Cook and Nanny Required

For reasonable pay, in addition to room and board.

Inquiry letters may be sent to 1800 Dutch Street

Qualified and professional applicants only

The ad appeared in typed calligraphy on heavy-quality card stock, even though it contained few enough words to only be the size of a business card. Seamus Finnegan turned it over in his hands to check for writing on the back but saw none, so he pinned it on the corkboard in the kitchen and continued sorting through his mail as he walked. The O'Flaherty, his café that was really more of a diner, had a small staff in a small building, but it was finally starting to turn a profit rather than just break even and he was really pleased. His small staff (an assistant cook, two waitresses, and Ginevra Weasley, a sort of cook and manager combo) was in-house nearly as often as he was. Their work was what kept this place running as much as his.

The fourth staff member and his right-hand (wo)man was currently frowning over a giant pot of broccoli cheddar soup, holding a pinch of diced onions above it threateningly. She had red hair pulled back in a too-tight bun under a floppy white hat, and her apron was stained with so many different substances that it was probably a health violation in and of itself.

"Having trouble with the soup, Ginny?" Seamus asked, and she looked up in surprise.

"Oh, just wondering if it would benefit from a little more kick," Ginny replied, cracking a wry smile.

"You look like you were soup-whispering again," he answered skeptically, and she shook her head.

"No, it's all set. I'm glad you're letting me do this soup special today so I can take an afternoon off. I have some things I just have to take care of," she attempted to distract him from the fact that she had indeed been threatening her broccoli cheddar soup with the onions. Sometimes giving food a little talking to set it straight; she couldn't explain it. She just knew it was true.

Seamus' expression softened suddenly, corners of his mouth drooping. "Of course. You can take as much time off as you need. I understand completely." She looked away, unable to face the open pity and sympathy glowing in his expression

"Thank you," she murmured. Ginny continued bopping about the kitchen, finishing up last minute tasks so that she could take a much-needed and very rare afternoon off. She had something very important to do, even if it wasn't nearly as pleasant as working in this dear kitchen, clean, cozy, and just shabby enough to feel like home. As she offered her assistant, Marjorie, some last minute instructions on how best to serve the various soups she had made, she thought about how she had ended up here.

After seven years at Hogwarts and nothing but a world of magic, she had originally found herself more interested in the homemaking activities her mother had always done than in any "careers." Getting married to be a homemaker was not the way of the modern world, though, so she had sought a way to use those skills viably. A little culinary school and in-home practice later, Ginny Weasley had landed this job, first-time cook with first-time business owner, Seamus. They had been a good pair for the past six years, and she had grown as a cook enough that she sometimes dreamed of being called a "chef."

Of course, putting in all of those twelve hour days alongside Seamus for a business that was not actually hers had been hard, hard on her psyche and hard on her social life. It had been starting to wear her to the core for some time, but… then family tragedy had struck and the hours poured into The O'Flaherty felt completely wasted, even though she knew they weren't.

Grabbing her jacket off its hook, she called towards the front to Seamus. "I'm leaving, buddy. Hold down the fort without me?"

"I always do," A pause followed, "Actually, I never do because you're always here. Go! I'll see you tomorrow."

She chuckled, pushed her arms into the coat sleeves and headed towards the door. As she passed the cork board, she noted a small, fancy business card. Plucking it off, she read it. Something in her stomach tightened with inexplicable anticipation, and rather than put it back, she pocketed it. Disloyalty felt like a weight around her neck. After six years with Seamus, she knew she couldn't just leave on him. He needed her. She pushed through the door out into the cool autumn air.

The O'Flaherty was in a good neighborhood, charming and casual, where its mid-level dinner and inexpensive lunch fit right in, and it had started to feel more like home than her apartment at this point. The local Floo Network was only two blocks away, and she walked briskly, trying very hard not to let her mind wander. It needed to be centered for what she was about to do.

A completely understandable desire to Floo to her own little apartment and cook something comforting, perhaps a nice rice pilaf dish with grilled portobello mushrooms and way too much butter in the recipe, overcame her. She pushed it aside, though, and kept marching through the familiar routine of Flooing to Ron and Hermione's house. Their fireplace was wide but short, and she stepped out cautiously, taking care not to hit her head.

The living room looked tidy, everything in its place, but not even a closer look was required to see the thick layer of dust over everything. Even over Hermione's books on the coffee table, old favorites obviously untouched for some time. Sadness rose up from her toes all the way up to her mouth where it left a foul salty taste; she tried to focus on that instead of on the pain twisting like a screw in her heart.

Hermione rounded the corner from the stairs and offered a wan smile. "Hi Ginny. Thank you so much for coming," she said without any light in her eyes.

"Of course," Ginny managed weakly.

"Do you want anything to eat before we get started?"

"No, I'm good."

A moment of silence stretched out between them before they started walking up the stairs, still mute, and stopped at a closed pink door.

"I haven't been in here since…" Hermione murmured, putting her hand on Ginny's arm. Her fingers clutched strangely, and Ginny knew her sister-in-law was clinging to her for support in more ways than one.

"We can do it, Hermione. We can do it," she replied. Before she could make herself grab the door knob, she sucked in a deep breath and coughed a little. There was a lot of dust everywhere, it seemed. But then she did it; she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. It was the same beautiful room she had helped paint when they first found out that Hermione was expecting a baby girl, all soft pink with pastel yellow and lavender accents. There were dolls scattered on the floor, a tiny three-block tower standing near the toy bin, and a stuffed puppy with ears worn out lying beside the bed. It was the room just the way Cora left it.

Ginny heard a stifled sob behind her as she walked into the room and waved her wand to summon a cardboard box from downstairs.

"We can't pack up Cora's things. Ginny, we can't do it!" Hermione, the calm woman who had asked her to come help, hit a note of shrill panic.

Ginny shook her head. "We have to. It's time."

Cora Anne Weasley was the only child of Ron and Hermione, only grandchild of Molly and Arthur, and only niece (or nephew) of Ginny, George, Fred, Percy, Bill, and Charlie. And now she was dead.

Four-years-old and the darling of the Weasley clan, everyone's little angel, Cora had held every heartstring in her hands, and when she contracted the flu, everyone doted on her even more, though they never could have suspected it would develop into pneumonia, or that the pneumonia would kill her. It had been six months now, but Ginny still could not walk into this house without wanting to run out crying. And obviously Hermione had not found the strength to clean yet, or even to read. Ginny thought of her brother, brokenly weeping beside the bed in St. Mungo's, refusing to let them take away his little girl's body, and she almost couldn't make herself touch a doll to drop it into a box and pack it away.

"We can't let it turn into a shrine, Hermione. Then we'll never be able to let her go," Ginny whispered, kneeling down and placing the first little blonde doll into the box. She glanced over her shoulder to see Hermione kneel down beside her and do the same, tears streaming down her face. They worked quickly, silently, and Ginny thought about when Cora was in the hospital. She had only gone to see her twice in that whole week. It had been a busy at The O'Flaherty that week, and she had been putting in so many extra hours with Seamus, never dreaming that Cora would… those were hours with her beautiful little niece that she could never get back, precious moments she had passed up.

Cora had loved her aunt's grilled cheese sandwiches more than anything else in the world; Ginny knew she made a good grilled cheese sandwich, using the right amount of butter (never cooking spray) to coat the pan and never burning it, and that she always had good, expensive cheese to sprinkle in with the basic stuff, but Cora had seemed to think the sandwiches were more magical than magic itself. What I wouldn't give to make her another grilled cheese sandwich… She thought as she taped the last cardboard box shut and looked around the empty room.

"Ron's not going to like that we did this."

Ginny glanced over at Hermione as the woman spoke solemnly. Then she nodded. "He's going to hate it, but it had to be done. Just like…" She trailed off, knowing they were both remembering his original staunch refusal to hold a funeral or talk about his daughter in the past tense.

"He called me 'Cora's mother' the other day, when he was talking to Harry," Hermione murmured, tears welling up in her eyes again. "Not Hermione, not his wife, nothing except Cora's mother. Like I was a stranger to him except for my relationship to his daughter. It's like I've lost them both."

Ginny looked away from her sister-in-law, suddenly incapable of facing that kind of raw pain. She put her hands up to her face, pressing her fingers against her eyelids until red lights flared against her non-vision.

"I'm sorry she's gone. I'm so sorry," she finally whispered, hearing from her voice that she was crying but unable to feel it.

"God's will," Hermione dully echoed.

"So they say."

X

By the time she had left Ron and Hermione's, Ginny had gone through every range of negative emotion possible, the worst being a strange mixture of anger, pain, and shame when her brother had looked at her (after seeing Cora's toys packed away) and said, "Certainly it doesn't matter to you to put them away. You gave more of a fuck about Seamus's restaurant than your own niece. You wouldn't leave it even to be there for her when she was dying. You weren't family to Cora when she needed you, and you aren't family to me now." Nothing else could be said after a speech like that. She had given Hermione a hug ("He doesn't mean it, Ginny. He's just so sad. He's not himself," her sister-in-law had tried to comfort) and headed home without another word.

Now, alone in her flat, wearing old sweatpants and a stained apron, she stood at the stove and stirred the spaghetti sauce she was making. She had no need for more homemade spaghetti sauce. She would just jar it and put it away with the six other jars she had made recently. But it was an easy thing to make when she needed the comfort of cooking without eating it and ballooning up to obesity. She was already much softer around the edges than she had been just a few years ago.

Ron's words had hurt but worse than that, they had spoken to some truth she had been trying to bury away. She had given Seamus and his restaurant her entire life. She had missed family events, fallen out of touch with many friends, seen far too many promising relationships fail, and finally, she had not been there for her beautiful niece in her final week of life. That was the unforgivable breaking point. She had to leave The O'Flaherty. She would tell Seamus tomorrow, even though she did not have another job lined up yet.

The thought of leaving the sweet little restaurant she had come to love gave her a tiny tremor of discomfort through her brain, but the tremor was accompanied by no remorse. She was afraid to try something new after having been comfortably settled for so long, but she realized with surprise that she would not miss Seamus or the restaurant. The ball of resentment at their consumption of her life had grown large enough to eclipse much of her affection towards them.

Once her sauce was taken from the burner and left to cool, she moved over to pull out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"Seamus," she began aloud, "I have to leave The O'Flaherty and try something new…"

I have to find something that fills the gaping hole inside of me.

She tried to think of other words, but nothing would come. Writing this letter was going to be a long process.

X

"Tell me, Mr. Malfoy. What inspired you to leave behind the family tradition and become a chef?" A beaming, plastic-surgery and magical makeup-enhanced Rita Skeeter purred from her perch at the edge of her seat. Draco Malfoy tried swallowing down his disgust for this whole charade and bit back the desire to answer sarcastically, especially tempting since the story of how he became a chef was common knowledge at this point. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised to find out that there was already a book telling his story.

"I spent an inordinate amount of time in the Manor's kitchen during my teenage years due to that pesky Hollow Leg Syndrome that teenage males tend to suffer from. House elves are lousy cooks, and sometimes our family cook would be off for the evening. On those evenings, I would experiment in the kitchen myself. I was lucky enough to come from such a wealthy family that I had a multitude of ingredients to test out. The rest, as they say, is history," he answered diplomatically, reaching forward to take a sip of his drink. Rita beamed at his answer, and he forced himself not to frown at her beaming.

He loved being in the kitchen, creating something from individual ingredients that no one else knew how to create. All of his recipes were secret and kept only in his head, no notes jotted down anywhere. His natural aptitude for cooking accompanied by his famous last name had made it a cinch for him to rise up the ladder to a prominent position as a chef, but once he had started developing his own recipes, whatever restaurant he was "gifting" with his presence was the place to be for all of the wizard world's most rich and famous. Being the chef to celebrities had bolstered his own fame, so that now he was one of the most popular among them. Now everyday people would blow an entire paycheck for a chance to eat one of his signature dishes on a fancy night out.

And he felt no guilt for that because he made them the best dinner he knew how, and he had yet to have an unsatisfied patron at a restaurant where he was manning the kitchen. He took great pride in his work.

"Sources say," Rita began with such relish that Draco knew this was going to be bad, "that your father has never tried your cooking because he is so appalled that you passed over a Ministry job to pursue a 'banal hobby.'"

He knew exactly what source had said that: Lucius Malfoy himself. "You'll know better than I do what my father says if he's not speaking to me," he replied, another cautious and appropriately diplomatic answer. Rita seemed displeased with the joke, and Draco felt damn displeased himself with her inability to be polite even after he had been gracious enough to give her an interview.

By the time it was over, Draco just wanted to go home, but instead, he had to go meet with his manager, publicist, and closest friend, Martin. Martin ran everything about Draco's life except his kitchen and his personal time. Martin paid the bills, managed the money, hired help when necessary, and set up all of Draco's appearances and interviews. When Draco walked into the office on 1800 Dutch Street, he was, as usual, amazed by how spotless and organized Martin kept everything.

"Hello, sir, is everything to your liking?" Martin faked the pompous tone of fancy dining establishment's host as he looked up from a paper he was reading, cracking a crooked grin. He was the kind of man with freckles leftover from his youth and cockeyed good looks that weren't going to win any rewards but would gain plenty of friends.

"Perfectly fine," Draco replied, managing a smile but not a joke. He was too tired. "Except that Skeeter bitch was heinous."

"She always is. She only has one speed. Gossipy bitch."

"True. Any applicants for the cook and nanny position yet?"

"Several, but nothing that speaks to me. All of the cover letters lack warmth, which is pretty important in a nanny."

"Do they sound like sex-crazed women who have figured out the job will be in my home and are just trying to get in my pants?" Draco finally managed a joke, but it was only a half a joke because it was a real problem. Like any celebrity, he had to take precautions. His address was undisclosed and well-protected by charms, and any hired help he needed like this nanny/cook had to be hired solely by Martin because any job offer connected to the Malfoy name drew false applicants, often hopeful females seeking an in to his fortune and good looks.

"No. They just sound terribly dull. Plus they lack the training in health-conscious cooking that you want. Because God forbid, Evelyn should eat a dish containing butter," the publicist replied, cracking another smile.

"I want her to be as healthy as possible. There is no shame in that," he took the teasing easily. Evelyn was his daughter, five years old and in his opinion, perfect in every way. He loved her more than he had ever dreamed he could love a person. More than he loved his cold, disinterested mother or his conniving, dark father and certainly more than he had ever loved Pansy Parkinson, Evelyn's mother. When Pansy had shown up on his doorstep six years ago, claiming to be pregnant, he had politely reminded her that they had never had sex. Her sob story was one he was familiar with, a woman abandoned after an accidental pregnancy, but he had not been interested in taking on her problems until she revealed that her family would never support her if they knew who the real father was.

So, for the first time in his life, Draco had done something unselfish. He had let her tell her family that he was the father and agreed to keep up the charade as long as the Parkinsons kept it completely out of the public eye. How could he have ever known that dumb, selfish, cold-hearted Pansy would die in childbirth and leave him with an infant? And even more, how could he have ever known that dumb, selfish, cold-hearted Pansy and some random stranger could create the beautiful, perfect little girl he was lucky enough to call his own?

"Well, I'll keep looking at the applicants, but nothing is striking me as terribly promising yet," Martin's tone switched to pure seriousness. Draco recognized the switch and knew he was going to spend the next fifteen minutes looking at figures regarding his finances, figures that interested him little. Money interested him little, in fact, though that was likely because he had always had enough not to really worry about it.

He looked at the clock. This meeting was extending into his evening with Evelyn, who was currently under the care of a temporary nanny known as a house elf. He frowned.

"Can we talk about this later? Or you can just send me an owl? I want to get home to my little girl."

Growing up, Draco could never have imagined that he would have his priorities narrowed down to his little girl and a career he loved. Now he could not imagine them working out any other way.

X

Ginny looked away in discomfort. Seamus had gotten Irishly emotional over her letter of resignation, but now, he was downright embarrassing. She had just finished removing her personal supplies from the kitchen, and from her neatly pressed dress pants, modest blue sweater, and tidy bun, she suspected he knew that she was walking straight from here to a job interview. Seamus had resorted to begging her to stay now, begging with actual tears in his eyes, and she just couldn't face that.

"Seamus, please stop. You must understand why I'm leaving," she interrupted weakly.

"If this is about not being married or having kids of your own, you'll find someone, Ginny! You're still young, and I'm unmarried. Maybe we'll fall in love one of these days as long as you stay here at The O'Flaherty!"

"Seamus, this is embarrassing. I'm going to leave now." She edged towards the door, and he sucked it up and nodded. Apparently, the Irish may get overly emotional, but they were just as good at sucking it up once they knew the emotion wouldn't help them.

"Come by any time. Visit us." He said brusquely, looking away. She felt a little stab of sadness for him; he was going to be looking for another cook who would work as hard as she had, and he just wasn't going to be able to find one. No one else was going to be willing to sell themselves to a small café and make it the basis of his or her life.

She Apparated to 1800 Dutch Street, the address of her interview. Applying for a cook/nanny position in someone's home might seem like an odd choice for someone attempting to give a little less of life to a job, but she knew she would enjoy cooking privately, inside of a kitchen like her own, and the idea of nannying somehow felt like making up for lost time, lost time with her niece and lost time with the children she had been too busy to even think about finding a father for and having.

Pulling open the heavy wooden door to the building, she felt a little perspiration gather under her arms and right on her upper lip – how dreadfully embarrassing. It had been a long time since she had been on a job interview. The interior was clean and simple but clearly quality, from the shiny hardwood floors under her feet to the waiting chairs with soft striped upholstery. The desk where a secretary would normally sit was pushed back from the waiting area, and it was obviously the desk of someone with more power than a secretary, made of polished oak with wrought iron accents. There was a man sitting behind it, peering at a piece of paper through reading glasses.

Ginny hesitated, unsure whether to approach or sit down and wait. He looked up right in the middle of her awkward bobble.

"You must be Ms. Weasley. Please come sit down," the man said, a bemused twinkle in his eyes that sent Ginny flushing crimson. She tried to stroll confidently to the chair, but she was grateful by the time she sank into it because her knees felt wobbly from nerves. "I'm Martin Lewells, and I'm hiring on behalf of a client for the nannying position you applied for."

"It's nice to meet you, sir," Ginny managed, swallowing. Martin's voice was pleasant, his expression kind, and she felt herself relax.

"First, just tell me a bit about your experience with children," he began, holding a quill above her résumé. She launched right in, talking about how much she had loved spending time with her niece, Cora. At first, it was hard to talk through the hard, spiky lump in her throat, but it got easier as she talked. It had been a long time since she had just dwelt on the happy things about Cora. Martin seemed to notice the emotion in her voice but did not comment on it. He simply nodded.

"I can see from your résumé that you have worked as a cook at The O'Flaherty. Do you feel that creating specifically from a menu has prepared you to cook in a personal residence and vary your dishes?"

She cocked an eyebrow, surprised by this question. Normally, a person would consider restaurant work as over-qualifying an applicant for in-home work, but obviously this man felt it was the opposite. Who on earth was she going to be cooking for if she got this position?

"Well, I'm not just a cook as my career. Cooking is what I love to do; it's my hobby, so to speak. I love to play with recipes and create my own. In particular, I like to make my own sauces. Homemade sauce or marinade changes everything about a dish. It can really bring it to life," she answered honestly.

He smiled, seemingly approving, and moved on to a few more questions. These questions were of the generic job interview brand, and she managed them as skillfully as possible for someone rusty on interviewing etiquette. When he finished, he put his quill down and looked at her seriously.

"Miss Weasley, do you feel prepared to give this job one hundred percent if you are hired?" He paused thoughtfully. "Let me rephrase that. Do you feel prepared to give the little girl in your care one hundred percent?"

When it was worded like that, there was no way she could say no. Not if she thought of Cora.

He nodded at her answer. "Then you're hired, Miss Weasley. Be prepared to start Monday." He slid her a packet of information. Through her shock at being suddenly handed the job, she was surprised she could even manage to read the name of her employer on the top of the packet.

But she did read it. It said Draco Malfoy.

Her stomach tightened again in that inexplicable anticipation. "Are you kidding me?"

"No. You're going to be cooking for the wizard world's most famous chef," Martin chuckled, "I'd brush up on that homemade sauce making if I were you."

If Ginny had truly wanted a new adventure, she was getting it now.

Author's Note: Welcome to my newest Draco/Ginny adventure. It's a little unconventional, and I'm still getting used to the feel of it, but I feel hopeful about writing it and developing it. I'm definitely feeling some enthusiasm. Reviews are going to be key to helping me understand how you feel about this story, where you want to see it going, and what you like and dislike. So please review if you read. It's just courtesy.