Disclaimer: All characters in this story, aside from non-HP (original) characters and plot, are the sole creations of JK Rowling and belong to their respective proprietors. Don't sue me. I'm poor. You wouldn't gain a penny from it if you did.

Prologue

For those in search of a sappy story, those that often have happy endings; this is not your sort of story. Please cease and stop from going any further. This is not for you. The world is already full of happy stories, happy endings, and too many extremely unbelievable tales.

"Too many bloody sappy stories," I muttered over and over. It had become a mantra in less than an hour. Now the phrase was practically all I had said to, well, anyone in that period of time. My fingers kept on slamming the pen on the desk repeatedly in a near manic manner. I'm pretty sure that if I had kept that up, I'd soon chip the lacquer on the desk, not that I really cared. It wasn't that I was unaware of the furtive, dirty looks my colleagues were shooting in my direction; it was just that I simply didn't give a pixie's ass. Perhaps I was disturbing the peace (or as much as you could get at 2PM in the Ministry of Magic), but if I was, then I'll pat myself on the back and go back to leaving my angry mark on my desk.

It usually doesn't take long to get me angered. I admit that it is one of my faults. I have the temper of a firecracker and it's easy to get me seeing red, but this time I was livid. Frightened, Saddened, Disappointed, Shocked… any feeling that ranges somewhere in a spectrum between anger and sadness would quite well describe what I was going through. If I was disrupting anyone else's peace and quiet, then well… My own peace of mind was completely ruined for the day. Misery loves company, they say.

Sappy stories… they never ended the way you wanted them to, did they? I could feel it inside me, bubbling, boiling, red and hot and rising. The quiet before the storm had quickly passed by as I stared at the note in front of me. A piece of parchment, neatly unfolded, stared back at me on my desk. How I wish that it had been blank, but it wasn't. It had words that I dreaded. My eyes started itching, and soon started hurting. I assume it dawned on my employees that they should be giving me a wide girth, for they certainly were: and a very wide one at that.

I should have burned it. It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever landed my eyes upon. Was this some sort of joke? Just in case, I looked at the calendar. No, it wasn't April's Fool day. Rage, hot and alive, and shooting through my veins; Perhaps it would be wise if I just took out my wand and burned it, but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to do so. Call it masochistic, but for the third time in my life, I didn't want to believe it. So instead, I willed it to disappear with my non-existent mental power. It didn't go away. The parchment stared back at me, its messy message laughing in my face: mocking, prideful, singing in glee of heartbreak - Yet another one.

Ginny Potter – a successful, independent woman, or at least that's what I like to see myself as. And here I was, the supposedly successful woman, throwing internal fits like a little girl while sitting on my office, carving my anger onto my desk. I wish I had had something to just hex, my bat boogie hex might have come in handy. Perhaps a subject to use it on might have been useful, too.

See, I by no means think that I'm obnoxious… Proud? Yes; Stubborn? Absolutely. But never conceited. When dad came into the ministry of magic with his mind set on becoming the Minister, I applauded him. When he actually became the Minister of Magic, I congratulated him, and was as happy as anyone else in my family. But when he offered that I work at the ministry…well, let's just say my dreams didn't lie there.

I wanted to fly, I wanted to soar the skies on a broomstick, knock a few people off theirs, and score points to become one of the best Quidditch female players in history. Instead, I landed myself in the Ministry after Hogwarts. It isn't so bad, I will admit… it's taken painstaking work, and it's hard to keep my temper under control what with the idiots that sometimes make their way into my office. In general, though, I'd like to think I've done a good job. And then I married Harry Potter…the bloody Boy Who Lived. Happy is an understatement, thrilled, ecstatic, might have been more adequate. I always had adored him, always watched him, always the shy little girl.

Well, not anymore. It took busting my tush but here I am: Ginny Potter, Deputy Ministress of Magic of the Wizarding World. That was my title… well, up until now. The parchment, still blankly staring at me, bore less than pleasant news. It was from Harry, who had been acting rather edgy and weird for the past few months, and whose temperament and behavior was on a stairway to heaven, blown out of proportions. And said parchment had me livid:

"Ginny,

I…I do not know how to begin this letter. I suppose, I should begin at the beginn--…I….

Well, Gin, you know I've never been able to lie to you.

We've shared so much together: So many adventures... And you've been a faithful and loving companion for the past three years we've been together. It's just… Blame it on my nature, but I have to admit that I'm...Well, jealous. I'm jealous that you've gotten this far. Our confrontations over petty matters have only escalated these past few months. Truth is: I love you, but I don't feel like I love you enough.

I'm sorry if my honesty in this letter is hurting you, but I figured it'd hurt you anyway… I often cannot stand that your work gets in the way of our relationship. It's always "the ministry this" and "the ministry that," and never "us" anymore. And that I've become 'Ginny's husband' rather than Harry Potter. I will admit I am too bloody chicken to confront you with this through a note… But…that said…

I want a divorce.

I will be returning to my flat tonight. You're more than welcome to keep our--…the house.

I'm so sorry, Ginny.

Forgive me,

Harry."

He had to be kidding me. Was he jealous? Jealous of what? His own wife?! Harry couldn't possibly be feeling like a forgotten hero now because of me! Could he…? He had always been the boy who lived, the guy everyone (including me) looked up to, the amazing seeker and poster child for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I'm very aware that I've come far, but it was never because I was gifted. It was because I worked hard... And here he was feeling jealous? Maybe he was pulling a Mickey on me.

All I could do now was sit back and stare ahead. The ceiling to floor glass doors and windows gave me the privilege of keeping a close watch on my employees from my office. I wasn't, by any means, doing that. My eyes weren't registering the furtive looks from said employees anymore. They were getting blurry with unshed tears that burned at my tear ducts, fighting a battle that I was losing to try and force their way out. Neither did they register the cloaked figure and pair of slim legs walking towards me, nor when the door opened without a knock. I turned my stare towards the little edge of the desk where the note rested.

I snapped, looking at the door. Apparently the two beings in my room had followed my gaze to the crumpled note, too.

"Didn't your parents teach you bloody manners?" The words came rather loudly and heatedly out of my lips. Some people outside my office winced, and then scurried off. My speech stopped when I noticed that the figure standing there was not that of a random employee, but of my personal assistant.

Pavarti Patil had been working with me for as long as I could remember. Actually, I could remember. It had only been a few months back when I got appointed deputy. I was in the dire need to find someone I could rely on, whom I knew at least a pinch, and Pavarti was the only one available. The position was offered to Hermione first, who had turned it down on the excuse that she would much rather stay at home now that she was pregnant with Ron's and her first child. Between that time and now, Pavarti had become as close a friend as she had a co-worker rather than an employee.

At times I felt bad for Pavarti. Her sister had left to …somewhere on the other side of Europe, leaving her alone. The woman might be a year older than I, but I felt a connection: likelihood, if you'd like. I, too, knew what it was to like to have close beings go away. My own friends had left after the war, and Hermione was too busy with her two babies, the unborn one and the grown up, annoying one by the name of Ron.

"Hi, Ginny. I have M--… Oh! Is there something wrong?" Pavarti had a way of reading my face, although I'm quite sure the grotesque picture of red hair and fiery red cheeks might give that away to anyone, "I can push the meeting for later."

Lively she might be when visiting me, but at work she was as shy as anyone.

A look of confusion plastered on her face, she turned to leave and usher whoever it was out along with her. "
Before I could open my lips to say a thing, the person pushed past Pavarti. Seriously, how rude.

"No need," was all I heard. Blinking back my tears, I tried to assume composure as quick as possible. Trust me, it isn't as easy as it sounds (or looks, for that matter). At the moment, all I wanted to do was snap. But my vision cleared… no wonder the person had sounded so snobbish: The tall figure, the arrogant stance, the squared shoulders, and blonde locks of meticulously combed hair… a groomed face, and a trademark smirk. Nowhere else could I possibly find such combination: Malfoy.

Maybe he was sent from hell so I could use that hex I had so badly wanted to use before.

"Ugh… it's you," I tried to relax, but I'm pretty sure Malfoy read through me as I felt my own left eyebrow twitch lightly. His own face was the definition of steely calmness. My muscles were tense enough that I could feel the little knots forming in my back. Trying not to clench my fists was a task on its own. The last thing I needed was Draco Malfoy.

It wouldn't have annoyed me as much… had I not been in such a predicament. With other things to think about, however, and the current state of my nerves, anything and everything about Draco bloody Malfoy reminded me of the prat in school years ago, rather than the man in front of him. And what a man he had turned out to b--…Snap out of it, Ginny!

"That's a lovely way to welcome back an old acquaintance, Weasel."

"Ginny, if you want, I can get him to leave…" Pavarti offered.

"Patil, please do feel free to dispose yourself out of here right about now."

The poor woman wasn't given the chance to finish her sentence correctly. Draco Malfoy had a knack for being a self righteous idiot. I could swear I felt a vein pop. This isn't the place to get mad. I'm not going to fall for Malfoy's taunting. I'm not twelve anymore, and I think we both know this. Play it cool, keep your poker face: Unreadable.

I waved lightly to Pavarti to let her go and spare her more embarrassment, and then motioned for Draco to take a seat in front of my desk as I readjusted the glasses on my face, pushing the rimless lenses up. The jerk made himself at home quite rapidly.

"There was absolutely no need to be so rude to my employees, Malfoy."

"You look rather… Bookish," he mentioned, completely ignoring my remark.

"And you look snobbish as always, Malfoy. Nice seeing you again."

The acid dripping from my retort couldn't have been more obvious as I gave him a fixed stare, but Malfoy chose to ignore this as well. He knew something was pushing my red hot buttons, and he enjoyed watching, even if from afar.

"Why are you here? Or rather, what exactly is it you want?"

His lips tugged. They tugged at the corner of his mouth! Had I blinked, I could have possibly missed it. It soon masked itself with a smirk. He kicked back, swung his legs up, and landed his extremely shiny and well kept designer shoes on my desk. His eyes were placed on me, my eyes on his shoes. I wrinkled my nose. The man always had to make sure to shove it in everyone's faces what the details of his lavish upbringing were, even if it was just a pair of shoes.

"I'll cut to the chase. It has come to the attention of the Ministry that the public has been… murmuring, or gossiping, that perhaps you're only Deputy Ministress because your daddy happens to be the Minister of Magic." His lips twisted into a far more obnoxious smirk, "and the Wizarding community is slightly worried that you might not be as… What was the word your dad said? Ah, yes…"

Draco put his fingers to his lips, "Yes…Qualified."

Oh how I wish I could have punched him, but I was too busy gaping. What's this idiot talking about? Really, now. He continued:

"Therefore, because the public doesn't think you as qualified for office, your daddy has been forced to look for someone to take a job as a second deputy in the meantime."

His steely eyes were set on me, the calm before a storm (that would never arrive) set upon his grayish eyes, sharp facial features set in what seemed to be a permanent expression. I had forgotten everything about Harry. My mind was too busy trying to piece together what Malfoy had said, and trying to find a way to wipe off that plastered smirk off of his self-gratified face. If anything, the only storm was inside of me.

Pulse. Throb.

"That said, having worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Mr. Weasley has found it best that I take a stab at the position of Minister – being clearly the best suited one for the job."

Throb.

Painful.

Contract.

"My duties right now lie in watching everything you do."

Throb.

A smirk.

Pop!

The urge to take a book and chuck it at his head was so tempting, so delicious, so violent and revengeful. I fear he was the one getting his revenge now. Why could I not just gouge his eyes out with my wand and get away scot-free? A deep breath was all I could muster. What was I supposed to say now, apart from 'get lost'? Perhaps if I looked at the calendar again, it'd be April 1st. Nope, still not April's fool's. How could my father not even tell me of this? A little warning would have done wonders, was all I could think of acidly.

I should not have gotten out of bed this morning, the thought flashed through my head in reproachful regret. Yet as soon as I opened my mouth to say something, Malfoy smirked. He looked undisturbed, either oblivious to my discomfort and the red face that spoke of silenced anger, or highly enjoying it in his own sadistic ways.

"I mean everything, Weasley."

My eyes navigated towards the clock, his towards the crumpled note on my desk. It was 6PM.

Everyone had gone home, and I was here, stuck in my office, feeling completely stupid in front of Malfoy. Was this supposed to be my fate where this man was involved? He kept watching me impassively as I collected my papers from a desk that had not been touched for work purposes. The holes on the desk from my pen told a story that was not about work productivity. And he still watched impassively, like he promised he would.

This wasn't time to worry about Malfoy and dilly dally around, however. I had a husband… or soon to be ex-husband, actually, to talk to.

"I will speak to you tomorrow, Malfoy. For now, it's time you go home."

The words came tartly out of my mouth, and the last image I saw at the familiar pull on my stomach was that of a Draco Malfoy dressed in expensive robes, with an ego too big to be contained in his body.

Apparating left me queasy. Not because of the apparition itself, but because I was standing in front of Harry's flat. Feeling nervous, and angry, and a nerve wreck. Ready to cry a river while blindly hexing everyone in my path. Upset and with so many questions that were still unanswered. To say I wanted to just hide my head under the ground was a slight understatement. I had told Harry the night before that I'd be working late, but holding back was not an option. Not now.

I walked in quietly. I might have wanted to break down the door… but that wasn't wise.

A noise.

From his room.

A woman's voice.

The door creaked open, ending with a slam against the opposite wall. There was a woman on him, bouncing in ecstacy, back bare and head thown back, with long locks of hair flowing down. Harry heard the door slam open and jolted up-right, with a deer in headlights look on his face. I could only stare back, probably the same stupid expression on my own.

How..could he..?

Her husband…

No. Not her husband.

I'm lucky that I survived with my jaw still intact. I could have sworn it nearly detached itself from my face and fell to the ground the moment the woman turned around. The nasty feeling in my stomach intensified, and turned into an even nastier twist that brought me back to reality. I felt nauseated.

"Pavarti?!"

"Ginny, I can explain!" both Harry and Pavarti called in unison, jumping apart from each other.

So this is why Harry Potter wanted a divorce so badly... it was all I could think of.

Did they really think I was so stupid?!

Yes, definitely NOT her husband anymore.

A loud crack was heard, making my gaze and that of the cheating bastard and his backstabbing concubine disconnect from one another. Draco Malfoy stood there, suitcase in his arm.

"You forgot thi—"

It took no longer than two seconds for Draco to register what was going on. He looked at me, my eyes filled with furious tears, and very unlike himself, offered his arm. Whatever was going through his mind, whatever spell made him turn around, and offer his arm, I'm grateful. Maybe someone used the Imperius curse on him... At this point in time, I didn't care.

"Would you like to go?"

My gaze turned to Harry and Pavarti. All I felt was hate, and disgust. A few million showers would never be enough to make me feel clean for a while. I wanted to run up to her, choke Pavarti to death on Harry's manhood, and then cut her hair and hang harry from the nearest window with it. I wanted to see them suffer; I wanted to see them cry. But I didn't do a thing.

Instead, I turned, gazed at Draco's arm and took it.

"I would love to."

I had to get out.

***

A/N:

This is not by any means my first story, but it is the first one I'm thinking of perhaps taking to the next level and writing into a full-blown fic (Think 30+ chapters). Due to my obviously narcissistic and self conscious self, however, I will only do that if I get enough feedback from readers.

I'm also aware Ginny sounds slightly mary sue-ish, however, but I swear it'll change.

Another note:English is NOT my first language. ;-; I'm still learning, so please do forgive the random shit that might not make sense in my stories...