Journalistic Integrity
Disclaimer: The words are mine, but the Harry Potter universe and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, et al.
Content Notes: The fic is set in the same universe as "The Rose and Its Thorns" and while it's not necessary to read that one first, I'd recommend it. In brief, Draco spent the last year of the war as a spy for the Order and he now works with Ginny for Head Cryptowizard Moreslock in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE). In order to contextualize some of Draco's statements, I should probably add that he intially pursued Ginny because his father will stand trial in the next six months to a year and his family thought a "low-born" (i.e. blood-traitor, half-blood, or Muggleborn) bride would improve their reputation enough for Lucius Malfoy to earn an acquittal, but Draco has actually started to fall for Ginny.
The message had been curt and to the point and, the longer he stared at it, the more ominous the words became. There were less than ten: 'We need to talk. My flat at two,' but the parchment lay like a gauntlet on his desk. Draco hadn't bothered to reply. He couldn't think of anything to say and Weasley wouldn't let it slide, even if she had to come to Wiltshire herself. She'd probably have arrived at the Manor already but for the fact that his mother lived there, too. Narcissa Malfoy might've accepted an uninvited guest, but she wouldn't have tolerated raised voices in her home, nor would it have made a good impression. He liked to think Ginny still cared about that, though she might've opted for her place rather than his because it was more convenient and more comfortable, not because she expected him to have a decent explanation. However, Draco had spent hours anticipating how the conversation would unfold, so that she couldn't catch him by surprise—so that she wouldn't have a reason to dump him and he could only hope it would work.
With a sigh, he slid her letter into the drawer of his desk and standing, he straightened his robes, scooped Floo Powder into his hands, and tossed it into the fireplace. The flame burned deep, dark green as he stepped into it and no sooner did he step out than Weasley spoke, "Punctual as always," like she couldn't stand it—like she hadn't teased him about it last week, or maybe because she had. "It's a pity you couldn't have warned me a little earlier." Her sigh was a short, sharp sound and her demand was much the same, "You talked to the media, Draco?"
"You read the Prophet," he retorted levelly.
She'd known the answer before she'd asked, but she looked surprised, or perhaps disbelieving, even disappointed. It was a stark contrast to the shrill critique with which she'd opened and, if he'd expected it at all, Draco might not have thrown her question back at her. Ginny didn't take long to rally; she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin and she asked, "What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how many Howlers I received this morning? I didn't even know what was going on!" He didn't point out that he'd probably got more angry, red letters than she ever would, but the curve of his lips or the hitch of his brow might have because her scowl became darker, the scorn in her eyes more pronounced. "You told the entire world. Moreslock is going to crucify us and—and—"
"I didn't have much of a choice," he said, just as he'd planned and practised from the moment he'd spoken to Caffrey.
She arched a brow in a way that looked familiar, "Oh? Did someone hold a wand to your head, Malfoy?"
His smile was thin and cold, "The Prophet was already set to publish the story. I only got a chance to comment because I have a contact there and even then, I was nearly too late."
She didn't look impressed, didn't even look like it made a difference that Draco had made the best from a bad situation. He'd wanted a little more time before the media became involved, but it would've cost too much and there'd been no guarantee that it would make any difference at all. He'd had to say something, if only because the article would've slaughtered them otherwise and the headline had still been unflattering. POTTER'S EX AND POTTER'S ENEMY and beneath, a picture of them at a Muggle restaurant with a caption that asked why they'd gone to such lengths to hide their relationship, as if the press coverage didn't explain it perfectly. "You couldn't have called or sent an owl, for Merlin's sake!" she made a frustrated sound. "Mum and Dad are furious and my brothers are out for blood."
He took a second to process her words before his eyes narrowed and his lips curled. "I thought they already knew. You told me..."
A hint of colour crept up her throat, but her stance was firm and she met his gaze head-on, "You assumed, Draco, and I didn't correct you." He'd have used the same logic—and likely had on at least one occasion in the past, but Ginny didn't mention it. She probably didn't want to associate herself with a Slytherin, even one with whom she'd shared sweet kisses and smooth skin and secrets that the Malfoy had never expected to hear. He shouldn't have expected any better; she'd been prejudiced against his house for as long as he'd been prejudiced against her and hers, but he nevertheless felt a grimace form on his lips. "Percy didn't say anything after he, er, after he caught us," she explained and the flush crept a little higher. Draco felt his grimace deepen at the memory and his cheeks warmed as he recalled how quickly they'd pulled apart when her brother had walked in on them, the horrified expressions they'd all worn. Both Weasel and the Weasette had been red to the roots of their equally red hair and Draco had kept his gaze fixed on the wall as his own embarrassment painted itself across his cheeks.
The kiss had been rather tame, though certainly the most intimate one they'd shared at the office. Draco had been tense—if he'd bothered to raise his eyes from his book when he assured Ginny he was fine, absolutely fine, they would've looked like steel and every line in his body, from his shoulders to the length of his fingers, had been as sharp as a knife. Words had been shred against him until, at last, Ginny had crossed to his desk. By the time he'd looked up, she'd been in his space and then her lips had been on his. "Forget about it," she'd murmured and his hand had slid into her hair, held her close as her mouth parted over his. It had gotten no further than that before the door opened. Awkward silence had ensued, broken only by the sound of her heartbeat in his ears. Then she'd said—it must've been her, because he wouldn't have listened to her brother, "Could you give us a minute?" He'd returned fifteen minutes later with coffee for himself and tea for her and she'd said Percy would probably break the news better than she could. Hollow though the statement had sounded beneath the false cheer, Draco had played along—had promised to tell his family, as if they didn't already know—and they'd both deal with the ramifications. There'd been none for him—or he'd said, 'it went better than expected' because it was more believable that his parents would put aside their prejudice for his sake than that it wouldn't factor in at all. She'd been visibly surprised and, he supposed, she'd been embarrassed because she'd told him everything was fine. He'd asked, 'really?' and she'd nodded and, when it had come up afterwards, he'd never received any other details. He didn't particularly care what her reasons had been, however, "I'd have contacted you earlier if you hadn't misled me, but I figured it could wait until morning."
Her sigh sounded impatient and her tone most definitely was, "Even if I had told my family, didn't it occur to you that I might have friends who would've liked to hear about my relationship from me?"
"At two in the morning?" he asked, with deliberate incredulity and an indifferent shrug, "Not really."
Ginny looked like she wanted to scream, but, instead, she said, "Harry came," and it might've been the same thing. It might've been a headline of its own, if the Prophet had been watchful enough.
Draco was supremely careful when he asked, "What did he want?"
"Answers," she replied.
She was obviously bitter, but the Malfoy heir couldn't blame her; he still felt irritated at the threat Potter posed—at his audacity, and at the world that supported him. Draco spoke harshly, "Can't he read?"
She cracked a smile, but it faded. "He'll have to try," she said. "He doesn't have any right to an explanation, but Draco," she exhaled a long, frustrated breath, "I'd have braced myself if you'd told me and I don't care how many excuses you come up with, there was no reason not to!"
"I-" he didn't have a defence, not for that kind of reasoning—not for that kind of anger—and he clenched his teeth.
"What? Are you going to tell me you didn't plan this?"
He stared. He supposed it was a logical conclusion—he'd urged her to make their relationship public and as he himself had admitted, he had contacts at the Daily Prophet. He had money, too, and her next words echoed every thought but that one almost word-for-word. "How do I know you didn't take advantage of an opportunity—or create it?"
"I would've published a much more flattering article," he pointed out. "That line about rebounds, for instance-"if Miss Weasley wanted to inspire horror, she couldn't have found anyone more suitable"? You honestly think I'm behind that?"
"You can quote it from memory!" Ginny pointed out.
"I had plenty of time to read the article," he retorted. She deflated, as he'd known she would. Draco had an answer for just about everything, even if it weren't the best possible answer, and he wasn't about to change his story. She mumbled a curse under her breath, said something about tea, but, before she could leave, his fingers closed around her wrist. Ginny looked up, lips parted and eyes wide, startled when they met his. He didn't wait for her to recover from her surprise—couldn't afford to, "You have to trust me." He thought he saw a shadow pass across her face and he smiled because he wouldn't have trusted him, either. He wasn't even sure he trusted her. It had been a long war, even if they'd only fought for two or three years, and they hadn't been romantically involved for very long. It had only been a week ago that they'd started to think of one another as 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'; the fact that she believed he'd have her back (and vice versa) was a miracle in and of itself.
"Just about this, Weaslette," he assured her with a smile. "My contact," he would've preferred not to identify the journalist at all, but if he wanted her to have confidence in him, he probably had to, "His name is Will Caffrey; he doesn't work in Entertainment, but he heard the story was going to run today and he left a message at the Manor sometime last night. I got it when I came in from work and I jotted down a statement or two, so the press wouldn't crucify you. I didn't firecall you because," he didn't want to be honest. Hated it, though this was far from the first time he'd had to rely on the truth. He simply found lies far steadier because, even if the first one (or first few) fell flat, there was always another close at hand. Without them, he couldn't be sure of having anything under him at all, if Ginny didn't buy his explanation. He couldn't even look at her as he gave it, so he didn't have a clue how she felt as he said, "I didn't know how to explain it and I hoped it might come to me by morning," he said, as quickly as he could without betraying his haste. The problem had been easy enough to avoid, at the time or he'd been able to come up with excuses to do so, anyway. He forced a wry smirk, but he thought the bitterness might've slipped through just a little, "I'm afraid I don't possess much Gryffindor bravery."
"Aren't you the one who's always told me you don't need it?" she replied with a slow, soft smile and she pulled her hand free to entwine her fingers with his. Relief curved his lips upwards and the self-same emotion shone in her eyes, even as she said, "I'm still mad at you—I didn't need protection and I could've done with advanced warning—but you're right, Draco. I know you better than this." Ginny almost, almost seemed to trust him when she said it and when she leaned in to kiss him, Draco believed, for a moment, that she really, truly did.
Author's Notes: I wrote the fic for my roleplay partner, Becca's, birthday (March 18, 2011) as a sequel to "The Rose and Its Thorns," so it's only the second Draco/Ginny story I'd ever done and like the first, it takes place in the universe Becca and I created, so please don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions. As always, Comments and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!