Fic: Hospitality - 10/? - 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
7: A Slytherin Sunday
8: Getting Better
9: History Class and French Lessons
PART TEN: PAINT THE NIGHT WITH COLOUR
Tottering over the uneven cobbled surface of Diagon Alley, Ginny could not help but suspect that her feet were on the verge of threatening mutiny. She could not blame them, really, crammed as they were into sky-scraping high heeled stilettos. Her toes were pinched tightly together, the balls of her feet impossibly tender as they pressed against the charmed insoles she had fitted in the hope of easing the pain. She was already positive that the only thing that would work out the various aches and pains that they were suffering from was a nice long soak in a bowl of hot water. Idly, she wondered whether, if she were to Floo Hermione and beg, her friend would lend her the Muggle foot massager that she had received as a Christmas present from her parents the year before.
The effort it had taken to stay upright in the shoes and the subsequent pain had ultimately been worth it though. They matched her clinging bronze coloured dress perfectly and Blaise’s eyes had lit up the moment that they had landed on her exposed carves. The already shapely flesh had been even further enhanced until it had almost resembled sculpted marble. Time and time again, Blaise’s eyes had flitted down to where the hem of the dress neatly bisected her legs, leaving Ginny with a distinct sense of satisfaction that had yet to fade entirely.
Occasionally, she thought smugly, she had actually managed to make him loose concentration while they had been talking.
All in all, the date had gone well. Better than well, actually. The word ‘fantastic’ came to mind when Ginny thought about it, and she had not been able to rid herself of her smile yet. It seemed to have permanently attached itself to her face. They had talked and laughed, enjoyed a fantastic meal and then gone dancing afterwards. Blaise had taken her to a brand new and fashionable club that Ginny had been eying up for weeks but had never yet to manage to visit. She had been all too aware that there was an impossibly long waiting list, and that if she was to put her name down it might be weeks more before she heard from them and then only if they deemed her suitable.
Blaise, however, apparently had enough influence to arrange for them to be added to the VIP guest list. Ginny had spent the majority of the evening surrounded by the beautiful people of magical Britain. Celebrities of all kinds; politicians, singers, musicians, artists and sports stars had been there, mixing among all the other fashionable people. Ginny would have felt out of place if she had not been on Blaise’s arm and if it had not been for the fact that there were at least a half a dozen women glaring at her enviously. The crowning moment had been when Corona Blythe, the notorious socialite, had imperiously mentioned that she thought Ginny’s dress was ‘divine’.
It had very nearly gone to her head. It probably would have if it had not been for Blaise’s hand on her waist, gently guiding her away towards the bar.
Eventually, they had retired to a small private booth, where the music was not quite so loud and they could talk a little. Though talking was certainly not all that had occurred. Even now, Ginny could still feel the gently insistent press of his lips to hers. At the time, mind dulled by the drink she had consumed, her inhibitions lowered somewhat, Ginny had been convinced that he was trying to drive her mad. She had moaned gently into his mouth, wishing that they were somewhere else - somewhere that was far more private. A place where the hand that had first gone to her waist and then gently drifted upwards to rest somewhere just below the swell of her breast might have travelled further.
To her disappointment though, Blaise had pulled away, his dark eyes still shinning with interest as he looked her up and down in silent appraisal. For a second, she had thought that he would draw her back toward him but then the moment had been gone. That, apparently, had been the signal to end that particular portion of the evening’s activities and before long they had collected their coats.
Once outside, Blaise had offered to escort her home but Ginny had declined. The fresh night air had cleared her head a little, and she had become rather embarrassed about the way that she had behaved inside the club. It abruptly seemed to her that she had been rather forward, and that she, instead of Blaise, should have been the one to stop things from going too far. Her senses returned to her, Ginny had not wanted to think about what might happen if she allowed Blaise to walk her home. She liked him and was attracted to him, but she was also aware that he might have gotten the wrong impression from the way that she had been behaving inside and she certainly was not going to let him spend the night. Not so early in their fledgling relationship, anyway.
In retrospect, she decided that she was thankful that they had decided to leave when they did. No doubt, Blaise was now feeling the same lingering desire to see her again that she felt where he was concerned.
It left her with a knowing smile on her features; one that had refused to fade as she walked home through the magical portion of London.
A sudden noise from away to her right startled the redhead and Ginny’s feet hesitated. Abruptly, the noise that her shoes had been making as she walked down the cobbled street seemed far too loud - as if she was tapping out a beat on a drum. It was an alarm, sounding in the quiet of the night.
It swiftly hit Ginny how foolish she had been, choosing to walk home alone in the middle of the night. Unfortunately Apparation had been out of the question considering the quality of alcohol she had consumed. The thought of ending up at St Mungo’s because she had accidentally spliced herself had been mortifying, so walking had been the only option open to her.
Besides, the moment that she had stepped outside the sweaty confines of the club, she had begun to appreciate the still of the night around her. Spring was finally pushing back the last of the winter chill and she had actually been able to leave her coat open without worrying about catching a cold. The prospect of a nice, leisurely, walk home, during which she could mull over the evening and linger over the pleasantest details, had been too seductive for the redhead.
Her mood had been so distracted, and the atmosphere so heady, that Ginny had neglected to consider even for a second that walking alone through Diagon Alley at two o’clock in the morning might not be the brightest idea she had ever had.
There had always been low level crime in Diagon Alley, even before the war. It had spilled out from Knockturn Alley almost unavoidably. During the war however, it had become infinitely more commonplace almost overnight. People were, by nature, opportunists and many had sought to make money quickly by taking advantage of the upheaval. Unfortunately, that had not altered when the war had finished. Indeed there had been few signs that it would revert back to how it had been before. A black market had sprung up, thriving in the confusion, and street crime had become comparatively common.
Nervously, Ginny reached into her coat pocket and ran her fingers from the base to the tip of her wand. It formed a reassuring weight against her thigh.
The noise came again; a shuffling sound, originating somewhere deep in the shadows of one of the shop doorways. Against her better judgement, acting instinctively, the redhead came to a halt in the middle of the street. Ginny clutched her wand tightly, letting her eyes darted around. She was painfully aware of the eerie silence that surrounded her, of the darkness of the shop fronts and the windows above them. Even the old-fashioned, gas lit lampposts seemed dimmer than they should do.
There was a rustling sound, followed by what almost seemed to be a pained murmur. Tension crept up Ginny spine, starting somewhere near the base and then eventually blossoming to spread out, over her shoulders.
She took a few tentative steps towards the source of the sound even though she knew that she should not. It was the height of foolishness to investigate - much like naïve Muggles did in the horror movies that Ginny had sometimes watched with Harry or Hermione. If she had been watching herself, on screen, then Ginny would have already started to rant arrogantly about how stupid she was being.
That did not stop her from taking several more small steps towards the doorway. She was, after all, a naturally inquisitive person.
The doorway to the shop was a sunken affair, dating from another age like many of the others in Diagon Alley. There were two rough stone steps, worn in the middle by the passage of feet over the years, and large plate glass windows that spread out from the door, bending at right angles when they were at the top of the steps. They were dirty, though obviously not original, and it was too dark to see through them in order to find out what the shop sold.
Ginny did not bother peering through them to try and find out; her eyes were entirely focused on the lump that was huddled against the shop door. It was barely visible in the dim light, camouflaged by a dirty blanket of indiscernible colour in the gloom. Even so, Ginny was reasonably certain that it was a person underneath and she felt an immediate flicker of pity at the discovery. Vagrants were not completely unknown in Diagon Alley but they were certainly far from common. When a witch or a wizard fell on hard times there was a general tendency for them to retreat from the magical world and into the Muggle one where they might be able to use what magic they did have to try and regain some sort of footing. It was easier for them there, where they were not in competition with so many other talented people.
Besides, the Ministry were not inclined to tolerate them. Decidedly Victorian in their attitude, they had long ago passed restrictions on the movements of the poorest levels of the magical society so that they could monitor them. The general consensus seemed to be that those at the bottom rung of society were inclined towards criminal activity. Aurors were under orders to make inquiries whenever they came across someone who was apparently homeless and to decide whether they were breaking any laws, attaching an even larger stigmatism to their situation in the process. Ginny knew that more often than not, the Aurors would simply try to move them on, making life even more difficult for the poor souls. She had once argued with her brother over the subject, knowing that he and Harry had participated in such activities when they had been new to Aurors. Ron had simply shrugged, saying it was too complicated a problem for him to solve and then asked her rather bitterly whether she would be happier if they resorted to workhouses.
She bit her lip lightly, anxiously. She hated the thought of someone being forced to sleep outside even when the weather had turned for the better. After all, she thought, how many nights had they spent outside recently when the weather had not been so clement?
“Hello?” she called softly, thankful that there was no stutter in her voice like she had feared that there might be. She was nervous; it was something she could not deny. Walking up to anyone, especially someone who might well be a criminal, was fantastically stupid. If Ron or her parents were ever to find out then they would undoubtedly lecture her about it for hours on end.
She winced, but proceeded anyway, hovering on the top step.
There was a small voice, located somewhere at the back of her mind, telling her that if it had not been for the alcohol that she had consumed then there was no way that she would be being so reckless. Ginny pushed it firmly away.
“Listen,” she said softly. “I just wanted to say, I think that maybe you should move. This isn’t a very good place to rest.”
The lump did not move. Indeed, it did not show any signs of life at all. The nervousness that Ginny had been harbouring leapt up another notch as another possibility occurred to her. Could it be that whoever had hidden so completely under the blanket had passed away?
She sucked in a deep breath, knowing what she had to do. Slipping down the two steps, Ginny bobbed down and reached out to gently pull the blanket aside. The wool was rough and worn so thin, as if it had been washed a thousand times. As she plucked at it, her hand shaking from the knowledge of what it might be covering, she felt something akin to icy fingers stroking the line of her spine. She had not seen a body in years - not since the last days of the fighting.
The threadbare material twitched and then suddenly surged forwards, upwards. Whoever had been underneath slammed their body into Ginny’s, sending her flying backwards onto the hard steps, twisting her back unnaturally. Air exploded out of her body and for a moment it was impossible for the redhead to focus her eyes.
Hands clamped down roughly on her upper arms, squeezing tightly as she instinctively struggled against them. Ginny’s heals scrambled noisily on the stone floor before the door, trying to gain some purchase so that somehow she might displace the weight that was now bearing down on her. In a flood, Ginny’s mind registered a long body and broad shoulders that seemed to tower over her in such a manner that she felt infinitely smaller than she really was. She blinked while trying to regain full use of all her senses, and then turned her eyes upwards to the snarling features of her attacker only to freeze when she did so.
Wide eyes peered back at her, clearly startled. The aggression that Ginny had sensed when she had been thrown backwards was nowhere to be seen. Instead the man’s features were thick with confusion.
“Weasley?” His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and it was liberally sprinkled with surprise.
“Malfoy?” she queried back, not quite believing her eyes as they took in his bright silvery eyes and shock of blonde hair. His cheeks, she noted, were hollowed slightly, making his sharp cheekbones even more pronounced. Furthermore, there was an unhealthy looking flush to them and it was not until she peered closer that Ginny realised that there was a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow - far more than would have been cause by merely tackling her. Her thoughts flickered momentarily back over what Hermione had told her about him. She wondered whether this too was some symptom of his illness.
He was breathing raggedly, she realised slowly, and his arms were shaking under the strain of holding himself above her.
Oddly, she felt no real alarm. Despite the potentially threatening position that Malfoy maintained and her seemingly weak one, Ginny did not really feel at all frightened. Granted that might have had something to do with the fact that her hand was still tightly holding onto her wand in her pocket, but even so, Ginny wondered whether she would have been scared if it had not been there. Right at that moment, Malfoy did not appear to want to hurt her, even if he had been capable of doing it. Looking at him, that was something that she doubted considering the way in which he was shaking.
He shuddered, abruptly slumping as his arms gave way at the elbows and for a second, Ginny felt the press of his body against hers. Her heart beat a little quicker and her hands came up instinctively to press against his shoulders, wriggling up from between their two bodies. The action was meant to ward him off more than anything, but Malfoy rolled to one side anyway, collapsing back in a heap.
Ginny’s wrists twisted, pressing her hands to her heart, fighting back the wild beating. She stayed perfectly still, peering at the roof of the porch while letting her breathing return to normal and her heart rate steady. Only when she was certain that she would appear relatively calm did she move.
She propped herself up on her elbows, struggling into a sitting position before turning and looking over her shoulder at Malfoy. There was not much room at the bottom of the steps and she was uncomfortably aware that Malfoy’s side was still pressed against hers. Malfoy did not seem to care. He was slumped back, eyes closed, still breathing heavily. Ginny was instantly reminded of the last time that she had stumbled across him.
His eyes flickered open slowly as he instinctively realised that he was being watched. Almost petulantly, he said, “Go away, Weasley.”
Ginny watched in astonishment as he grasped the blanket, made to cover his body with it, and shifted so that he was on his side.
A feeling of déjà vu swept over the redhead - one that was not unfounded. Only a couple of weeks before, she had been in a position that was similar in many ways to the one she was in now.
She sighed quietly, and then reached to tug the blanket away, only to stop with her fingers barely an inch away from the material.
This was her chance, she realised. This was an opportunity to simply stand up and walk away. That was what she had wanted to do all along, after all, ever since she had first accidentally stumbled across Malfoy at the hospital and triggered her curiosity. If she could manage to leave then she would know once and for all that Malfoy, and her peculiar obsession with what was happening with him, was out of her system. The problem was that her legs did not seem to want to work to let her climb to her feet. It felt as if there was some kind of clamp on them stopping her.
So instead, she shuffled around until she was kneeling in a more comfortable position and no longer twisting to look at the prone man.
It was all Hermione’s fault, she decided. If the other witch had not reminded her of her shortcomings when they had been at lunch together only a little over a week ago, then she might well have already made her decision and walked away. All that she could think of though, as she looked down at Malfoy, was the way in which Hermione had reprimanded her for not considering that it might be possible to care about Malfoy’s welfare, despite what he had done when he was younger.
Hating her conscience, she said quietly, “What’s going on Malfoy? What are you doing?”
He did not reply. Indeed, he did not react in any way at all.
“Malfoy?”
“Did I, or did I not, tell you to go away?” he asked, voice slightly muffled. Although she could not see clearly, Ginny discerned that he had buried his face in the half waded blanket.
A flicker of exasperation ran through Ginny, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she had grabbed his shoulder to force him to look at her once more.
“I’m not going to go through this again,” she told him firmly. “You can’t honestly expect me to just go away without an explanation. Not this time.”
He tried to shrug her hand off but within a few seconds the fight seemed to drain out of him entirely as he realised that she was not going to let go. Giving in, he rolled onto his back once more, eyes drifting towards the roof of the porch.
“What I’m doing,” he said through gritted teeth, “is trying to get some sleep. I would appreciate it if you would go away.”
Ginny stared. Her mind felt sluggish as she tried to understand exacting what he had said. The words just did not seem to connect together. Not at first, at least. It sank in slowly, feeling too absurd to be true. Gradually, though, things began to click together, puzzle-like. Her thoughts kept returning to his file, to the lack of address listed. Then they would go to the lunch when Hermione had informed her that she would be unable to get in contact with him in order to provide him with medication. The other witch had never come right out as said it, but she must have known… It was no wonder she had been worried.
She did not know what she had initially thought when she stumbled across him here. Ginny supposed that she had not been thinking at all. The shock of finding someone, the surprise of them tackling her, and then the stunning revelation that it was Malfoy, had left her too confused to think clearly. It seemed obvious now, though, and combined with the increasingly strong flush of embarrassment that darkened Malfoy’s cheeks further, Ginny could not doubt the conclusion that she came to.
“You’re… You don’t have anywhere else to go,” she breathed. It came out abruptly; far more so than she wished. Malfoy’s eyes hardened further, the silver sheen becoming steely. For a second, she dreaded what his reaction would be.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he growled, baring his teeth slightly. They flashed white in the gloom. “Granger must have had great fun telling you all about it. No doubt it was highly amusing for you, as a Weasley, to discover that Draco Malfoy didn’t have a knut to his name.”
Ginny drew back slightly, shocked by the venom in his voice even though she knew she should not be. Malfoy had always been quick to anger - especially when he was uncomfortable. No doubt the fact that it was Ginny Weasley, someone who was from his old life, someone he had regularly insulted due to her family’s impoverishment, who had found him, was highly distressing for him. Apparently the thought of loosing face still bothered him. That did not surprise her in the least.
She tried to keep that in mind as she spoke, keeping her voice soft and calm. “I’m a bigger person than that,” she told him, ignoring the immediate raise of a sceptical eyebrow on his part. “And besides, Hermione didn’t tell me. She didn’t tell me anything.”
He snorted derisively and moved as if to roll over again. Ginny placed a hand on his shoulder and this time he did not even try to fight her, just gave up.
“If you want to gloat then go somewhere else to do it,” he said, still sounding angry.
“I’m not gloating - I’m not going to either.”
The disbelieving expression on his features was infuriating, just like everything else was about him. It made an increasingly familiar burst of irritation grow flare in her once more.
“You can’t stay here, Malfoy,” Ginny told him decisively. “The Aurors always patrol after the pubs and clubs let out, checking that there isn’t anyone up to no good, and they’re going to find you. They’ll haul you off to a cell before you’ve even figured out what’s going on.”
“I’d like to see them try.” There was a certain degree of stubborn defiance to his voice.
“They would and you know it,” she told him, determined not to sound too frustrated with him. She did not think for a moment that this Malfoy, changed though he may appear, would be any different should he learn that he was goading a reaction out of her.
“What does it matter to you?” he spat, though Ginny could not help but notice that there was at least a tiny flicker of interest in his words. He continued, “I would have thought that you would have found the idea of me locked up rather appealing.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she ground out, thoroughly meaning it as well. She sucked in a deep breath, calming her nerves and wishing that the alcohol induced buzz she had been enjoying had lasted slightly longer.
Malfoy pushed himself up onto his elbows, shuffling backwards into a sitting position. His back was position against the glass of one of the windows and his long legs were stretched out in front of him. They were stopped from being extended to their full length by the opposite side of the porch, meaning that his feet were jammed up against the low wall that supported the window. Until he had moved, Ginny had not been fully aware of just how tight a ball he had been curled into under the blanket. There was no doubt in her mind now that a night in this place would be far more than merely uncomfortable.
Damn Hermione, she thought as yet another flicker of guilt flared inside her.
It took her a moment to remember that Malfoy was still watching her, his cool eyes settled on her features. She shook herself, and said, “Look, Malfoy, as far as I can tell you haven’t done anything wrong - nothing recently anyway - so don’t let them catch up with you. Do you really want to give them then pleasure of finding you like this?”
He frowned at her, confusion evident in his expression. It seemed that he genuinely could not figure out why she was showing him any concern. In truth, Ginny did not blame him. If their positions had been reversed then she would no doubt have suffered from a similar reaction - after becoming incredibly suspicious, that was.
He coughed slightly, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, but did not say anything.
“Harry and Ron are sure to find out,” she pressed, trying to get a reaction out of him.
Something swirled through his eyes - a hint of fear, perhaps, and undoubtedly a flare of dislike. Ginny felt a small rush of satisfaction - she should have guessed that mentioning those particular names would have made him sit up and listen.
“Very well, Weasley,” he drawled, fixing an unruffled expression on his face and in his eyes again. “Where do you propose I go, exactly?”
Ginny froze, her lips parted slightly in surprise at the question which she certainly had not been expecting.
Sensing her hesitation, he continued, “There are not exactly many options open to me. These days, people do not want to be associated with a Malfoy.”
She drew back slightly, wanting to turn her head away but finding it impossible. Malfoy had caught her eyes and was holding them, refusing to let go. It was an ability that he had possessed and developed at Hogwarts. One he had often used to remind people of exactly who he was with a sense of arrogance that only a Malfoy could possess. That arrogance was muted now but his gaze was no less impressive, and Ginny found she was thankful that she had only rarely been exposed to when they had been in school together. She did not know how her brother and his friends had managed to stand up against it all those years. Then again, they had probably been too angry to be affected by it.
Anger, however, was currently rapidly seeping out of Ginny’s body as opposed to into it like it should have done.
The moment had lingered too long. Malfoy, growing impatient with her, snorted indelicately and broke the look they had been sharing. She expected him to roll onto his side once more, but he surprised her by lifting his tall frame into a standing position. For a second, all Ginny could see was the shape of legs clad in dark trousers as he went to step past her.
“Malfoy, wait,” Ginny exclaimed, surging to her feet after him.
He did not turn to look at her. Indeed, he gave no sign that he had even heard her call to him. She went after him down the street, having to hurry as his longer stride taking him further faster than her legs could carry her.
After barely a dozen steps, Ginny abruptly discovered the problem with trying to run in stiletto heals on cobbled streets. The point of the right heal slipped sideways off an especially awkwardly shaped cobble, and Ginny’s ankle promptly gave way. She let out a strangled cry and dropped heavily to her knees. This brought another yelp, her bones shaking with the impact.
Unbidden, tears rose to her eyes, though they stemmed more from shock than pain. She slumped back, onto her bottom, raising her knees so that she could dust away any dirt clinging to them and examine them. Twin bruises were already flaring to life. Manoeuvring into her current position had alerted the redhead to another problem as well; the ankle that she had twisted was already beginning to swell.
Ginny sighed. She should have known that something like this would happen.
Something brushed against Ginny’s upper arm and she twitched in surprise. Jerking her eyes skywards, she discovered that Malfoy had silently returned. If she had been expecting any sympathy from him then she was destined to be disappointed.
“Well, it has been a while but I assure you, Weasley, that this little display does not impress me in the least,” Malfoy drawled. “I’m used to women falling over themselves to get to me.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at him, unimpressed.
To her disbelief, Malfoy held out a hand to her. Ginny stared at it for a moment before she was able to bring herself to reach out and take it. Malfoy’s long spindly fingers closed around her hand and he tugged her upwards. She had been so convinced that he would trick her somehow that actually making it to her feet left her speechless.
“Hey!” a voice called. “What’s going on here then?” The tip of someone’s wand flared in the gloom, revealing two uniformed Aurors matching towards them. Ginny’s stomach clenched at the sight and she felt tension roll through Malfoy. He dropped her hand immediately and took a step away.
“Is this man bothering you, Miss?” the older, and apparently senior, of the two Aurors asked.
“No,” Ginny said quickly, instinctively.
The Aurors looked far from convinced, and quite honestly, Ginny did not blame them. If she had come across them, then Ginny was sure that she would have reacted with suspicion and concern as well.
“Honestly, I’m fine,” she said, fixing an easy smile on her features. “We’re old friends from school.”
“Why were you on the ground?” the first asked.
“I fell - bloody heals. It’s my own fault for wearing them. Draco was just helping me up.”
Calculating eyes danced towards Malfoy and then back towards redhead. Ginny prayed that the ex-Slytherin was doing as good a job keeping his face friendly and non-threatening - she prayed that he was trying to do so at all.
“You should be getting along,” the Auror said. “It’s late and you shouldn’t be wandering the streets alone. If you want then I can walk you to the nearest Apparation point.”
Ginny shook her head swiftly, noting as she did so that the second Auror was still staring hard at Malfoy. Concern stirred in the pit of her stomach. There was something almost hostile about the look the Auror was sending in Malfoy’s direction.
“That’s okay,” she said. Taking a limping step towards Malfoy, she hooked her arm through his. “Draco’s going walk me so I’ll be fine.”
The Auror looked displeased - an expression that was mirrored by his partner. “Get along then,” he said sternly, waving a hand down the street, a hard look in his eyes.
Ginny tightened her hold on Malfoy’s arm, drawing him along with her as she turned away.
11: Sleep Softly
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
7: A Slytherin Sunday
8: Getting Better
9: History Class and French Lessons
PART TEN: PAINT THE NIGHT WITH COLOUR
Tottering over the uneven cobbled surface of Diagon Alley, Ginny could not help but suspect that her feet were on the verge of threatening mutiny. She could not blame them, really, crammed as they were into sky-scraping high heeled stilettos. Her toes were pinched tightly together, the balls of her feet impossibly tender as they pressed against the charmed insoles she had fitted in the hope of easing the pain. She was already positive that the only thing that would work out the various aches and pains that they were suffering from was a nice long soak in a bowl of hot water. Idly, she wondered whether, if she were to Floo Hermione and beg, her friend would lend her the Muggle foot massager that she had received as a Christmas present from her parents the year before.
The effort it had taken to stay upright in the shoes and the subsequent pain had ultimately been worth it though. They matched her clinging bronze coloured dress perfectly and Blaise’s eyes had lit up the moment that they had landed on her exposed carves. The already shapely flesh had been even further enhanced until it had almost resembled sculpted marble. Time and time again, Blaise’s eyes had flitted down to where the hem of the dress neatly bisected her legs, leaving Ginny with a distinct sense of satisfaction that had yet to fade entirely.
Occasionally, she thought smugly, she had actually managed to make him loose concentration while they had been talking.
All in all, the date had gone well. Better than well, actually. The word ‘fantastic’ came to mind when Ginny thought about it, and she had not been able to rid herself of her smile yet. It seemed to have permanently attached itself to her face. They had talked and laughed, enjoyed a fantastic meal and then gone dancing afterwards. Blaise had taken her to a brand new and fashionable club that Ginny had been eying up for weeks but had never yet to manage to visit. She had been all too aware that there was an impossibly long waiting list, and that if she was to put her name down it might be weeks more before she heard from them and then only if they deemed her suitable.
Blaise, however, apparently had enough influence to arrange for them to be added to the VIP guest list. Ginny had spent the majority of the evening surrounded by the beautiful people of magical Britain. Celebrities of all kinds; politicians, singers, musicians, artists and sports stars had been there, mixing among all the other fashionable people. Ginny would have felt out of place if she had not been on Blaise’s arm and if it had not been for the fact that there were at least a half a dozen women glaring at her enviously. The crowning moment had been when Corona Blythe, the notorious socialite, had imperiously mentioned that she thought Ginny’s dress was ‘divine’.
It had very nearly gone to her head. It probably would have if it had not been for Blaise’s hand on her waist, gently guiding her away towards the bar.
Eventually, they had retired to a small private booth, where the music was not quite so loud and they could talk a little. Though talking was certainly not all that had occurred. Even now, Ginny could still feel the gently insistent press of his lips to hers. At the time, mind dulled by the drink she had consumed, her inhibitions lowered somewhat, Ginny had been convinced that he was trying to drive her mad. She had moaned gently into his mouth, wishing that they were somewhere else - somewhere that was far more private. A place where the hand that had first gone to her waist and then gently drifted upwards to rest somewhere just below the swell of her breast might have travelled further.
To her disappointment though, Blaise had pulled away, his dark eyes still shinning with interest as he looked her up and down in silent appraisal. For a second, she had thought that he would draw her back toward him but then the moment had been gone. That, apparently, had been the signal to end that particular portion of the evening’s activities and before long they had collected their coats.
Once outside, Blaise had offered to escort her home but Ginny had declined. The fresh night air had cleared her head a little, and she had become rather embarrassed about the way that she had behaved inside the club. It abruptly seemed to her that she had been rather forward, and that she, instead of Blaise, should have been the one to stop things from going too far. Her senses returned to her, Ginny had not wanted to think about what might happen if she allowed Blaise to walk her home. She liked him and was attracted to him, but she was also aware that he might have gotten the wrong impression from the way that she had been behaving inside and she certainly was not going to let him spend the night. Not so early in their fledgling relationship, anyway.
In retrospect, she decided that she was thankful that they had decided to leave when they did. No doubt, Blaise was now feeling the same lingering desire to see her again that she felt where he was concerned.
It left her with a knowing smile on her features; one that had refused to fade as she walked home through the magical portion of London.
A sudden noise from away to her right startled the redhead and Ginny’s feet hesitated. Abruptly, the noise that her shoes had been making as she walked down the cobbled street seemed far too loud - as if she was tapping out a beat on a drum. It was an alarm, sounding in the quiet of the night.
It swiftly hit Ginny how foolish she had been, choosing to walk home alone in the middle of the night. Unfortunately Apparation had been out of the question considering the quality of alcohol she had consumed. The thought of ending up at St Mungo’s because she had accidentally spliced herself had been mortifying, so walking had been the only option open to her.
Besides, the moment that she had stepped outside the sweaty confines of the club, she had begun to appreciate the still of the night around her. Spring was finally pushing back the last of the winter chill and she had actually been able to leave her coat open without worrying about catching a cold. The prospect of a nice, leisurely, walk home, during which she could mull over the evening and linger over the pleasantest details, had been too seductive for the redhead.
Her mood had been so distracted, and the atmosphere so heady, that Ginny had neglected to consider even for a second that walking alone through Diagon Alley at two o’clock in the morning might not be the brightest idea she had ever had.
There had always been low level crime in Diagon Alley, even before the war. It had spilled out from Knockturn Alley almost unavoidably. During the war however, it had become infinitely more commonplace almost overnight. People were, by nature, opportunists and many had sought to make money quickly by taking advantage of the upheaval. Unfortunately, that had not altered when the war had finished. Indeed there had been few signs that it would revert back to how it had been before. A black market had sprung up, thriving in the confusion, and street crime had become comparatively common.
Nervously, Ginny reached into her coat pocket and ran her fingers from the base to the tip of her wand. It formed a reassuring weight against her thigh.
The noise came again; a shuffling sound, originating somewhere deep in the shadows of one of the shop doorways. Against her better judgement, acting instinctively, the redhead came to a halt in the middle of the street. Ginny clutched her wand tightly, letting her eyes darted around. She was painfully aware of the eerie silence that surrounded her, of the darkness of the shop fronts and the windows above them. Even the old-fashioned, gas lit lampposts seemed dimmer than they should do.
There was a rustling sound, followed by what almost seemed to be a pained murmur. Tension crept up Ginny spine, starting somewhere near the base and then eventually blossoming to spread out, over her shoulders.
She took a few tentative steps towards the source of the sound even though she knew that she should not. It was the height of foolishness to investigate - much like naïve Muggles did in the horror movies that Ginny had sometimes watched with Harry or Hermione. If she had been watching herself, on screen, then Ginny would have already started to rant arrogantly about how stupid she was being.
That did not stop her from taking several more small steps towards the doorway. She was, after all, a naturally inquisitive person.
The doorway to the shop was a sunken affair, dating from another age like many of the others in Diagon Alley. There were two rough stone steps, worn in the middle by the passage of feet over the years, and large plate glass windows that spread out from the door, bending at right angles when they were at the top of the steps. They were dirty, though obviously not original, and it was too dark to see through them in order to find out what the shop sold.
Ginny did not bother peering through them to try and find out; her eyes were entirely focused on the lump that was huddled against the shop door. It was barely visible in the dim light, camouflaged by a dirty blanket of indiscernible colour in the gloom. Even so, Ginny was reasonably certain that it was a person underneath and she felt an immediate flicker of pity at the discovery. Vagrants were not completely unknown in Diagon Alley but they were certainly far from common. When a witch or a wizard fell on hard times there was a general tendency for them to retreat from the magical world and into the Muggle one where they might be able to use what magic they did have to try and regain some sort of footing. It was easier for them there, where they were not in competition with so many other talented people.
Besides, the Ministry were not inclined to tolerate them. Decidedly Victorian in their attitude, they had long ago passed restrictions on the movements of the poorest levels of the magical society so that they could monitor them. The general consensus seemed to be that those at the bottom rung of society were inclined towards criminal activity. Aurors were under orders to make inquiries whenever they came across someone who was apparently homeless and to decide whether they were breaking any laws, attaching an even larger stigmatism to their situation in the process. Ginny knew that more often than not, the Aurors would simply try to move them on, making life even more difficult for the poor souls. She had once argued with her brother over the subject, knowing that he and Harry had participated in such activities when they had been new to Aurors. Ron had simply shrugged, saying it was too complicated a problem for him to solve and then asked her rather bitterly whether she would be happier if they resorted to workhouses.
She bit her lip lightly, anxiously. She hated the thought of someone being forced to sleep outside even when the weather had turned for the better. After all, she thought, how many nights had they spent outside recently when the weather had not been so clement?
“Hello?” she called softly, thankful that there was no stutter in her voice like she had feared that there might be. She was nervous; it was something she could not deny. Walking up to anyone, especially someone who might well be a criminal, was fantastically stupid. If Ron or her parents were ever to find out then they would undoubtedly lecture her about it for hours on end.
She winced, but proceeded anyway, hovering on the top step.
There was a small voice, located somewhere at the back of her mind, telling her that if it had not been for the alcohol that she had consumed then there was no way that she would be being so reckless. Ginny pushed it firmly away.
“Listen,” she said softly. “I just wanted to say, I think that maybe you should move. This isn’t a very good place to rest.”
The lump did not move. Indeed, it did not show any signs of life at all. The nervousness that Ginny had been harbouring leapt up another notch as another possibility occurred to her. Could it be that whoever had hidden so completely under the blanket had passed away?
She sucked in a deep breath, knowing what she had to do. Slipping down the two steps, Ginny bobbed down and reached out to gently pull the blanket aside. The wool was rough and worn so thin, as if it had been washed a thousand times. As she plucked at it, her hand shaking from the knowledge of what it might be covering, she felt something akin to icy fingers stroking the line of her spine. She had not seen a body in years - not since the last days of the fighting.
The threadbare material twitched and then suddenly surged forwards, upwards. Whoever had been underneath slammed their body into Ginny’s, sending her flying backwards onto the hard steps, twisting her back unnaturally. Air exploded out of her body and for a moment it was impossible for the redhead to focus her eyes.
Hands clamped down roughly on her upper arms, squeezing tightly as she instinctively struggled against them. Ginny’s heals scrambled noisily on the stone floor before the door, trying to gain some purchase so that somehow she might displace the weight that was now bearing down on her. In a flood, Ginny’s mind registered a long body and broad shoulders that seemed to tower over her in such a manner that she felt infinitely smaller than she really was. She blinked while trying to regain full use of all her senses, and then turned her eyes upwards to the snarling features of her attacker only to freeze when she did so.
Wide eyes peered back at her, clearly startled. The aggression that Ginny had sensed when she had been thrown backwards was nowhere to be seen. Instead the man’s features were thick with confusion.
“Weasley?” His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and it was liberally sprinkled with surprise.
“Malfoy?” she queried back, not quite believing her eyes as they took in his bright silvery eyes and shock of blonde hair. His cheeks, she noted, were hollowed slightly, making his sharp cheekbones even more pronounced. Furthermore, there was an unhealthy looking flush to them and it was not until she peered closer that Ginny realised that there was a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow - far more than would have been cause by merely tackling her. Her thoughts flickered momentarily back over what Hermione had told her about him. She wondered whether this too was some symptom of his illness.
He was breathing raggedly, she realised slowly, and his arms were shaking under the strain of holding himself above her.
Oddly, she felt no real alarm. Despite the potentially threatening position that Malfoy maintained and her seemingly weak one, Ginny did not really feel at all frightened. Granted that might have had something to do with the fact that her hand was still tightly holding onto her wand in her pocket, but even so, Ginny wondered whether she would have been scared if it had not been there. Right at that moment, Malfoy did not appear to want to hurt her, even if he had been capable of doing it. Looking at him, that was something that she doubted considering the way in which he was shaking.
He shuddered, abruptly slumping as his arms gave way at the elbows and for a second, Ginny felt the press of his body against hers. Her heart beat a little quicker and her hands came up instinctively to press against his shoulders, wriggling up from between their two bodies. The action was meant to ward him off more than anything, but Malfoy rolled to one side anyway, collapsing back in a heap.
Ginny’s wrists twisted, pressing her hands to her heart, fighting back the wild beating. She stayed perfectly still, peering at the roof of the porch while letting her breathing return to normal and her heart rate steady. Only when she was certain that she would appear relatively calm did she move.
She propped herself up on her elbows, struggling into a sitting position before turning and looking over her shoulder at Malfoy. There was not much room at the bottom of the steps and she was uncomfortably aware that Malfoy’s side was still pressed against hers. Malfoy did not seem to care. He was slumped back, eyes closed, still breathing heavily. Ginny was instantly reminded of the last time that she had stumbled across him.
His eyes flickered open slowly as he instinctively realised that he was being watched. Almost petulantly, he said, “Go away, Weasley.”
Ginny watched in astonishment as he grasped the blanket, made to cover his body with it, and shifted so that he was on his side.
A feeling of déjà vu swept over the redhead - one that was not unfounded. Only a couple of weeks before, she had been in a position that was similar in many ways to the one she was in now.
She sighed quietly, and then reached to tug the blanket away, only to stop with her fingers barely an inch away from the material.
This was her chance, she realised. This was an opportunity to simply stand up and walk away. That was what she had wanted to do all along, after all, ever since she had first accidentally stumbled across Malfoy at the hospital and triggered her curiosity. If she could manage to leave then she would know once and for all that Malfoy, and her peculiar obsession with what was happening with him, was out of her system. The problem was that her legs did not seem to want to work to let her climb to her feet. It felt as if there was some kind of clamp on them stopping her.
So instead, she shuffled around until she was kneeling in a more comfortable position and no longer twisting to look at the prone man.
It was all Hermione’s fault, she decided. If the other witch had not reminded her of her shortcomings when they had been at lunch together only a little over a week ago, then she might well have already made her decision and walked away. All that she could think of though, as she looked down at Malfoy, was the way in which Hermione had reprimanded her for not considering that it might be possible to care about Malfoy’s welfare, despite what he had done when he was younger.
Hating her conscience, she said quietly, “What’s going on Malfoy? What are you doing?”
He did not reply. Indeed, he did not react in any way at all.
“Malfoy?”
“Did I, or did I not, tell you to go away?” he asked, voice slightly muffled. Although she could not see clearly, Ginny discerned that he had buried his face in the half waded blanket.
A flicker of exasperation ran through Ginny, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she had grabbed his shoulder to force him to look at her once more.
“I’m not going to go through this again,” she told him firmly. “You can’t honestly expect me to just go away without an explanation. Not this time.”
He tried to shrug her hand off but within a few seconds the fight seemed to drain out of him entirely as he realised that she was not going to let go. Giving in, he rolled onto his back once more, eyes drifting towards the roof of the porch.
“What I’m doing,” he said through gritted teeth, “is trying to get some sleep. I would appreciate it if you would go away.”
Ginny stared. Her mind felt sluggish as she tried to understand exacting what he had said. The words just did not seem to connect together. Not at first, at least. It sank in slowly, feeling too absurd to be true. Gradually, though, things began to click together, puzzle-like. Her thoughts kept returning to his file, to the lack of address listed. Then they would go to the lunch when Hermione had informed her that she would be unable to get in contact with him in order to provide him with medication. The other witch had never come right out as said it, but she must have known… It was no wonder she had been worried.
She did not know what she had initially thought when she stumbled across him here. Ginny supposed that she had not been thinking at all. The shock of finding someone, the surprise of them tackling her, and then the stunning revelation that it was Malfoy, had left her too confused to think clearly. It seemed obvious now, though, and combined with the increasingly strong flush of embarrassment that darkened Malfoy’s cheeks further, Ginny could not doubt the conclusion that she came to.
“You’re… You don’t have anywhere else to go,” she breathed. It came out abruptly; far more so than she wished. Malfoy’s eyes hardened further, the silver sheen becoming steely. For a second, she dreaded what his reaction would be.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he growled, baring his teeth slightly. They flashed white in the gloom. “Granger must have had great fun telling you all about it. No doubt it was highly amusing for you, as a Weasley, to discover that Draco Malfoy didn’t have a knut to his name.”
Ginny drew back slightly, shocked by the venom in his voice even though she knew she should not be. Malfoy had always been quick to anger - especially when he was uncomfortable. No doubt the fact that it was Ginny Weasley, someone who was from his old life, someone he had regularly insulted due to her family’s impoverishment, who had found him, was highly distressing for him. Apparently the thought of loosing face still bothered him. That did not surprise her in the least.
She tried to keep that in mind as she spoke, keeping her voice soft and calm. “I’m a bigger person than that,” she told him, ignoring the immediate raise of a sceptical eyebrow on his part. “And besides, Hermione didn’t tell me. She didn’t tell me anything.”
He snorted derisively and moved as if to roll over again. Ginny placed a hand on his shoulder and this time he did not even try to fight her, just gave up.
“If you want to gloat then go somewhere else to do it,” he said, still sounding angry.
“I’m not gloating - I’m not going to either.”
The disbelieving expression on his features was infuriating, just like everything else was about him. It made an increasingly familiar burst of irritation grow flare in her once more.
“You can’t stay here, Malfoy,” Ginny told him decisively. “The Aurors always patrol after the pubs and clubs let out, checking that there isn’t anyone up to no good, and they’re going to find you. They’ll haul you off to a cell before you’ve even figured out what’s going on.”
“I’d like to see them try.” There was a certain degree of stubborn defiance to his voice.
“They would and you know it,” she told him, determined not to sound too frustrated with him. She did not think for a moment that this Malfoy, changed though he may appear, would be any different should he learn that he was goading a reaction out of her.
“What does it matter to you?” he spat, though Ginny could not help but notice that there was at least a tiny flicker of interest in his words. He continued, “I would have thought that you would have found the idea of me locked up rather appealing.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she ground out, thoroughly meaning it as well. She sucked in a deep breath, calming her nerves and wishing that the alcohol induced buzz she had been enjoying had lasted slightly longer.
Malfoy pushed himself up onto his elbows, shuffling backwards into a sitting position. His back was position against the glass of one of the windows and his long legs were stretched out in front of him. They were stopped from being extended to their full length by the opposite side of the porch, meaning that his feet were jammed up against the low wall that supported the window. Until he had moved, Ginny had not been fully aware of just how tight a ball he had been curled into under the blanket. There was no doubt in her mind now that a night in this place would be far more than merely uncomfortable.
Damn Hermione, she thought as yet another flicker of guilt flared inside her.
It took her a moment to remember that Malfoy was still watching her, his cool eyes settled on her features. She shook herself, and said, “Look, Malfoy, as far as I can tell you haven’t done anything wrong - nothing recently anyway - so don’t let them catch up with you. Do you really want to give them then pleasure of finding you like this?”
He frowned at her, confusion evident in his expression. It seemed that he genuinely could not figure out why she was showing him any concern. In truth, Ginny did not blame him. If their positions had been reversed then she would no doubt have suffered from a similar reaction - after becoming incredibly suspicious, that was.
He coughed slightly, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, but did not say anything.
“Harry and Ron are sure to find out,” she pressed, trying to get a reaction out of him.
Something swirled through his eyes - a hint of fear, perhaps, and undoubtedly a flare of dislike. Ginny felt a small rush of satisfaction - she should have guessed that mentioning those particular names would have made him sit up and listen.
“Very well, Weasley,” he drawled, fixing an unruffled expression on his face and in his eyes again. “Where do you propose I go, exactly?”
Ginny froze, her lips parted slightly in surprise at the question which she certainly had not been expecting.
Sensing her hesitation, he continued, “There are not exactly many options open to me. These days, people do not want to be associated with a Malfoy.”
She drew back slightly, wanting to turn her head away but finding it impossible. Malfoy had caught her eyes and was holding them, refusing to let go. It was an ability that he had possessed and developed at Hogwarts. One he had often used to remind people of exactly who he was with a sense of arrogance that only a Malfoy could possess. That arrogance was muted now but his gaze was no less impressive, and Ginny found she was thankful that she had only rarely been exposed to when they had been in school together. She did not know how her brother and his friends had managed to stand up against it all those years. Then again, they had probably been too angry to be affected by it.
Anger, however, was currently rapidly seeping out of Ginny’s body as opposed to into it like it should have done.
The moment had lingered too long. Malfoy, growing impatient with her, snorted indelicately and broke the look they had been sharing. She expected him to roll onto his side once more, but he surprised her by lifting his tall frame into a standing position. For a second, all Ginny could see was the shape of legs clad in dark trousers as he went to step past her.
“Malfoy, wait,” Ginny exclaimed, surging to her feet after him.
He did not turn to look at her. Indeed, he gave no sign that he had even heard her call to him. She went after him down the street, having to hurry as his longer stride taking him further faster than her legs could carry her.
After barely a dozen steps, Ginny abruptly discovered the problem with trying to run in stiletto heals on cobbled streets. The point of the right heal slipped sideways off an especially awkwardly shaped cobble, and Ginny’s ankle promptly gave way. She let out a strangled cry and dropped heavily to her knees. This brought another yelp, her bones shaking with the impact.
Unbidden, tears rose to her eyes, though they stemmed more from shock than pain. She slumped back, onto her bottom, raising her knees so that she could dust away any dirt clinging to them and examine them. Twin bruises were already flaring to life. Manoeuvring into her current position had alerted the redhead to another problem as well; the ankle that she had twisted was already beginning to swell.
Ginny sighed. She should have known that something like this would happen.
Something brushed against Ginny’s upper arm and she twitched in surprise. Jerking her eyes skywards, she discovered that Malfoy had silently returned. If she had been expecting any sympathy from him then she was destined to be disappointed.
“Well, it has been a while but I assure you, Weasley, that this little display does not impress me in the least,” Malfoy drawled. “I’m used to women falling over themselves to get to me.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at him, unimpressed.
To her disbelief, Malfoy held out a hand to her. Ginny stared at it for a moment before she was able to bring herself to reach out and take it. Malfoy’s long spindly fingers closed around her hand and he tugged her upwards. She had been so convinced that he would trick her somehow that actually making it to her feet left her speechless.
“Hey!” a voice called. “What’s going on here then?” The tip of someone’s wand flared in the gloom, revealing two uniformed Aurors matching towards them. Ginny’s stomach clenched at the sight and she felt tension roll through Malfoy. He dropped her hand immediately and took a step away.
“Is this man bothering you, Miss?” the older, and apparently senior, of the two Aurors asked.
“No,” Ginny said quickly, instinctively.
The Aurors looked far from convinced, and quite honestly, Ginny did not blame them. If she had come across them, then Ginny was sure that she would have reacted with suspicion and concern as well.
“Honestly, I’m fine,” she said, fixing an easy smile on her features. “We’re old friends from school.”
“Why were you on the ground?” the first asked.
“I fell - bloody heals. It’s my own fault for wearing them. Draco was just helping me up.”
Calculating eyes danced towards Malfoy and then back towards redhead. Ginny prayed that the ex-Slytherin was doing as good a job keeping his face friendly and non-threatening - she prayed that he was trying to do so at all.
“You should be getting along,” the Auror said. “It’s late and you shouldn’t be wandering the streets alone. If you want then I can walk you to the nearest Apparation point.”
Ginny shook her head swiftly, noting as she did so that the second Auror was still staring hard at Malfoy. Concern stirred in the pit of her stomach. There was something almost hostile about the look the Auror was sending in Malfoy’s direction.
“That’s okay,” she said. Taking a limping step towards Malfoy, she hooked her arm through his. “Draco’s going walk me so I’ll be fine.”
The Auror looked displeased - an expression that was mirrored by his partner. “Get along then,” he said sternly, waving a hand down the street, a hard look in his eyes.
Ginny tightened her hold on Malfoy’s arm, drawing him along with her as she turned away.
11: Sleep Softly