup of coffee, Ginny sought out a table in the corner of the cafe and got comfortable. She wriggled onto the chair in the corner so that she would have a clear view of the other customers and shed her coat over the back of her chair. It had been her plan to read the letter from her mother but since Blaise had decided to join her, she left it stuffed in her pocket and took a moment to glance at the rest of the patrons while she waited for the handsome black man to seat himself.
For a Sunday morning, it was pleasantly busy but not overcrowded. It was also clear that several people had hit upon the same idea as she had. Over by the wall there was an old woman that Ginny instantly recognised as a regular, seated with a small boy who was currently attempting to daub jam over the table top. The moment the woman noticed what the child was doing, she began to scold him but not before the boy had managed to put a large handprint on her cardigan. The sight made the redhead grin and she quickly turned her eyes away, not wanting to get caught.
Her gaze skimmed over a couple by the window. They were too utterly engrossed with each other to be truly interesting. Instead, she looked at a small group of teenage girls that were huddled over, talking in hushed tones to each other. To Ginny, they looked about fifteen or sixteen years old and were also dressed in the latest teenage fashions. Occasionally one of them would glance outwards from their small circle, flush slightly and quickly duck their head once more. As one of them tried to surreptitiously look up once again, Ginny followed her line of sight and was not entirely surprised to find that she was tracking Blaise as he moved across the room. When the man in question settled into the chair opposite Ginny’s, the redhead accidentally caught the eye of the girl who was now looking distinctly disgruntled.
“You have yourself some admirers,” she teased and began to tuck into her meal, eating steadily despite her hunger. She did not need him thinking that she ate like an uncontrollable pig.
Blaise glanced back over his shoulder briefly then gave an indelicate little snort and waved his hand dismissively. He picked up this cup of coffee and sipped from it.
“Oh, that used to it, are you?” Ginny continued with a raised eyebrow. “You shouldn’t take them for granted, Blaise.”
“Why would I be interested in what a bunch of little girls think?”
Feeling reprimanded, Ginny ducked her eyes and concentrated on the plate before her. “Most men would find knowing that there was a bunch of females giggling over them enjoyable,” she pointed out. Then added, “Or, at the very least, amusing.”
With a shake of his head, Blaise said, “I had quite enough of that sort of carry on when I was at Hogwarts.”
Ginny looked up at him from beneath the fine layer of her eyelashes and felt heat rise to her cheeks almost immediately. Blaise’s eyes were so dark then reminded the redhead of bitter chocolate. The sentiment expressed in them was far from unpleasant however. Indeed it dawned on Ginny that it was the exact opposite of unpleasant.
Determined not to appear flustered, the redhead put a tight rein on her features and reminded herself firmly that she was not a fifteen year old school girl anymore. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” she asked, discarding her fork and turning her attention to her own cup of coffee. Suddenly trying to eat did not seem very important anymore.
“I don’t know,” he said, full of self-assurance. “Why doesn’t it?”
Resisting the urge to flush at his suggestive tone, Ginny said, “I guess because from what I remember all you Slytherin gits seemed to have one girl or another draped over you.”
“You almost sound jealous.”
Ginny forced a dismissive grunt. “Hardly… The likes of Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass really wouldn’t do anything for me.”
His eyes widened slightly. “In my defence, I would like to point out that I never had anything to do with either of those examples romantically.”
“Who said anything about romance?” she teased.
Blaise scrunched his nose up slightly, as if in disgust. “What a disturbing thought. I’ll have you know I was much more discerning than that. Besides, those too spent their entire time fighting over who Draco favoured more and the only time they ever paid any attention to anyone else male was when they were trying to make him jealous. I had no interest in fulfilling that role in their silly little game.”
Ginny listened to him carefully, grateful that he had not noticed the way in which she had tensed when he had so casually mentioned Malfoy’s name. It was not that she was surprised - not really. After all, it was only natural for him to mention a former housemate so effortlessly; especially since from what Ginny understood they had been reasonably good friends. It was simply that after having finally having managed to spend a half an hour without thinking about the pale blonde former-Slytherin it was rather irritating to be have him dangled in front of her face once more.
She pursed her lips, wondering whether Blaise was aware of his former housemate’s current residence. Did he know about Malfoy’s bad health?
The redhead’s lips parted. She was seriously tempted to ask but at the same time the idea of explaining to Blaise why she even knew about Malfoy’s illness, let alone the concern that inadvertently felt was distinctly uncomfortable. He would ask as well; he was a Slytherin, or at least had been one, and it was a prerequisite that they were the inquisitive sort.
She stifled the urge quickly, finding it rather unsettling. “Did it work?” she asked instead.
“Did it make him jealous?” Blaise asked. When Ginny nodded her head, he continued, “No. Draco was no more interested in them than I was. I think it simply amused him to find that they wanted him so badly and that they were willing to go to such extremes.”
“Sounds like him,” she observed.
Blaise tilted his head to one side, his lips curling up into a smirk. “For a moment there I forgot you were a Weasley,” he said then held his hands up defensively as the line of her jaw hardened. “Now, now,” he continued. “I didn’t mean it like that. Everyone with half a brain cell knows that the Weasley name is as good as any other. It just surprises me that after all these years you still dislike him so much.”
“Some grudges just don’t like dying,” Ginny told him dryly, watching as a flicker of amusement sped through his eyes. “Besides, it doesn’t alter the fact that he’s an arrogant prat - always was, always will be. The idea of girls fighting over him probably really excited him.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am.”
Tracing the rim of his cup, Blaise said contemplatively, “You sound as if you disapprove in regards to our various… ah, activities.”
Ginny frowned. She knew what he was referring to - she had alluded to it herself in fact. There had always been rumours that the students in Slytherin were considerably more promiscuous than those in the other houses and there probably still were. It was like an unwritten rule or perhaps an understanding that had been passed down to each successive year at Hogwarts.
“It’s not that I don’t approve,” she said carefully. “For a start, it isn’t my place to approve or disapprove and it’s not as if it didn’t go on in the other houses as well.”
“But…” Blaise urged.
“But nothing,” Ginny said finally. She placed a smile onto her lips. “It was a long time ago anyway.” He smirked again, lifting his drink to his lips. “What?” she asked, laughing slightly and reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“Nothing… I’m just glad that you think that way.”
Something warm bubbled up inside Ginny. She leaned forwards, pushing aside the remains of the brunch and resting her elbows on the table. Unconsciously, she wet her lips.
The smirk grew stronger. “I would hate to call you a hypocrite after all.”
Her brow furrowed, her mouth falling open. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
“Well from what I recall you had quite a few boyfriends yourself while you were at school.”
“Yes, but… I didn’t… It wasn’t…” she stumbled, blushing fiercely.
Blaise chuckled deeply and Ginny felt a flicker of irritation at the thought he was laughing at her distress. Her eyes hardened. Surely he did not actually think that she had slept with all the boyfriends she had been with when she was at school? She had certainly been too young to sleep with Michael and while it had certainly been an issue with Dean that did not mean that she had given in. As far as Harry was concerned… well, Harry was a special case. She had been in love with him for as long as she could remember by the time that they had actually gotten together. He had been her first and yes, she had been too young, legally and emotionally, but Ginny had never regretted it. Not even when he had left her to go off and fight. She would never regret it.
He was smirking again, evidently amused by her resentment.
Ginny opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought - to tell him that Harry had been her only lover in school even though there was a small voice niggling at the back of her mind, telling her that she should not rise up to the bait.
“Perhaps we need to spend some more time together,” he said quickly, smoothly, before she could possibly find the right words to voice her vexation. “Clearly you can not tell yet when I am being playful.”
“That was you being… playful?” she asked, dubious and choosing not to dwell too much on his first statement.
He nodded, leaning forwards and changing tack, “You know, Pansy used to be quite jealous of you,” he told her. “In sixth year - our sixth year - she was convinced that Draco fancied you.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Ginny guffawed.
Blaise shrugged his shoulders gracefully. “She thought that all the time he spent occupied with other… matters, that he was actually off trying to figure out a way to see you,” he told her cautiously, hesitatingly slightly.
Frowning slightly, Ginny said, “Well I guess that explains why it felt like she was stalking me at times. I just thought that she was spying for Malfoy.”
“She probably was in a way - especially after you started seeing Potter. Undoubtedly, she thought that reporting your every deed with his arch enemy would turn whatever he was feeling for you into hatred and endear her to him.”
The redhead narrowed her eyes. “But it didn’t.”
“No.”
“Because Malfoy didn’t really give a damn about what I was doing,” she stated resolutely.
Blaise did not reply immediately, instead he simply peered at her thoughtfully for a moment. Finally, he flexed his fingers and said, “So, what do you say?”
Confused by the sudden change in the direction of the conversation, Ginny cocked her head to one side and looked at him questioningly. “Say to what?”
Offering her an indulgent smile, he said, “Getting together some time.”
Ginny started, reddening. “Oh! Sure.”
His face lit up in what seemed to be genuine pleasure. “I’ll send you an owl sometime this week with the arrangements,” he told her.
“Arrangements?” Ginny queried.
“You have to give me the chance to plan things perfectly and unfortunately, I’m going to have to rush off right now. I was only meant to be grabbing a quick drink and we’ve been sat here well over an hour.”
She watched him stand, still feeling slightly baffled. “Oh, okay.” Quickly, the witch added, “I should really get going as well. I’ve got a pile of errands to run.”
To her surprise, Blaise leaned down, brushing his lips against her cheek then murmuring in her ear, “I promise that I won’t make you wait too long.” He drew back sharply and in a flourish of dark robes, turned to stride from the café before Ginny could say another word.
Ginny sat, staring after him for several minutes, the fingertips of one hand pressed gently against the region of her cheek that his lips had touched. They had been velvety smooth and so hot that Ginny was certain that she must have a mark where they had been placed. As her fingers came into contact with where they had been, she half expected to find the skin extra warm.
Gradually, she came back to herself and blinked. Dragging her eyes away from the doorway, she hoped that no one had noticed her rather vacant expression and reached for her coat. It would be embarrassing to have been caught staring like a drooling idiot.
In any case, she really did have to hurry along. Hermione was due back that afternoon from the symposium and Ginny had no idea at exactly what time she was meant to arrive home. If she did not manage to tidy her friend’s apartment and replace the items she had borrowed then Ginny knew that she was going to end up in a whole heap of trouble. In all the years that Ginny had known Hermione, she had never known the woman let go until she had managed to ferret out the truth. If she decided that Ginny had been up to something that she should not have been doing then there would be no stopping her from getting to the bottom of it.
The thought spurred her on and Ginny hurried to complete her errands. With any luck she would make it into the apartment, tidy up, feed Crookshanks and be gone before Hermione returned. Then there could be no awkward questions.
From the grocers, she purchased coffee and biscuits to replace that which she had consumed. Then she moved into Flourish and Blotts, knowing that Hermione had undoubtedly purchased her writing materials from their small section considering her desire for good quality merchandise equipment when writing. As expected, Ginny found exact replicas of the ones she had used and bought them - wincing slightly at the price.
After making her purchases, Ginny exited the shop and bundled the bags into one hand so that she could twist her wrist to look at her watch. She nearly gagged as she saw the time. Blaise had not been joking when he had said they had been sat around for over an hour. If anything he had been generous. It could not have taken her more than half an hour to complete her shopping and it was nearly two in the afternoon.
She hurried in the direction of Hermione’s apartment, jogging in an ungainly manner up the steps in front of the building. A pink flush washed her cheeks when she reached the top and was immediately confronted with an attractive man with short coffee coloured hair. He was holding the door open and had apparently been waiting until she reached the top of the stairs.
“Thanks,” Ginny said shyly, moving to pass him, instantly aware of how tall he felt.
“No problem,” he replied, releasing the door now that she was inside. It closed immediately and through the small panel of glass in it, Ginny saw him start down the stairs. Turning, she headed for the stairs.
The apartment was thankfully empty when she unlocked the door. Ginny stepped inside swiftly and moved into the kitchen. After setting her purchases on the tabletop, she turned to survey the mess that she had made the night before. It was not quite as bad as she remembered but she was still thankful that she had magic to fall back on to help her.
Filling the sink with water, she set brush to washing the pots that she had used then quickly dug out some food for Crookshanks. The cat had appeared the moment that she had entered the apartment, nearly tripping her over as he rubbed around her legs. As she placed the bowl of food down for him, Ginny scratched behind his ears and then turned to her shopping.
She emptied the supplies that she had bought into the appropriate containers, discarding the wrappers into the kitchen bin before taking the paper and going to the study. Tidying up in here would be a little more difficult because despite trying desperately, Ginny had not managed to remember where she had retrieved all the books from. Indeed it felt more like trial and error. By the time that she was finished, Ginny was certain that at least a dozen books must have been put in the wrong place but she reluctantly had to admit that there was nothing she could do to rectify it. Her only hope was that perhaps Hermione was not quite as organised as she appeared to be; maybe she too occasionally put texts back in the wrong place.
Ginny was just returning the books that she had found on Hermione’s bedside table when she heard the characteristic ‘pop’ of someone Apparating into the apartment. She rushed from the room, not wanting to be caught around such incriminating material, and skidded to a halt in the doorway to the sitting room.
Startled by the sudden appearance of her friend, Hermione dropped the weekend bag she had been carrying with a yelp of surprise. “Ginny!” she exclaimed, brown eyes wide. “What…”
“Sorry, ‘Mione,” she apologised. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. I was just feeding Crookshanks.”
“Oh, of course,” her friend replied, a smile flittering onto her lips. She stepped around the bag, leaving it discarded on the floor and proceeded to remove her coat. “I should have sent you an owl to tell you what time I was due back and then you wouldn’t have had to make the trip.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ginny replied. “Crookshanks and I decided to spend some quality time together.”
Hermione chuckled and shook her head. “Actually,” she said. “I’m glad I caught you. I was going to call by the office tomorrow and ask whether you wanted to meet up for lunch - my treat as a thank you for looking after this place.”
Unconsciously, Ginny let out a relieved breath even as she nodded her head in agreement. A sensation of nervous tension had spread over her shoulders when Hermione had started to speak and she had been certain that her friend had somehow already managed to discern that things were not as they should be in her apartment.
“Only if you take me somewhere nice,” she teased. Stepping forwards, she wrapped her friend in a brief hug and added, “I’m going to leave and let you settle in. No doubt you want to relax after the trip.”
“Thank you,” Hermione replied. “I’ll call by the office at one tomorrow, okay?”
“Yup. I’ll be ready and waiting.”
8: Getting Better
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Rating: R (M) - eventually
Summary: “There was no snide quip though. No deliberately cutting comment. Ginny stared and then a second later the grey eyes rolled dramatically and turned away from her towards the tasteless curtains.” Post-war fic. Ginny was just plodding along, enduring her perfectly well-ordered normal life and dreaming that maybe something more interesting might come along. She just never thought that the ‘something’ might actually turn out to be a ‘someone’.
Spoilers: HBP
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
1: Paperwork
2: The Good Life
3: Cures and Conundrums
4: Escape, with Sandwiches
5: Night Owls
6: Bookworm
PART SEVEN: A SLYTHERIN SUNDAY
Sunday morning dawned bright and early for Ginny. Before she had even opened her eyes, she was frowning deeply as some unexpected yet decidedly familiar sound filled her ears. The redhead rolled over sleepily in bed, burying her face in her pillow and lay there pretending that she was imagining the noise. When it persisted for several more minutes, she reluctantly sat up and wearily rubbed her eyes before looking in the direction of the bedroom window. As expected, there was an owl sitting outside watching her and it appeared to be carrying a letter.
It hooted at her expectantly, almost reprimanding her for being so slow.
After struggling out from beneath a tangle of sheets, the redhead stumbled over to the window and opened it. The bird hoped inside and was quickly followed by another that had her heavy Sunday copy of the Prophet. It took her several more minutes to find a handful of Knuts to pay for the paper and then Ginny sent them both on their way so that she could return to bed.
Curling up beneath the duvet, she turned her attention first to the letter which she discovered to be from her mother after reading the curling script on the front of the envelope. She put it aside to read later and picked up the newspaper, determined to spend at least a little time resting before having to move. Later on, she had a few errands to run in Diagon Alley and undoubtedly there would be some instruction from her mother about one favour or another that she needed doing in the letter that could not be ignored. For the moment though, she was determined to relax. Sunday mornings were simply too precious to waste - especially since she had been up late the night before once again.
It was perhaps unsurprising to discover that her reason for rolling into bed at nearly one in the morning was related to a particular irritating blonde man who seemed capable of driving her mad even from miles and miles away. Despite feeling as if she was not gaining an ground of discovering the root of Malfoy’s illness and exactly how ill he was, Ginny had felt compelled to continue her search the day before even though it had led her around in circles.
After a while, quite naturally, her interest in all things medical had started to wane dramatically and Ginny had found her interest stirred by another line of enquiry, stimulated by a book she had come across quite accidentally.
It appeared that her dear friend, Hermione, had somewhat bizarrely taken a liking to reading about the old magical families and, more specifically, those that had a distinctly pureblood heritage which had been carefully maintained over the centuries.
When Ginny had stumbled across the small selection of books that Hermione had kept on her bedside table she had been amazed. At the time she had been heading to the bathroom in search a pain relief potion at the time for her growing eyestrain related headache but that was soon forgotten as she had felt her curiosity nudged. Instead, she had become rapidly interested in why her friend would be interested in a topic that she had always claimed was nonsense. It was only on further investigation that Ginny had discovered that the books were not specifically about pureblood superiority but rather about the marital habits, traditions and culture from a scientific standpoint. Indeed there appeared to be only one book actively promoting maintaining pure bloodlines and Ginny had discovered that the pages Hermione had apparently found interesting in that one - judging from the way she had marked them - were the ones filled with things like ‘do not marry your own sister’ and similar pieces of advice.
Curiosity stirred, Ginny had retreated with the books to the kitchen where she had briefly ordered some take-out via the floo network and decided to take a break from reading about the assorted bits and piece of nastiness that could be caused by blood curses.
Three hours later and entirely too much caffeine later, Ginny was still engrossed in the books. She had never given much thought to the subject of pureblood families, convinced that the only people who could possibly find such a topic interesting were bigots who had either been Death Eaters or aspired to be one of them. After a while, despite her reservations, Ginny had become genuinely interested. A morbid part of her mind was particularly fascinated when she had found a chapter pertaining to her Mother’s family, the Prewetts, and how they had nearly breed themselves into extinction by intermarrying between first cousins in the seventeenth century. By the time she was done with the chapter, Ginny had begun to feel rather proud that she did not have six toes on each foot or a tendency to randomly cause explosions when she blinked.
Indeed the general gist of the books seemed to be the history of pureblood family lines and the hereditary illnesses that were associated with them. By the time Ginny had devoured one chapter on the statistical probability of freak illnesses occurring in modern day generations because someone had married their own mother five hundred years before she had been more than a little horrified. If they had given classes on the subject at Hogwarts, Ginny doubted that even the most hardened Death Eater would have thought twice the next time he started spouting off about blood purity and noble bloodlines.
Scattered through the books were little notes, placeholders. To Ginny’s eye they had no discernable common trend but doubtless they had meaning to Hermione. She had spent quite a while trying to connect everything but all that she had been able to come up with was that Hermione was apparently researching the attempts by the old pureblood families to prevent weaknesses and illnesses from occurring in their descendants.
It had been late by the time that Ginny had managed to tear herself away. So late in fact that she had not been able to bring herself to make the effort to tidying up, knowing that she would have to return the next day anyway in order to feed Crookshanks.
Speaking of which, Ginny thought and reluctantly dragged herself out of bed after throwing the newspaper down.
She moved quickly around the room, gathering together her outfit for the day before retreating to the bathroom for a quick shower. By the time that she had washed, changed and fixed her hair into something like a presentable state, Ginny’s stomach had begun to rumble. She decided to forgo whatever meagre provisions that she might have been able to summon up for her brunch from her kitchen and head out into Diagon Alley, the letter from her mother stuffed into her coat pocket. Even on a Sunday some of the smaller shops remained open and Ginny knew that there was a small cafe not far from Hermione’s apartment that would serve a delicious continental breakfast if she managed to catch them early enough.
Spring had finally begun; complete with frequent unpredictable showers of rain and alternating cool and warm winds that fluttered around the streets. The change in weather seemed to have markedly improved the mood of many of the occupants of Diagon Alley and as Ginny walked along she was greeted by the smiles of other pedestrians. It lifted her and by the time that she reached the café, Ginny was ready to offer a smile to the girl behind the counter as she placed her order. The girl returned it and then hurried away, leaving Ginny to contemplate the cabinet full of sweets and Danishes, rooting around in her the pocket of her coat to find her purse.
“I’ll get this,” a voice drawled by her ear even as a hand reached around her and placed some coins on the countertop.
Ginny spun around sharply, her hand going automatically to press against her chest and her heart which was beating thunderously just beneath. She found herself staring at a broad expanse of dark wool and had to consciously redirect her eyes upwards before she realised who she was looking at.
“Blaise!” she exclaimed, a smile appearing easily on her lips. “What are you doing here?”
He raised one dark eyebrow, the corner of his lips turning up in the smallest of smiles. “Well I was planning on getting a cup of coffee. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Oh yes, of course you can,” Ginny answered quickly then flushed slightly, worried that she had managed to sound overeager. Ginny consoled herself with the thought that even if she had wanted to then she would not have been able to say no - not after Blaise had already taken it upon himself to pay for her meal.
Mentally, she rolled her eyes at the thought, well aware that she was in all probability just making excuses.
The girl returned with her order and while Blaise acquired his cup of coffee, Ginny sought out a table in the corner of the cafe and got comfortable. She wriggled onto the chair in the corner so that she would have a clear view of the other customers and shed her coat over the back of her chair. It had been her plan to read the letter from her mother but since Blaise had decided to join her, she left it stuffed in her pocket and took a moment to glance at the rest of the patrons while she waited for the handsome black man to seat himself.
For a Sunday morning, it was pleasantly busy but not overcrowded. It was also clear that several people had hit upon the same idea as she had. Over by the wall there was an old woman that Ginny instantly recognised as a regular, seated with a small boy who was currently attempting to daub jam over the table top. The moment the woman noticed what the child was doing, she began to scold him but not before the boy had managed to put a large handprint on her cardigan. The sight made the redhead grin and she quickly turned her eyes away, not wanting to get caught.
Her gaze skimmed over a couple by the window. They were too utterly engrossed with each other to be truly interesting. Instead, she looked at a small group of teenage girls that were huddled over, talking in hushed tones to each other. To Ginny, they looked about fifteen or sixteen years old and were also dressed in the latest teenage fashions. Occasionally one of them would glance outwards from their small circle, flush slightly and quickly duck their head once more. As one of them tried to surreptitiously look up once again, Ginny followed her line of sight and was not entirely surprised to find that she was tracking Blaise as he moved across the room. When the man in question settled into the chair opposite Ginny’s, the redhead accidentally caught the eye of the girl who was now looking distinctly disgruntled.
“You have yourself some admirers,” she teased and began to tuck into her meal, eating steadily despite her hunger. She did not need him thinking that she ate like an uncontrollable pig.
Blaise glanced back over his shoulder briefly then gave an indelicate little snort and waved his hand dismissively. He picked up this cup of coffee and sipped from it.
“Oh, that used to it, are you?” Ginny continued with a raised eyebrow. “You shouldn’t take them for granted, Blaise.”
“Why would I be interested in what a bunch of little girls think?”
Feeling reprimanded, Ginny ducked her eyes and concentrated on the plate before her. “Most men would find knowing that there was a bunch of females giggling over them enjoyable,” she pointed out. Then added, “Or, at the very least, amusing.”
With a shake of his head, Blaise said, “I had quite enough of that sort of carry on when I was at Hogwarts.”
Ginny looked up at him from beneath the fine layer of her eyelashes and felt heat rise to her cheeks almost immediately. Blaise’s eyes were so dark then reminded the redhead of bitter chocolate. The sentiment expressed in them was far from unpleasant however. Indeed it dawned on Ginny that it was the exact opposite of unpleasant.
Determined not to appear flustered, the redhead put a tight rein on her features and reminded herself firmly that she was not a fifteen year old school girl anymore. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” she asked, discarding her fork and turning her attention to her own cup of coffee. Suddenly trying to eat did not seem very important anymore.
“I don’t know,” he said, full of self-assurance. “Why doesn’t it?”
Resisting the urge to flush at his suggestive tone, Ginny said, “I guess because from what I remember all you Slytherin gits seemed to have one girl or another draped over you.”
“You almost sound jealous.”
Ginny forced a dismissive grunt. “Hardly… The likes of Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass really wouldn’t do anything for me.”
His eyes widened slightly. “In my defence, I would like to point out that I never had anything to do with either of those examples romantically.”
“Who said anything about romance?” she teased.
Blaise scrunched his nose up slightly, as if in disgust. “What a disturbing thought. I’ll have you know I was much more discerning than that. Besides, those too spent their entire time fighting over who Draco favoured more and the only time they ever paid any attention to anyone else male was when they were trying to make him jealous. I had no interest in fulfilling that role in their silly little game.”
Ginny listened to him carefully, grateful that he had not noticed the way in which she had tensed when he had so casually mentioned Malfoy’s name. It was not that she was surprised - not really. After all, it was only natural for him to mention a former housemate so effortlessly; especially since from what Ginny understood they had been reasonably good friends. It was simply that after having finally having managed to spend a half an hour without thinking about the pale blonde former-Slytherin it was rather irritating to be have him dangled in front of her face once more.
She pursed her lips, wondering whether Blaise was aware of his former housemate’s current residence. Did he know about Malfoy’s bad health?
The redhead’s lips parted. She was seriously tempted to ask but at the same time the idea of explaining to Blaise why she even knew about Malfoy’s illness, let alone the concern that inadvertently felt was distinctly uncomfortable. He would ask as well; he was a Slytherin, or at least had been one, and it was a prerequisite that they were the inquisitive sort.
She stifled the urge quickly, finding it rather unsettling. “Did it work?” she asked instead.
“Did it make him jealous?” Blaise asked. When Ginny nodded her head, he continued, “No. Draco was no more interested in them than I was. I think it simply amused him to find that they wanted him so badly and that they were willing to go to such extremes.”
“Sounds like him,” she observed.
Blaise tilted his head to one side, his lips curling up into a smirk. “For a moment there I forgot you were a Weasley,” he said then held his hands up defensively as the line of her jaw hardened. “Now, now,” he continued. “I didn’t mean it like that. Everyone with half a brain cell knows that the Weasley name is as good as any other. It just surprises me that after all these years you still dislike him so much.”
“Some grudges just don’t like dying,” Ginny told him dryly, watching as a flicker of amusement sped through his eyes. “Besides, it doesn’t alter the fact that he’s an arrogant prat - always was, always will be. The idea of girls fighting over him probably really excited him.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am.”
Tracing the rim of his cup, Blaise said contemplatively, “You sound as if you disapprove in regards to our various… ah, activities.”
Ginny frowned. She knew what he was referring to - she had alluded to it herself in fact. There had always been rumours that the students in Slytherin were considerably more promiscuous than those in the other houses and there probably still were. It was like an unwritten rule or perhaps an understanding that had been passed down to each successive year at Hogwarts.
“It’s not that I don’t approve,” she said carefully. “For a start, it isn’t my place to approve or disapprove and it’s not as if it didn’t go on in the other houses as well.”
“But…” Blaise urged.
“But nothing,” Ginny said finally. She placed a smile onto her lips. “It was a long time ago anyway.” He smirked again, lifting his drink to his lips. “What?” she asked, laughing slightly and reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“Nothing… I’m just glad that you think that way.”
Something warm bubbled up inside Ginny. She leaned forwards, pushing aside the remains of the brunch and resting her elbows on the table. Unconsciously, she wet her lips.
The smirk grew stronger. “I would hate to call you a hypocrite after all.”
Her brow furrowed, her mouth falling open. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
“Well from what I recall you had quite a few boyfriends yourself while you were at school.”
“Yes, but… I didn’t… It wasn’t…” she stumbled, blushing fiercely.
Blaise chuckled deeply and Ginny felt a flicker of irritation at the thought he was laughing at her distress. Her eyes hardened. Surely he did not actually think that she had slept with all the boyfriends she had been with when she was at school? She had certainly been too young to sleep with Michael and while it had certainly been an issue with Dean that did not mean that she had given in. As far as Harry was concerned… well, Harry was a special case. She had been in love with him for as long as she could remember by the time that they had actually gotten together. He had been her first and yes, she had been too young, legally and emotionally, but Ginny had never regretted it. Not even when he had left her to go off and fight. She would never regret it.
He was smirking again, evidently amused by her resentment.
Ginny opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought - to tell him that Harry had been her only lover in school even though there was a small voice niggling at the back of her mind, telling her that she should not rise up to the bait.
“Perhaps we need to spend some more time together,” he said quickly, smoothly, before she could possibly find the right words to voice her vexation. “Clearly you can not tell yet when I am being playful.”
“That was you being… playful?” she asked, dubious and choosing not to dwell too much on his first statement.
He nodded, leaning forwards and changing tack, “You know, Pansy used to be quite jealous of you,” he told her. “In sixth year - our sixth year - she was convinced that Draco fancied you.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Ginny guffawed.
Blaise shrugged his shoulders gracefully. “She thought that all the time he spent occupied with other… matters, that he was actually off trying to figure out a way to see you,” he told her cautiously, hesitatingly slightly.
Frowning slightly, Ginny said, “Well I guess that explains why it felt like she was stalking me at times. I just thought that she was spying for Malfoy.”
“She probably was in a way - especially after you started seeing Potter. Undoubtedly, she thought that reporting your every deed with his arch enemy would turn whatever he was feeling for you into hatred and endear her to him.”
The redhead narrowed her eyes. “But it didn’t.”
“No.”
“Because Malfoy didn’t really give a damn about what I was doing,” she stated resolutely.
Blaise did not reply immediately, instead he simply peered at her thoughtfully for a moment. Finally, he flexed his fingers and said, “So, what do you say?”
Confused by the sudden change in the direction of the conversation, Ginny cocked her head to one side and looked at him questioningly. “Say to what?”
Offering her an indulgent smile, he said, “Getting together some time.”
Ginny started, reddening. “Oh! Sure.”
His face lit up in what seemed to be genuine pleasure. “I’ll send you an owl sometime this week with the arrangements,” he told her.
“Arrangements?” Ginny queried.
“You have to give me the chance to plan things perfectly and unfortunately, I’m going to have to rush off right now. I was only meant to be grabbing a quick drink and we’ve been sat here well over an hour.”
She watched him stand, still feeling slightly baffled. “Oh, okay.” Quickly, the witch added, “I should really get going as well. I’ve got a pile of errands to run.”
To her surprise, Blaise leaned down, brushing his lips against her cheek then murmuring in her ear, “I promise that I won’t make you wait too long.” He drew back sharply and in a flourish of dark robes, turned to stride from the café before Ginny could say another word.
Ginny sat, staring after him for several minutes, the fingertips of one hand pressed gently against the region of her cheek that his lips had touched. They had been velvety smooth and so hot that Ginny was certain that she must have a mark where they had been placed. As her fingers came into contact with where they had been, she half expected to find the skin extra warm.
Gradually, she came back to herself and blinked. Dragging her eyes away from the doorway, she hoped that no one had noticed her rather vacant expression and reached for her coat. It would be embarrassing to have been caught staring like a drooling idiot.
In any case, she really did have to hurry along. Hermione was due back that afternoon from the symposium and Ginny had no idea at exactly what time she was meant to arrive home. If she did not manage to tidy her friend’s apartment and replace the items she had borrowed then Ginny knew that she was going to end up in a whole heap of trouble. In all the years that Ginny had known Hermione, she had never known the woman let go until she had managed to ferret out the truth. If she decided that Ginny had been up to something that she should not have been doing then there would be no stopping her from getting to the bottom of it.
The thought spurred her on and Ginny hurried to complete her errands. With any luck she would make it into the apartment, tidy up, feed Crookshanks and be gone before Hermione returned. Then there could be no awkward questions.
From the grocers, she purchased coffee and biscuits to replace that which she had consumed. Then she moved into Flourish and Blotts, knowing that Hermione had undoubtedly purchased her writing materials from their small section considering her desire for good quality merchandise equipment when writing. As expected, Ginny found exact replicas of the ones she had used and bought them - wincing slightly at the price.
After making her purchases, Ginny exited the shop and bundled the bags into one hand so that she could twist her wrist to look at her watch. She nearly gagged as she saw the time. Blaise had not been joking when he had said they had been sat around for over an hour. If anything he had been generous. It could not have taken her more than half an hour to complete her shopping and it was nearly two in the afternoon.
She hurried in the direction of Hermione’s apartment, jogging in an ungainly manner up the steps in front of the building. A pink flush washed her cheeks when she reached the top and was immediately confronted with an attractive man with short coffee coloured hair. He was holding the door open and had apparently been waiting until she reached the top of the stairs.
“Thanks,” Ginny said shyly, moving to pass him, instantly aware of how tall he felt.
“No problem,” he replied, releasing the door now that she was inside. It closed immediately and through the small panel of glass in it, Ginny saw him start down the stairs. Turning, she headed for the stairs.
The apartment was thankfully empty when she unlocked the door. Ginny stepped inside swiftly and moved into the kitchen. After setting her purchases on the tabletop, she turned to survey the mess that she had made the night before. It was not quite as bad as she remembered but she was still thankful that she had magic to fall back on to help her.
Filling the sink with water, she set brush to washing the pots that she had used then quickly dug out some food for Crookshanks. The cat had appeared the moment that she had entered the apartment, nearly tripping her over as he rubbed around her legs. As she placed the bowl of food down for him, Ginny scratched behind his ears and then turned to her shopping.
She emptied the supplies that she had bought into the appropriate containers, discarding the wrappers into the kitchen bin before taking the paper and going to the study. Tidying up in here would be a little more difficult because despite trying desperately, Ginny had not managed to remember where she had retrieved all the books from. Indeed it felt more like trial and error. By the time that she was finished, Ginny was certain that at least a dozen books must have been put in the wrong place but she reluctantly had to admit that there was nothing she could do to rectify it. Her only hope was that perhaps Hermione was not quite as organised as she appeared to be; maybe she too occasionally put texts back in the wrong place.
Ginny was just returning the books that she had found on Hermione’s bedside table when she heard the characteristic ‘pop’ of someone Apparating into the apartment. She rushed from the room, not wanting to be caught around such incriminating material, and skidded to a halt in the doorway to the sitting room.
Startled by the sudden appearance of her friend, Hermione dropped the weekend bag she had been carrying with a yelp of surprise. “Ginny!” she exclaimed, brown eyes wide. “What…”
“Sorry, ‘Mione,” she apologised. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. I was just feeding Crookshanks.”
“Oh, of course,” her friend replied, a smile flittering onto her lips. She stepped around the bag, leaving it discarded on the floor and proceeded to remove her coat. “I should have sent you an owl to tell you what time I was due back and then you wouldn’t have had to make the trip.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ginny replied. “Crookshanks and I decided to spend some quality time together.”
Hermione chuckled and shook her head. “Actually,” she said. “I’m glad I caught you. I was going to call by the office tomorrow and ask whether you wanted to meet up for lunch - my treat as a thank you for looking after this place.”
Unconsciously, Ginny let out a relieved breath even as she nodded her head in agreement. A sensation of nervous tension had spread over her shoulders when Hermione had started to speak and she had been certain that her friend had somehow already managed to discern that things were not as they should be in her apartment.
“Only if you take me somewhere nice,” she teased. Stepping forwards, she wrapped her friend in a brief hug and added, “I’m going to leave and let you settle in. No doubt you want to relax after the trip.”
“Thank you,” Hermione replied. “I’ll call by the office at one tomorrow, okay?”
“Yup. I’ll be ready and waiting.”
8: Getting Better