A/N: This is my first return to writing fanfiction in quite a while, but this thing just poured itself out, fully formed, and I thought I'd throw it up here to see what you lovely people think. I might be persuaded to continue it if the feedback is good. :)
This story is also compliant through DH (yes, even the epilogue), which means it's absolutely chock-full of spoilers.
And, as always, everything belongs to JKR.
Draco Malfoy marched across the Entrance Hall at Hogwarts, his long stride making it impossible for the house-elf behind him to keep up without running.
"Master, no!" it shouted as Draco reached the doors and started to pull the handle. "Falco will get the doors for Master!" It made a valiant dive that brought it crashing to Draco's feet as he rolled his eyes.
Honestly, this day just kept getting worse. First thing in the morning, Astoria had gone to Paris for the height of the fashion season, and wasn't planning on coming back for at least a month. Then his morning business meeting had been cancelled, so he'd had nothing to do but sit around the house and feel lost. Then he'd thought maybe he'd go flying, but a torrential downpour had started early in the afternoon, so instead he'd moved to his study and started to drink.
That, of course, was when he'd received the owl telling him that Scorpius had gotten into another fight and requesting that he meet with the Headmaster to sort it all out. And of course, Apparating while intoxicated was frowned upon by the Ministry, so Draco had cursed loudly, thrown the decanter of scotch into the fireplace, and ordered his house-elves to prepare the carriage.
He hated carriage rides. Every time the Pegasi took off, he thought he was going to vomit, but Astoria thought they were grand and loved to use them to make an entrance, and insisted on keeping a team in the stables.
There was a bottle of Ogden's in the carriage, though, so by the time Draco reached Hogwarts, he'd been feeling quite forgiving about the whole thing, giving his son a conspiratorial wink as the Headmaster droned on about proper conduct. Upon the revelation that Scorpius had been fighting with Albus Potter, Draco couldn't quite suppress a tiny smirk.
After the meeting, Scorpius had recited the most insincere apology Draco had ever heard before being sent back to class, and Draco made his way back downstairs to the carriage, feeling decidedly odd now that the alcohol had mostly worn off.
And that stupid little house-elf was just making things worse.
Draco wrenched the doors open by himself as Falco gave a piteous wail, but stopped short as he came face to face with a dark-haired woman who had clearly been reaching for the handle from the other side.
Instinctively, he drew the door back and held it open for her. "Weather's still a bit rough, I take it?" he said as she stepped through into the Entrance Hall, where she stood, dripping.
"Yes, thank you," she said, turning to give him a polite smile. Then her mouth fell open. "Malfoy?" she asked incredulously.
Draco looked at her critically for a moment. Approximately his age, expensively tailored robes, reasonably attractive, long dark hair. He searched for a name and came up with nothing. "I'm sorry, do I…?" Then she moved her head and her hair glinted copper in the light and he realized his mistake with an awful nauseous feeling. Her hair wasn't brown - it was just wet. "Weasley," he announced in a funerary tone.
"Potter," she corrected automatically as they stood and stared at each other.
He was fairly certain she'd only gotten more attractive with time. There was water sliding down her long dark eyelashes and dripping onto her cheeks, and she steamed faintly in the warmth of the Hall. He almost reached up to self-consciously touch his hair, which was a bit longer than he usually liked, but checked himself.
"Well," she said into the silence. Her voice caught; she cleared her throat and tried again. "Well. I suppose you're here about the fight?" She wrung out her long hair, and the sound of water hitting the stone floor echoed up into the ceiling.
"Yes," he said, a bit awkwardly. He wondered briefly how on earth Potter had tricked her into marrying him.
She smiled weakly. "Well, boys will be boys," she said, before her eyes flickered to something behind him. She frowned. "Is that a house-elf?"
Draco turned slightly to look behind him, where Falco was repeatedly running up to the first landing of the stairs and flinging himself down them. "Oh, er…yeah."
Her frown deepened. "Is that your house-elf?"
"Hmm," he said vaguely, distracted by the pink flush in her cheeks.
"Malfoy!" she barked, startling him out of his thoughts.
He jumped in spite of himself and instantly wished he hadn't. "What, Weasley?" he yelped, staring at her like she was a few Knuts short of a Sickle. She cast a pointed glare at Falco, who was trying to drag himself back up the stairs again. "Right," Draco muttered. "Right. Falco! Falco, stop that!" They both watched as the house-elf collapsed, draping himself theatrically across the third step, where he made no move to get up. "He's a bit dramatic," Draco tried to explain.
He watched with interest as she visibly repressed a disparaging remark. "I should go," she announced after a short pause. "The Headmaster is expecting me."
Draco tilted his head and smirked at her a little. "So go, Weasley. No one's stopping you."
"Potter," she corrected again. Draco's smirk widened as she didn't move. "Oh!" she said disgustedly, turning on her heel and striding away. "Bye, Malfoy," she called back to him with just a hint of sarcasm.
"It was good to see you again," he replied, pausing for a moment. "Ginevra," he finished in satisfaction, watching her freeze for half a second before continuing on her way. She didn't look back at him.
As Falco held the door open and he swept out to his carriage, he reflected that it really had been vastly entertaining to see her again, and he would not be at all sorry to repeat the experience.
Inside, as soon as she heard the doors to the Entrance Hall close, Ginny Potter stopped on the flight of steps and took several deep, steadying breaths, clutching the banister for support.
She hadn't been face-to-face with Malfoy in years, not since the string of appearances all the Order members had made after the war. That was before she and Harry had started seeing each other again, before she signed with the Harpies, before life had settled back down into normalcy.
Most of Ginny's memories from that time had started to blur together by now, into a hazy stream of charity balls and dinners and fundraisers and the like.
She'd been young and impressionable. That was what she told herself in the years to follow.
But at the time, she was seventeen, fresh out of school and tired of waiting for Harry, dazzled by the world of expensive dresses and fine food and elegant mansions that she'd been thrust into.
Ginny had discovered that she'd come a long way since her third year, when she went to the Yule Ball in a secondhand dress. Ginny had discovered that, with a little effort, she could be extremely attractive. And she'd used this discovery to her advantage over the next few years.
Blaise Zabini in particular had taken notice of her transformation. Ron had done his very best to convince Ginny that all Slytherins were evil and not to be trusted, but in an act of defiance, Ginny had dated Blaise for almost a month before calling it quits. To be fair, Ginny had dated him in hopes of making Harry jealous, and Blaise had dated her to make himself seem more respectable, so when they decided to end it, no one was terribly surprised. In the meantime, Blaise had introduced her around to all his friends, and in spite of Ron's renewed protestations, Ginny found herself continuing to attend most of the charity events with them.
And so, when Draco Malfoy asked her to dance at a benefit ball for the reconstruction of the Snidget preserve, she wasn't as surprised as she could have been. Naturally, of all Blaise's friends, she'd kept her distance from Malfoy, but the press were in attendance and she didn't want to cause a scene, so when he said, "Want to dance, Weasley?", she'd shrugged and taken his hand.
Ginny couldn't remember what song had played, or what steps they'd done. Looking back, the only thing she could remember about that dance was the fact that she'd worn a daring green dress, and Malfoy's hand had been flat on the small of her bare back. She'd mostly stared at his shoulder while they danced - he hadn't attempted to make conversation, for which she was grateful - and tried to ignore the way his fingers felt like a brand against her skin
When the dance was over and she'd gone back to sit down, Pansy Parkinson had taken one look at her and bustled her off to the loo until Ginny could collect herself.
Fifteen minutes later, Ginny had gone back into the ball with a smile pasted on her face, which turned into shaky-kneed relief when she found out Malfoy had left, but for the rest of the night, she felt like his handprint was burned into her back for all the world to see.
He'd danced with her a few times at events after that, until Ginny had signed with the Harpies and stopped attending most of the charity events.
Not too long after that, of course, Harry had shyly asked Ginny out to dinner, and she hadn't spoken to Draco Malfoy again until this afternoon.
Ginny shook herself firmly. It doesn't matter, she scolded herself. He was a prat then, and he's a prat now.
Continuing her journey up to the Headmaster's office, Ginny thought absently that, while Harry had told her Malfoy was going bald, it looked to her as though he had more hair than ever. Deep in her subconscious, she wondered if it was still as soft as it used to be.