Nothing belongs to me.
Rumor Has It
Chapter One
Something was wrong.
Ginny could tell, even with her eyes closed. But whatever it was, she decide—this vague urgency that first pulled her from dreamless sleep…it could wait. Burrowing a little deeper beneath her pillows, she refused to open her eyes. Waking up, after all, would mean getting ready for work, and—
"Shit!" Ginny gasped and sat up violently. Falling sideways off the bed as she did, she stared in horror at the clock on her night table from her place on the floor.
She was late.
Too late to even consider taking a shower, she realized after she stepped into the bathroom. Not that anyone would notice. Or Ginny certainly hoped so as she brushed her teeth, peeling off her pajamas until she stood in nothing but her last pair of knickers. Avoiding the mirror, she moved back into her room, appraising her closet for something somewhat professional, settling for a black pencil skirt that was clean she supposed, and a white blouse that wasn't, but it would have to do.
With no time to look for a bra and just enough time to button up her shirt and hide this fact, Ginny stumbled into her living room, resolving to tidy up (later) as she reached up to pull her hair into a messy bun. Searching the small space for a pair of shoes, Ginny tugged on the worn Ministry robes she found instead, trying to remember why they were draped over the back of her sofa.
She almost didn't hear the tapping at her kitchen window, with all the curses she was muttering under her breath, and would have missed it entirely if it hadn't been for the fact that one of her battered black pumps was on the breakfast table, next to her wand.
The owl she let inside looked as impatient as she felt, foraging her pockets for the Knut it cost to deliver her morning paper. Not that she had the time to read the Daily Prophet, making a point to place the issue on the ever growing pile of newspapers she had yet to peruse. Ginny was happy, though, to find her missing shoe under the coffee table, not quite as happy when she glanced at the clock.
She was really late.
Too late to come up with an excuse to justify oversleeping, she realized as she threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace. Coughing, Ginny stepped into the green flames, only slightly bothered by the thought. In truth, her boss wouldn't—couldn't—be that upset…one of the few perks of working for her father.
The same, however, couldn't be said of the guard wizard who checked her wand when she stepped into the Atrium, which was emptier than she had ever seen it—save the few witches who stopped to glance back at her as they passed through security. It took Ginny whatever shred of patience she possessed not to glare; she chose instead to tap her foot furiously, waiting for the guard to return her wand. Which he did, doing well to take his time too…even going as far as to take stare at her carefully before handing it over.
Was there something on her face? Ginny wondered as she stepped into the elevator, greeted by the blank stare of the wizard operating it. And no, there wasn't. She checked, still unable to shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
Relieved to hear of their arrival at the second floor announced somewhere above her, Ginny passed through the doors without a backward glance.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I was late, Dad." she said, once she managed to squeeze into their office—the same office her father had shared with the late Mr. Perkins, a fact she could never seem to forget as she climbed over his old desk to get into his old chair —hers now, by all means. Sitting in uncharacteristic silence, with no talk of hexed teapots and jinxed toilets, Ginny turned to see that her father wasn't at his desk.
Indeed, something was wrong.
Exactly what, Ginny couldn't tell, and she was still trying to figure this out when the office door opened to reveal her—
"Dad?"
Yes. Looking angrier than she had ever seen him in her entire life.
"What—what's wrong, Dad?"
His eyes narrowed at the sight of her. "You know perfectly well what's wrong." he said quietly, in a dangerous tone she never realized he was capable of taking. She shivered.
"Ginny, I can't believe you!" Mr. Weasley slammed his fist on his desk. "I can't believe this!"
"What?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
And in that moment, she did, groaning as the memory returned to her. Of course! The report on cursed doorknobs she was supposed to write up the night before (but whatever it was she decided to do instead Ginny had yet to recall). Hopefully, though, it was well worth the guilt she felt now, sitting uncomfortably and picking at the lint on her skirt to avoid the blame in her father's eyes.
"I'm really sorry, Dad! I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't mean to?" Her father looked, if possible, even angrier at this. "What has gotten into you, Ginny?"
She flinched, fairly sure that he was referring to a lot more than her poor work ethic, and he was right. Merlin, as much as she hated to admit it, her father was right: she had officially lost control of her life. She could barely manage to write about doorknobs.
"I raised you better than this…your mother and I—we raised you better than to-to—" His voice cracked a little. "I can't even say it."
This was about the unfinished report, right? Ginny sat up a little straighter, opening her mouth to ask, but Mr. Weasley spoke again.
"I can't even look at you." he said quietly, shaking his head and staring at the ceiling, with what Ginny sincerely hoped weren't tears in his eyes. She wondered if she'd been Stunned, her chest hurting and head pounding from her father's comments. And true to his word, he opened the office door with unnecessary force—Ginny was surprised to see he hadn't ripped it off its hinges—as he tore from the room.
"Dad!" Cursing Perkins's old desk, Ginny stumbled after her father, standing, panting in the doorway, as she watched him disappear into the elevator at the end of the hall. Needless to say, she was very confused…confused (and embarrassed) even more by her co-workers' stares; many of them peered at her over the top of their cubicles, and she could feel a blush creeping onto her cheeks (from shame or rage, she couldn't quite tell).
Now, she decided, suddenly aware of how hungry she was, now would be an excellent time for a lunch break, closing the office door behind her.
Had everyone heard about the incident on the second floor? It would certainly have explained a lot. Like, for example, the looks everyone seemed to give her as she stepped into the Ministry's dining hall in search of an empty table. She was fortunate enough to find one, sitting down in a corner of the cafeteria…only to realize she hadn't packed a lunch.
But as hungry as she was, Ginny couldn't bring herself to trust the Ministry's dining staff. So she spent the next half-hour biting her nails instead, torn between heading back to the office, finding her father and some way to apologize for all of her personal failures or going home to her flat and her bed, with a bottle of Firewhiskey and a shot of sleeping potion. The latter, she suspected, was reminiscent of the night before, and so resisting this temptation, Ginny immediately chose the former.
"Dad?" she called nervously when she went back to their office, her mouth dry as she stared around the room. He hadn't returned, she found. Climbing back into her seat, Ginny remembered his words, the rage and disappointment laced in them like poison, and she shuddered, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. Cursed doorknobs, it was.
She paused every so often, sucking on the tip of her quill and listening for the sound of approaching footsteps as she tried to understand her father's outburst. Whatever it was about, Ginny was damn sure it was about more than the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts.
Something was wrong.
Draco could tell when he met his mother for their usual afternoon tea. She was waiting for him on the steps of the Manor, standing in the insufferable heat of August with not even a house elf holding a fan in sight. Draco didn't know what had brought his mother here to meet him outside when she could have just as easily waited inside, sitting predictably in one of her parlors, sipping tea daintily from their finest china.
No, Draco didn't know what had brought his mother here, but he could guess, swallowing nervously and tugging a little on the collar of his robes. Already, it was too late to disappear back through the black gates; she had seen him.
His heart sinking with every step toward her, Draco saw that she wore no trace of the smile that normally lit her face whenever he visited. She didn't move to pull him into a hug, holding him as though she hadn't seen him in a year, when in actuality, it was only week (if even). There were no titters of "Draco, darling!" as way of her typical greeting; in fact, she didn't say as much as hello, looking rather displeased as she turned on the tips of her high heeled boots, marching away into the relative cool inside the manor.
"Mother!"
She was angry, he could see, when she spun violently around to face him—furious, to be more accurate, her eyes narrowed, her next question asked slowly, dangerously, "Is it true? What they're saying?"
Unable to look her in the eyes, Draco struggled to understand how she knew. He thought it would be just between them, at least, for a little while.
"Is it true?" She asked again, accusation dripping from her mouth, like the lipstick that had begun to run onto her chin. She had been standing too long in the sun, Draco noted. Swallowing again, he tried not to think how much it looked like blood as he finally met her searing gaze, the look of shocked, no scandalized, disbelief chiseled into every feature of her beautiful face.
He had hoped she wouldn't find out. Draco didn't really like being reminded of Astoria Greengrass. Or the fact that she had broken up with him.
"It is true," she breathed, her eyes widening with even more shock, if that was at all possible. "How can this be, Draco?"
"Mother, I—"
"How did this happen?"
"It just did!" he admitted, feeling sick as the words left him, as the pain he'd been trying to mask, appeared briefly on his face before he regained some composure. Running a hand through his hair, slicked back, as always, Draco collected himself with a deep breath, though he couldn't say that his mother was doing the same. She was panicking, pacing between the marble columns holding up the fresco painted ceiling.
"But how can this be, Draco?" she asked, a question that sounded suspiciously more like a snarl, her graying blonde hair falling out of its twist. "How did this happen?"
He figured she would be upset, of course, an understatement, Draco realized now, but her behavior puzzled him exceedingly. "Mother," he said, "I don't see why you're so surprised…it was inevitable."
"Inevitable?"
"Her feelings have been clear for months," he said harshly. This was the first time he admitted it, even to himself. Dazed a little, he continued, "I guess I always knew it was coming…especially since I felt the same way."
Mrs. Malfoy gasped.
"Whatever you may have heard, please know, Mother, that this is what we both want."
"You wanted this?"
Draco nodded. That was what he had been telling himself for the last week, anyway. He was unsure why his mother found the news so distressing; she never cared for Astoria much. Not like the way she adored Pansy. Draco shuddered at the thought of his childhood "friend". Anyway—
"I've never wanted anything more."
He wasn't expecting the slap his mother gave him. He staggered back, surprised by her strength—and by her fury. Indeed, a fire seemed to be blazing in her icy blue eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, Draco was terrified.
"Have you lost your mind? Clearly, all sense of dignity and pride."
Hurt and confused, Draco couldn't stop himself. "But you despised Astoria!"
"I still do." she mused, brushing the hair from her face. "But I could at least approve of your relationship. She comes from a rather prominent Pureblood family." Mrs. Malfoy smirked. "Not that she acted like it." she added as an afterthought, pursing her lips. "Still, she was better than that Weasley girl will ever be."
"Wait, what—"
"I don't know how you could ever let this happen."
Whatever it was he did, Draco still didn't know, and he grew impatient with his mother's talk, all of it in riddles. He had always hated riddles.
"Your father and I—we raised you better than this!" Her lip trembled. "I can't even look at you." she whispered as she climbed up the grand staircase.
With a groan, Draco followed her, wondering what the hell Ginny Weasley had to do with anything. He asked his mother as much.
She grimaced. "Everything, Draco, everything! Have you been listening to me at all? I don't know how you could let this happen!" She clutched the carved marble railing for balance. "I admit, she is pretty, for a blood traitor, but I will never, for the life of me, understand why you would ever fall in love with her."
Draco stopped short at this. He'd been suspecting it for a while, but now he was fairly certain.
She had gone raving mad.
"Mother," he said, unsure if he should laugh or not. He made a mental note to have a Healer examine her as soon as possible. "I'm not in love with her!"
"Oh, thank Merlin." Mrs. Malfoy breathed. "You still have some sense…although not that much, considering you're involved as I've been told."
"You mean with Ginny Weasley?"
His mother sighed. "Yes, yes, of course, who else?"
"Who the hell told you I was dating her?"
"Everyone knows, Draco." His mother made her way back down the steps, clearing her throat and calling for a house elf, who appeared by her side. "Everyone." she repeated, taking the morning Prophet from Tinky's shriveled little hands and passing it to her son.
"Well." Draco said, equal parts stunned and infuriated by the garish headline—Star-crossed Lovers. "Everyone is wrong." He tore the paper in half for emphasis. "I am not dating Ginny Weasley, nor will I ever be."
His mother had never looked more relieved, and she pulled him close to her, with a vice-like grip that could rival a python's, in what he interpreted to be an apology. "Oh Draco, my darling! I should have known. I knew you couldn't possibly—" Mrs. Malfoy smiled weakly, leading him by the arm into one of her parlors, where Tinky was waiting with a spot of tea, surely cold by now. She sat down, smoothing her skirts delicately before tapping the teapot with her wand.
Draco, though not quite as gracefully, helped himself to a scone.
"A disgusting lie! I knew there couldn't have been any truth in it." his mother concluded, taking a scone herself. "Who would dare start such a vicious rumor?"
"I haven't the faintest idea." he said finally, taking a sip of his tea. But in truth, Draco could think of one person who would. She would pay; he would make sure of it.
By the time she returned home that evening, Ginny was sure of two things: 1) That she hated Mondays, and 2) she never wanted to hear about another doorknob, cursed or otherwise, ever again. Clutching her cramping right hand, she sank on the sofa, hoping the now finished report would appease her father, who'd never returned to the office.
The silence had certainly been unsettling, but she made good use of it throughout the afternoon as she stared at the wall in moments of introspection. During them, she did manage to think of an explanation for the staring, and it was quite plausible too. A good portion of the Wizarding World did despise her. She was, after all, The Girl Who Broke The Boy Who Lived's Heart. A mouthful and definitely not Rita Skeeter's best work, but it served its purpose. They were never going to let her live that down, were they?
Ginny sighed tiredly, kicking off her heels and clearing a space on her coffee table for her feet. She tried to remember what was in her pantry. Not much, undoubtedly, but she was starving and could settle for anything. She was halfway to the kitchen when there was a loud pop behind her.
It was her father. No. Ron, looking angry as ever, his face and ears as red as his hair, hands curled into fists. It was an easy mistake. She braced herself for the coming explosion.
"What the bloody hell, Ginny?" he screamed; she didn't know he was capable of being so loud. "Dad is absolutely furious! Mum is crying…fucking Merlin, how could you do this to us?
Ginny rolled her eyes. "And what did I do that was so horrible?" Was this about the cursed doorknobs? Still? "It's not even that big of a deal!"
Ron sputtered. "Are you listening to yourself?"
She shook her head, pulling her hair out of its bun and shuffling to the kitchen.
"You've gone raving mad! Oh, it's not even that big of a deal!" Storming after his sister, Ron continued: "Don't walk away from me!"
Biting her lip, Ginny said nothing. Not that he'd listen, anyway. She pilfered through her cabinets for something to fill her stomach…something that would preferably burn on its way down. Behind her, she could hear her brother sigh. "Look, Gin, I know that ever since you and Harry broke up, you've been miserable and lonely."
Ginny turned sharply at this, her grip tightening on her wand as she tried to think of all the jinxes she could use to make him stop talking.
"And you'll probably never find another man like Harry, but you could probably do a lot better than Draco fucking Malfoy."
"Draco M—wait, what?"
"Oh, come off it! Everyone knows you're dating Draco Malfoy."
She couldn't fight the laugh that escaped her lips. "But I'm not." she said loudly, bothered to see that her brother remained unconvinced. "I'm not—"
"Don't you dare try to deny it." Ron said darkly. "You thought we wouldn't find out, did you? Guess again, Gin. Everyone knows."
Not feeling very hungry anymore, Ginny struggled to make sense of everything coming out of Ron's mouth. She almost wished this was still about doorknobs.
"Did you think you could keep it a secret?"
"Do you think you could shut up for one second?" she screamed, rage sending a rush of sparks shooting from the end of her wand.
"He's a Malfoy." Ron snarled, grabbing her by the shoulders. "You are a Weasley. A Weasley. Have you forgotten who you are?"
Tearing from his grip, Ginny glowered, breathing heavily. "Have you?" She shoved her brother a little, tripping over the mess of her living room. She couldn't remember moving back into the living room. "And who the hell do you think you are? Telling me who I can and cannot date."
Ron scoffed. "I can't believe this."
As much as she loved him, Ginny had had enough of Ron; she told him as much.
"I can't believe you."
"GET OUT!" With a last glare, her brother obliged, disappearing with a loud pop. Rubbing her temples, Ginny collapsed into the sofa once more, her mind reeling with this news.
That certainly explained a lot…both the incident and the stares, if Ron wasn't exaggerating when he said "everyone". Groaning at the memory of it, she remembered the bottle of liquid waiting for her in the kitchen, but something caught her eye on the way there: the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, a headline she overlooked this morning, now glaring at her from the top of the pile.
"Star-crossed Lovers. Who would tell—" Ginny glanced back down at the paper. "—Rita Skeeter such as disgusting lie?" She couldn't think of anyone who would start such a vicious rumor. Well, actually, no…considering it a little more, five shots of Firewhiskey later, Ginny could think of one person. He would pay; she would make sure of it.
In all his years working at the Ministry, Draco had never once stepped foot onto the second floor, something everyone who worked there was well aware of; they watched him as he passed, leering from their cubicles and whispering excitedly. He supposed they all subscribed to the Daily Prophet, meeting their curious looks with his own steely gaze.
The office for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts was so small, Draco nearly missed it. More of a closet, now that he thought about it, letting himself inside without so much as a knock.
"Dad, please—" She faltered at the sight of him, her eyes narrowing, teeth bared like a threatened animal's.
Ginny Weasley looked considerably different from the Ginny Weasley he had known before, both in school and even afterwards, that slightly attractive (He'd give her that.) and somewhat sophisticated young woman featured on the cover of every newspaper and magazine. Rising professional Quidditch player and what was more, The Chosen One's Chosen One, the highly anticipated future Mrs. Harry Potter.
This woman, however, was exhausted—and hung-over, he suspected, judging by the way she clutched her head, her fiery crimson hair in dire need of shampoo and conditioner. She had obviously lost all control of her life. Draco ardently believed that Rita Skeeter had to stop writing…if she was going to trap him in a web of lies, she could have at least done him a favor and paired him with someone who was more up to his standard.
"You!" they said in unison after he took care to close the door.
She glared—it didn't do much for the circles under her eyes—pushing herself up from where she was trapped against the wall. She climbed over the desk, barreling into him with a force he'd sooner expect from a Bludger, pushing him up against a filing cabinet.
"I'm going to kill you!" she snarled, abandoning her wand wholly as her hands reached for his neck.
Draco pushed her away, overpowering her easily. Too easily perhaps, as he pinned her down on top of her desk, holding both of her arms above her head. He didn't realize how compromising their position was until he'd climbed over her.
She looked surprised at, squirming under his weight, but she didn't scream, instead, breathing a little more heavily as she managed to speak. "What the bloody hell is your problem, Malfoy?"
"You are." he said quietly, leaning down to whisper in her ear. He cleared his throat, distracted by how tight her shirt was, practically straining against her chest. "And what the fuck was that?" Draco asked, straightening up and clutching his neck.
"What the fuck is this?" The Weasley girl took advantage of this at once, sending them both onto the floor. She was practically straddling him. He couldn't decide which position was more awkward (and arousing?)
Draco never realized how—how beautiful she was, even with her eyes alight with nothing but the deepest of loathing. It was almost sexy. He realized that she had started to speak.
"How dare you!" she hissed. "Do you have any idea what you've done to me, starting that rumor, Malfoy?"
"Starting that rumor? Weasley, please, we both know you are responsible for that story." Seizing her arms, he tried to push her off, but she refused to move.
"Me? Why would I ever want to date you?"
Draco smirked. "To make Potter jealous."
She laughed, shaking her head. "Why would I ever want to make Harry Potter jealous?"
"Because he moved on." She raised an eyebrow at this, and he continued, unaware that he was tracing shapes into her arm (but she did, stiffening at his touch). "Don't tell me you haven't seen the magazines. It's all Witch Weekly ever reports anymore…which witch has the Chosen One chosen next?"
Brushing the hair out of her face, she smiled weakly. "Don't you know who I am? I'm The Girl Who Broke The Boy Who Lived's Heart."
Of course, how anyone forget? But this didn't fool Draco one bit. "Just admit it, Weasley. You started it." he whispered, feeling his heart beating in his chest, watching her hover above him, like an angel almost.
"I most certainly did not!" She blinked. "I'd have nothing to gain from it. I don't want Harry, and I don't want you. I'd never want you. "
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, reaching to touch her cheek. The question, his touch, it all threw her off guard; he could see it in her eyes, the hesitation, and for a moment, Draco hoped her answer would be no. It was as though she were seeing him for the first time, as the ghost of some emotion passed in her eyes. Color began to fill her cheeks as she realized just how awkward their position was, but she made no point of moving. Their eyes met, and in that moment, he knew that she could sense it too.
Something was wrong.
They both knew it immediately when the door opened to reveal The Boy Who Lived himself.