Only Her
A Heafen-Verse Story written for Tash as part of DG Forum Secret Santa 2018
October 2012
When the house-elf brought the voice message to him, he was in the magical section of the Library of Alexandria, examining an ancient manuscript about illusion charms.
There were very few people who knew to find him at the library, fewer who would address him by his name, and Theodore and Blaise, no, all of Armandian knew better than to bother him during his scheduled research week.
It left precisely two possible culprits, and Draco was secretly hoping to hear the Head Goblin's deep grumbling voice when he activated the message.
"Draco," his mother's voice rang out, worryingly weak, he thought. "Can we talk?"
"I want you to come to the Christmas tea party with me next Saturday," his mother said when he contacted her over the Floo network from his hotel room after he hastily returned the manuscript and reserved a new set of manuscripts for the next day. Her voice was crisp and prim, whatever weakness he'd heard was purely the by-product of a poorly made voice message spell.
"Will Father be there?"
Her smile faltered just a little. "Yes."
"Then no."
"It's a charity party for St. Mungo's," she said to guilt-trip him.
"Still no." He unshrunk his travel trunk and pulled out his Heafen development gear in a neat line on the floor.
"There are a few people I want—"
Draco cut her off, he had been to enough parties with his mother to know that by people, his mother meant daughters of pureblood families who were financially desperate enough to find him a tolerable match. "I'm not interested in meeting any witches, Mother."
"I would like to see my only son get married before I die."
He cast the latest iteration of the illusion spell he had developed for Heafen on his gloves and pulled them on. "You are not going to die any time soon."
"Draco." A calculated pause. "I almost died three years ago."
Three years ago, a dark curse placed on her by a woman looking for vengeance against what happened in the war left her fighting for her life. Bringing that up was a low blow, even for a Slytherin. "I thought you said you wanted to move on."
"I'm just saying life can take unexpected turns. Please, Draco," she sighed, too loudly for it not to be meant for him. "You asked me what I wanted for my birthday the other month, and all I want is to spend an afternoon with my son at a party."
He wished she had asked for a vacation in Argentina or even a new villa in Nice like any other rational mother. A surge of frustration rose in him, the same irritable feeling he always had when he felt trapped, and he knew at that moment he was going to that damned tea party with his mother whether he liked to or not.
November 2012
The average age of marriage and childbirth in the wizarding world matched the Muggle world up until the late 1980s, when Muggle women began marrying later once they gained financial freedom and Muggle medicine improved enough to allow for older women to have healthy children. The reason for the growing disparity had became a topic of hot debate for Muggle Studies scholars in the last decade since women had been healthy and working alongside with men in the wizarding world for years prior. Draco personally found academic arguments a little absurd, but after seeing the freedom Muggles seemed to have in their 20s while on his "Grand Tour," he secretly held the opinion that whatever the wizarding world was doing was crazy. He would much prefer to marry later, if he was to marry at all.
In truth, Draco had a poor opinion of marriages and romantic relationships in general. Theodore's parents very obviously hated each other, Blaise's mother was infamous for outliving her seven husbands, and his parents, while they still loved each other well enough, would have been much happier had they never had a child.
"Just pick someone to get your parents off your back," suggested Theodore. He had married a mousy-looking girl from a good family who was too shy and introverted to say anything when he left her at home while he went out to parties with other women.
"Whatever you do, make sure you pick someone too stupid to steal your money," Blaise would add rather callously. Draco felt a little sorry for his wife Daphne. Her affection for Blaise had always been stronger than his for her.
Draco never chose. His mother had introduced him to girl after girl since he was twenty-one, but the girls that were not complete gold-diggers were either too smiley, too sheltered, or too clingy. He couldn't hold a conversation with them without feeling tired and even if he could, the girls usually called their dates off after his mind inevitably drifted off to ponder the topic of his latest research. He had dated Daphne's sister Astoria for a few months in his early twenties. He enjoyed her company well enough. She was kind and steady, and her easy going nature allowed her to tolerate his researching. He considered proposing, if only to make his mother happy and to end the seemingly endless cycle of awkward introductions that came with unproductive dates, but he ended their relationship instead. He genuinely liked Astoria, and it wouldn't be fair to her if he only married her out of obligations. She deserved better.
Soon after that, Heafen began to take off, and although his mother continued to bring him to social events in hopes someone would catch his eye, he hadn't spared much effort on getting to know any of the girls she introduced to him.
There was already a steady flow of wizards and witches in fashionable robes entering the festively decorated venue when Draco arrived. Draco sighed and told himself: Just get this over with.
Draco mentally noted to ask his mother to compliment whoever found the caterers for the cucumber sandwiches. The bread was fresh, there was just enough cream cheese to balance out the refreshing cucumbers, and most importantly, the cucumber seeds were absent. It was shocking how difficult it was to acquire quality cucumber sandwiches in the dead of winter.
His mother was trying to keep up the semblance of a conversation with the girl—Lindsey? Or was it Linda?—she had brought to the table while his father and he ate in resentful silence. There was the usual discussion about the dreadful weather in London; then a short discussion on possible sun destinations to escape the cold; then finally, a strategic question to involve him in the chat: "Draco, weren't you just in Egypt?"
"Yes," Draco replied before returning his attention back to the last three cucumber sandwiches on the tray. Two of them belonged to his mother but the last one was his. He pondered whether he should have the cucumber sandwich now while he was still relatively hungry, or save it for later to cap off the tea service.
"Where did you go?" Lindsey-or-Linda asked after sipping her tea.
"The Library of Alexandria." When he found Lindsey-or-Linda waiting expectantly, he clarified, "Just there."
Lindsey-or-Linda forced a polite smile. "Oh." Draco could tell she was trying but failing at understanding why anyone would go to Egypt only for the library.
Draco let his mind drift back to the cucumber sandwich. He would have it now, he decided. He was about to reach for the sandwich when his father reached out and took his sandwich from the tray.
Lindsey-or-Linda was still sitting at the table. He should let it go and just ask mother if he could have one of hers. It was just a cucumber sandwich—his father raised a challenging eyebrow. He felt his blood boil. "Mother, could you tell Father not to have more than his share of cucumber sandwiches?"
His mother gave him a disapproving frown. He would have to apologize if his father stayed silent, but thankfully, his father sneered and said, "Narcissa, can you please inform our ungrateful son that I paid for his seat today and am entitled to all of the cucumber sandwiches?"
His father reached out for a second cucumber sandwich, but Draco was quicker. He quickly bit into it to stop his father from grabbing for it from his hand. "Mother, please tell father that his healer told him to lower his bread intake for his health."
"Narcissa will you—"
"Enough!" Both men shrunk at the stern voice of Narcissa Malfoy. "If you two children don't stop bickering at this very moment, I will lock both of you in a room full of Acromantula without your wands."
There were many things that could be said of his mother, but not that she didn't follow through with a threat.
Narcissa glared and waved crossly at the empty seat where Lindsey-or-Linda had been until she'd slipped away during their spat. "Now, if you two will excuse me, I'm going to apologize to poor Laura."
It was only then that Draco realized what the girl's name was supposed to be.
By the time his mother was back, his father had left with Augustus Rookwood for scotch and Draco had moved onto scones in peace. From the sound of the footsteps, Draco could tell his mother had returned with another lady in tow. He did not look up. He was in the middle of spreading Devonshire cream on his currants scone and he knew for a fact the scone would likely make more impact on his life than whichever niece or daughter or friend his mother had brought for him to meet.
"I can return later if you're busy," said an impatient but rather familiar voice.
Draco nearly dropped his butter knife from surprise. When he looked up, he saw her.
He did a doubletake because she looked so different than how she looked during all the other times he saw her: at the Heafen store, at therapy sessions, at a pub for a quick drink after a particularly good hunt, in her shapeless sweater and tired jeans she seemed to wear everywhere, her hair pulled into a quick ponytail, a little wild. But there she was, in a long, flowing velvet dress with gold trimmings that fit her like a glove. He felt the world tilt, like everything had suddenly moved a few inches to the right.
"Draco, do you remember Ginevra Weasley from Hogwarts?"
Merlin's beard, she is beautiful, he thought. He didn't know—how was he supposed to know—that her hair could glow like rubies against a forest green dress or her lips could look this full with just a touch of lipstick. Words stumbled out of his lips: "No—I mean—I do remember her."
"Ginevra is one of the organizers of this charity tea party."
He vaguely remembered Ginny mentioning something about volunteering at St. Mungo's during one of the group therapy sessions. He wondered if he had Ginny to thank for the cucumber sandwiches.
His mother gave him a pointed look and glanced at the chair across from him.
"Oh," he said ineloquently, like an imbecile, before scrambling up to pull out the chair for Ginny.
Ginny sat down, looking cheerful and happy, like in one of those pictures of her in the Daily Prophet before the attack. It was difficult to gauge her progress in Heafen, where Ginny could hide behind her avatar, or at therapy sessions where she was tasked to be introspective, but seeing her here without the dark cloud that used to follow her made him realize just how far she had gotten.
When Ginny smiled at him, he couldn't help but smile back.
"I thought you were in Egypt," she said as she nodded at a house-elf who was offering her a fresh cup of tea.
Draco could feel his mother's curious eyes, doubtlessly inferring more from the statement than he wished. "I was. Just got back this morning."
Ginny's smile grew wider and he felt his heart skip a beat. "How was your trip to the library?"
"Good. Fruitful," he replied, trying to stay calm, but he could feel heat rising from his neck to his ears. From the corner of his eyes he saw his mother raise an eyebrow.
Draco inwardly swore.
He had hoped whatever infatuation he felt that day at tea was the product of the situation, and that everything would settle back to the way things were when he saw Ginny next.
He was very wrong. When they met next in Heafen for a scheduled team quest, her very voice made his stomach flutter and her every glance seared like fire on his being. He felt so dizzy and stupidly happy whenever they shared a private joke or completed a synchronized attack that he made his excuse to leave early just so he could triple check if he was under the influence of some sort of love potion or enchantment.
He wasn't.
And that was a problem.
December 2012
Draco decided he should really learn from The Boy who Cried Werewolf and stop coming home whenever his mother sends a vague message about needing to speak with him urgently in the privacy of the manor. No matter how he looked at it, the news of his mother receiving her Ministry Christmas Party invitation was not an emergency nor worth the risk of running into his father.
"That's nice, mother," he told her, and managed to sound acceptably sincere. He knew for a fact that the Ministry Christmas Party had an exclusive guestlist, and receiving the invitation was a testament to the countless hours his mother had invested into every charity under the sun in an effort to restore the Malfoy family name.
"The invitation also extends to a friend or family member," his mother continued.
He wasn't entirely sure what his mother was getting at since Ministry Christmas Party invitations always allowed a plus one. "I'm sure you and Father will have a wonderful time there," he answered, having decided that it was best to stick with something safe and only slightly dismissive. He picked up another one of his mother's chocolate hazelnut muffins from the plate. They were, as always, delicious, and he thought if he could eat enough muffins, his trip home could conceivably be made worthwhile.
"Actually, Lucius and I spoke and we've decided it would be best for me to go without him this year to limit public scrutiny, given this would be the first year any Malfoys have attended a Ministry party for over twelve years." There was a shrewd pause, and an imploring glance toward him that made him stop eating his muffin mid-bite. She was leading toward a request, one she obviously knew he would not quite like.
"I would like you to go to the party with me instead."
Charity tea parties with rich people were one thing, but a night at the Ministry Christmas Party would be an entirely different torture. He wouldn't attend even if they had invited him personally, and they had, indirectly, for the past four years, by inviting Amaroc the Maker. He put down his muffin. "Sorry, Mother, I can't."
His mother calmly sipped her tea. "You can't or you won't?" she asked, her voice hard like steel.
Draco knew better than to answer the question.
"Ginny Weasley will be there this year."
It was a clear attempt at manipulation, but also one that obviously worked because his lizard brain instantly thought of Ginny in that flowy green dress. For a moment, he was tempted to say yes just to see what other pretty thing Ginny would wear to the Ministry Christmas Party. But no, all those righteous people that looked at his family with disdain, all the noisy reporters that wanted any excuse to blacken his name, and he probably couldn't even speak with Ginny without stirring unflattering rumours, no self indulgence was worth that sort of hassle. "Even so, Mother, no."
It didn't get any better when he saw her in person at the last group therapy session of the year. She was dressed in the same sort of loose sweater and old jeans combo she preferred, but somehow he still found her incredibly pretty. He spent the whole session hiding his staring: forcing himself to look at Healer Jones, taking sips from his tea cup even though he wasn't thirsty.
He knew he should decline when the group invited him to join them for an end of year drink at the pub across the street. A pub session with Ginny's therapy group was surely the wrong place to sort out his feelings for her. But then Ginny smiled and pulled at his arm and told him she really, really wanted him to come with them.
And, well, Draco wasn't that strong.
Drinking was probably a bad idea, so Draco declined shots and nursed his beer until it was lukewarm in his hand. He was doing so well at keeping a respectful distance until Karl and Sol dared each other to drink a shot of Merlin's Fire and Ginny leaned in to him to give them room. He could feel her hips through his trousers, and when she turned to reach for a chip, he swore he could feel the side of her breast brushing his chest.
Fuck, Draco thought.
Under the table, he pulled his heavy winter coat over his lap.
Pansy rolled her eyes hard when he told her his problem. Draco supposed that was an improvement to the cackles he got from Blaise and Theodore when they pushed him to reveal the same after they found him drifting during a particularly uneventful Heafen status meeting.
"You're an adult," she exclaimed, barely sympathetic, a little exasperated. "If you like the girl, just ask her out."
"It's not so simple," he complained, because he knew even if she thought he was being ridiculous, Pansy would still try to be helpful. "We have been just friends for so long. She won't even bat an eye if I ask her out for a drink."
Pansy rolled her eyes again. "Just grow a backbone and tell her your feelings have changed."
"And if I ruin everything by telling her how I feel?"
"Well Draco," Pansy deadpanned and took a sip of her scotch, "I guess that's just life."
Draco was thankful for warming spells. It was snowing and bitterly cold and he had been standing in front of Ginny Weasley's door for a full ten minutes contemplating whether he should make his presence known or continue to stand in front of the door like a creeper. He was having a glaring contest with the door bell, and at this rate, Draco had to admit, the door bell was winning.
He was about to admit defeat and resign himself to more unrequited pining, when a brown owl flew up next to him.
"What do you want?" he growled crabbily.
The owl looked at him with its large purple eyes, shook the snow off its feathers, and pointed its beak at the door.
Draco snorted and folded his arms. "Joke's on you owl, I don't have the key, I can't—Ow!" The owl had jumped onto his head and launched itself onto the door bell.
Draco felt the blood drain from his face when he heard the door bell chime. There were footsteps on the other side, and before he could react or apparate away, the door opened, revealing a rather confused Ginny Weasley.
"Draco?"
It wasn't fair. He wasn't ready. And why did she have to look so damned cute and huggable wrapped in a shaggy grey shawl. In hindsight, he should have prepared some sort of excuse for his visit, like bringing the batch of chocolate brownies he stole from Blaise's house the day prior, but he had nothing and he could only nod like a dysfunctional idiot.
Beside him, the owl swooshed into the house and Draco swore it rolled its eyes as it flew past him.
Ginny glanced at the owl and took a step back. "I think she had the right idea. It's freezing out there, come in."
Sugar and butter immediately filled his nostrils as he stepped into the warmth. He had waited for Ginny outside her home a few times, but he had never set foot inside of it. As he followed Ginny into the living room, he was struck by how the colourful, eclectic furniture and décor somehow tied together into a cohesive whole. He had always preferred straight lines and dark wood, but this was charming, homey, and very… Ginny.
"So, do you want to tell me why you're here?" Ginny asked from the open kitchen as she poured hot water from the kettle into a large tea pot.
"I—" Draco kicked himself for not preparing a good answer. He didn't think Ginny would accept insanity as an answer, even though it was true. He didn't have a good reason to be at her home beyond his desire to see her, and maybe, kind of, tell her how he felt. It was all rather pathetic, so he cleared his throat and lied instead: "I was just passing by."
"Well, I guess since you are here…" Ginny paused and pulled two baking sheets out of the oven. "Maybe you can be my taster. I just baked shortbread cookies."
Whatever fear Draco had about having to lie to Ginny about how the cookie tasted turned out to be unfounded because it was delightful: a perfect balance of sugar and salt, and melt-in-the-mouth buttery goodness. "This is really good," he told her. He reached for another cookie while the magic teapot filled his empty cup with more tea.
Ginny beamed. "It's my mother's recipe." She fed a cookie to the owl that had rang the doorbell earlier. The owl hooted in happiness and stuck out her leg to Ginny to reveal a small box.
"Talk about good timing," Ginny exclaimed in excitement as she untied the box from the owl, "It appears this owl has just delivered your Christmas gift."
"A Christmas gift?" Draco repeated and nearly choked on his tea. He had debated whether it was appropriate to buy Ginny a Christmas gift for a whole week and stupidly decided against the idea.
"Merry Christmas, Draco," Ginny said, offering the box to him with a large grin, and suddenly Draco found it a little hard to breathe.
The box was heavier than he expected, not that he knew what to expect to begin with. His mother always said opening gifts in front of the giver was poor etiquette, but Ginny was looking at him so eagerly he found himself peeling off the thick brown packing paper, etiquette be damned. Inside the box was a small shallow dish holding some sort of enchantment. Draco studied the dish carefully and traced the wisp of magic floating on the dish. "This is not a Pensieve."
"No. Same family of spells, but weaker. Professional Quidditch players use this for post-game review." She took the dish from his hand and pointed a wand at the center.
The wisp of magic glowed, and promptly spread and thickened until he could no longer see the room. Suddenly he could see Ginny, a few years younger, zoom past him in a billowing cape, before completing a shockingly complicated maneuver around invisible obstacles involving a triple loop, abrupt direction changes, and a sharp dive. The scene faded and the magic buzzed and returned back into the dish.
"I've asked my old teammates to each contribute a memory of their favorite flying moment, and I have just added in one of my own," she explained and placed the dish back in his hand. "You are planning to add dragon riding into the next core installment, right? I was hoping this may help."
"This is amazing," was all he could say. He was floored. He didn't even know something like this existed. His head spun thinking about the hours Ginny must have put in to pull something like this together. It was the most thoughtful gift he had ever received, and the thought crossed his mind that he loved her.
He only realized he said the last bit out loud when he saw Ginny's eyes widen.
His heart exploded out of his chest out of embarrassment. His face flushed red—What have I done? What have I done?—and he sputtered: "I—I mean—It's fine if you don't—"
"Draco."
"Just forget what I said—It was stupid—I was—"
He stopped when he felt Ginny's hand on his shoulder. He looked up and was startled by how close she suddenly was. His breath hitched.
"Draco," she repeated. Then, she leaned in and kissed him and the world melted away.
"I think I love you too."
"There is something I want for Christmas."
"Hm," it was a little difficult to focus on what she was saying because her fingers were combing through his hair, but he managed to ask, "What is it?"
"Healer Jones thinks it would be good for me to go to the Ministry Christmas Party and let the world see who I am now. It's been years since I've been to a big public function, so I'm wondering…" Her hand slid down the back of his head to his cheek and she looked at him with so much hope in her eyes. "When I go, can you be there with me?"
It dawned on him that she asked him the same question once. A year ago. The circumstances were different, but it was the same question.
There would be righteous people that looked at his family with disdain, noisy reporters that wanted any excuse to blacken his name, and he probably couldn't even speak with Ginny without stirring unflattering rumours, but while no self indulgence was worth the hassle, Draco decided that the woman in front of him was, most definitely, worth any hassle.
For her, and only for her, he said: "Of course."
Secret Santa Prompt: "gold, velvet, bells" for Tash (TASHAx)
A/N: I am sorry this is so late, Tash (TASHAx), please forgive me. Also, I made the assumption that you have read Heafen before you read this story so I dove straight in without providing context. As such, if you haven't read Heafen yet, go read it, I promise things will make a lot more sense if you do.