"Try
it," Ginny had told him, "I think you'll find it
interesting!"
So he had, and like always, she had been right.
The computer had opened up whole new worlds to him.
He got a job
in muggle London at a paper as a designer. It was his mother's
influence, he assumed, always telling him which colors matched with
what, and what things should go where as to compliment each other.
He
would go to work each day to live among muggles, to live in a world
of metal and technology.
His wife would Floo to Hogwarts,
researching the Founders. "They were so powerful,"
she'd tell him, "It's really quite amazing, the stuff I'm
finding."
Draco would smile at her, and nod, and just bask in
the warm fire that glowed in her.
Then Ginny would laugh and say,
"You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you?"
But
then she'd get that
look in her eyes, and Draco would know that it didn't matter, nothing
mattered anymore except that they'd found each other and were
together.
A
reporter from the Daily Prophet came, accompanied by Colin Creevy.
"We'd like to interview you," she said, "And take your
picture."
Draco had been a bit reluctant at first, but Ginny
tugged on his sleeve and whispered, "please?"
He posed
for the photo in his muggle clothes, and asked for a copy of the
picture of Ginny. Her red dress. Her firey hair crackling with power.
Her freckles.
Draco remembered the night he'd counted them one by
one.
"I
love you."
"I love you too."