AN: This is a the fulfillment of a story request by FanFicFanatick. She gave me a blurb "Main Summary: When Harry unintentionally calls Ginny a trophy, she breaks up with him. Someone is there to tell him he is scum when she feels hurt. D/G" and I ran with it. It is different than my others, because I set it post-war. Cover image by Starlettegurly on DeviantArt.
Since she was ten years old, Ginny dreamed of the day that Harry Potter would propose to her. In her mind they would be alone at some romantic locale, bathed in candlelight, and he would be dressed in his nicest robes and kneel in front of her. She dreamed that the shine in his emerald eyes would sparkle brightly for her and their happy future together, and that he would profess his undying love and affection for every minute aspect of her.
So when Ginny found herself across from a wizard clad in shabby work clothes in a crowded restaurant in Diagon Alley where the lights were so dim that she could hardly see his face, she was only slightly disappointed. That he held the ring out to her across the table instead of kneeling was not that big of a deal. What mattered, she decided, was to see that look in Harry's eyes as he told her he loved her.
She could not blame the dullness of Harry's expression on the dim restaurant lighting, however. Since the final battle when he has defeated Voldemort, the sparkle and life in his eyes had faded. He smiled half-smiles and his shining emerald eyes dulled to a miserable shade of deep olive. No, she could not blame the missing sparkle on the restaurant, but she also could understand what the war had done to him. She still loved him, after all, and though not even she could reignite it, she knew that it had been there once, and that was okay. All that really mattered when it came down to it was that he adored her, and he declared passionate love for her.
What she could not excuse was his lack of affection or his profession of love. He handed her a ring. He said that she would look great at his side. He said that she was his trophy for winning the battle. That he was lucky.
Ginny's tolerance for the poor excuse for a proposal was abruptly halted by one word, trophy. She would not be a trophy wife. She had a brain and a personality and wanted to be loved, not seen. She had hoped that some part of him still loved her, but she was wrong. The battle had changed him, and he could no longer love anyone.
Ginny felt that no one could blame her when she threw back her chair abruptly and stood. Harry looked alarmed. She wondered how he could be surprised at her reaction. Didn't he know her? Of course not, was her reply. Hurt quickly turned to anger. How dare he, she thought.
Ginny threw the ring at Harry who caught it and looked at her in bewilderment. "I will not be your trophy, Harry! I want my husband to love me and see who I really am! I am a bright, passionate witch, and you don't see that anymore! You see a pretty face to distract the cameras. I am tired of trying to pull something of the old Harry back out. I am moving on. Goodbye, Harry!" Ginny's cool anger carried her out of the restaurant door without a glance back at her almost-fiancee and the eager onlookers. The normally coolly aloof face of one onlooker was twisted into an expression of anger and concern.
Harry looked down at the ring in detachment. He was not sad, and certainly that could not be right. She had rejected him. She had dumped him. And he didn't really care except that now he would have to face the cameras alone.
He was distracted from these musings by a shifting of air over his shoulder. He looked up to see Draco Malfoy, the death-eater-turned-spy of the final battle. Many objective parties claimed that his refusal of the dark arts had been the turning point of the war; however, Harry never saw him as anything more than an arrogant pureblood enthusiast who loved to make his life miserable.
"You are scum, Potter," were the only words to leave Malfoy's thinly lipped mouth, his face expressionless, before he turned on his heel and breezed through the front door, his robes billowing behind him.
Draco Malfoy had been in his fair share of unlikely and unexplainable situations. When he rejected his father's wishes for advancement within the ranks of the Death Eaters he spent countless sleepless nights wondering what had prompted the change, because he was sure he had wanted the promotion. When the Dark Lord ordered an attack on the mudblood, Granger, and he found himself sitting in McGonagall's headmistress office spilling the whole plot, he again wondered what had possessed him to turn traitor. Surely he was crazy, because he had always dreamed of earning his mark, just as his father had done, and making his Lord proud. Instead he was saving the life of a mudblood that he despised. That was strange. The largest blow to his bruised and confused ego came on the evening of the final battle when he was supposed to be laying low and fighting for neither side, but found himself deflecting a killing curse meant for Potter's best friend, Weasel. The look of horror and confusion in the disgustingly lanky and freckled boy had no doubt mirrored Draco's own expression. It was a moment that he revisited frequently in his nightmares.
As Draco stepped into the crisp evening air, he could not help but wonder what had caused his most recent unexplainable situation. He was furious at Potter, and not just because he had always hated Potter, but he was furious that Potter had dared to say that to the littlest Weasley. He was furious that he had called her a trophy. If Malfoy had been a bit calmer, he might have reasoned that he despised the idea of a trophy wife because his own mother had been one. She had been in marriage for looks and blood, not love. A collected and calm Malfoy would have reasoned this out, whether or not it was the truth.
This Malfoy was not calm, though. He was angry, and for some reason he thought that he was going to search for the little Weasley girl. What he would say, or why he would do it, he couldn't be sure.
The problem confronted him far quicker than he expected when he stumbled over the bent and broken form of Ginny Weasley huddled at the base of the doorway sobbing. With a look of horrified disbelief, Malfoy reached down to pull the shaking form to her feet. Long red strands of hair stuck to her tear-stained face, and her golden eyes shone with tears. Though he firmly thought to refrain from touching her any more than he already had, Malfoy found himself brushing the tears from her cheeks, and gently tucking her hair behind her shoulders. Ginny seemed horrified that he had touched her, but her grief won out. Neither spoke a word, though doubtlessly both were conducting inner monologues of resistance, as Malfoy led Ginny away from the prying eyes and bustling main street of Diagon Alley.
When Ginny's shoulders stopped quaking and she trusted herself enough to look up, her breath caught in her throat. She was seated in a small, private garden, bewitched with floating candles. Draco was kneeling front of her, his hand resting on the ground to balance himself, and his face unreadable as he looked up at her.
Ginny coughed out a bitter laugh as the irony of her current setting was not lost on her. An hour ago she would have killed to be sitting here with a certain dark-haired wizard kneeling at her feet. For a brief moment, Malfoy's artifice cracked and Ginny saw an flash of mingled concern and disgust in his features before he closed off again.
She breathed in a deeply and sat a bit straighter before addressing the fair-haired wizard in front of her. "I don't know why you stopped, Malfoy, but I am perfectly alright, and capable of taking care of myself."
Draco snorted and sat back on his heels before standing and sitting in a chair a few feet away. "I'm sure," he said.
Ginny's eyes narrowed, and she continued, "I will have you know, Malfoy, that I was just about to get control of this… unwelcome display of emotions as you arrived, and though I cannot explain what possessed you to stop and offer assistance, I assure you, I would have been fine. I will be fine," she added more to herself than the man in front of her.
Draco merely raised an eyebrow and said, "I didn't think you could cry."
Exasperatedly Ginny replied, "Of course, I can. Everyone can cry. I am sure that somewhere in those icy eyes of yours even you have tear ducts. Whether or not they ever mutinied you and let loose a downpour without your permission is yet to be said."
Draco scrutinized the girl ahead of him. Against his better judgment he had always thought her a regal sort of creature despite her loathsome surname. She never gave in to his taunts without a witty retort and never resorted to muggle violence as her brother often had. When she hit him with the bat bogey hex, he found his fury mingled with a sense of awe that such a little blood traitor could perform such spell work. He resented the emotion, but recognized it nonetheless, so to see her sitting before him denying that she had been crying of her own free will, he almost believed her.
"Will you stop looking at me already? If you plan to taunt my frightful appearance, I suggest you do it quickly, because I do not intend to sit here all night at the leisure of your eyes."
Draco was startled that she had noticed his staring, and even more startled to realize that he had done it in the first place. This was definitely one of the unexpected and unexplainable situations that he was see in nightmares for years to come.
He opened his mouth to gratify her need for insults, but instead found himself saying, "Would you care to dine with me? I noticed that your dinner was cut short." The look of revulsion that crossed his features at his own declaration was quite enough to encourage Ginny to stay and force Malfoy into further self-abuse.
"I am hungry, thank you," she replied curtly, and bit back a conniving grin as his eye twitched in self-revilement.
Always the gentlemen, Draco quickly reigned in his emotions and snapped over his shoulder. A waiter appeared shortly, and Draco ordered champagne and meals for them both. As he poured her a glass of champagne, Ginny raised an eyebrow.
"I thought you only drank champagne at celebrations. I hardly think it is an appropriate beverage for the evening."
"We are celebrating your freedom from that Potter prick," he replied simply.
A multitude of emotions crossed Ginny's mind as this proclamation, and she was surprised to find relief one of the most prominent. Of course, being with Harry after the war had been difficult, but if you love someone the difficulties don't matter; and true he had not been very affectionate, but it was normal, wasn't it?
Ginny frowned before replying, "I think Fire Whiskey may have been a better choice, actually…"
Draco barked out an unnatural laugh that left the pair eying each other in confusion, and almost… amusement.
"I should think that you needed a lot of Fire Whiskey to put up with old Potty over the last months. Even I saw the way carted you around without ever looking at you."
Ginny frowned and looked down. Had their dysfunctional relationship been so obvious? Draco mistook this lack of reply for impending tears and quickly added, "I didn't mean it. Don't cry anymore."
Ginny looked up without tears, and to Mafoy's surprise, with a smile on her face. "And why you would care if I was crying? Have you gone soft, Draco Malfoy?"
Draco choked at the sound of the enigmatic redheaded creature saying his name, Draco, as if it was not revolting. It happened so rarely from even his friends, that to hear it uttered in such a playful tone, we was thrown aback. "No," he responded finally. "No, but you do look a fright when you are crying, and I hate to subject myself to such a sight."
Ginny nodded and looked away from him, her lips pulled slightly upwards at the corners.
Draco frowned and continued to stare at the young witch ahead of him, but she refused to return his attention no matter how hard he glared. Finally he burst out, "What the bloody hell is going on here?"
Ginny cracked a full smile and finally looked back at the wizard spluttering in indignation in front of her. "Is that how you talk to a lady? You sound just like my brother when you say that…"
Draco's jaw dropped open, and he quickly retorted, "You are not a lady, you are a Weasley, and don't ever compare me to one of your breed again!"
Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head. Luckily this exchange was cut short by the arrival of their dinners, and the unlikely pair sat silently eating their delicious meals. When the waiter later returned and asked if they would be having dessert, Ginny began to reply, "No, thank you. I need to be getting home," but Malfoy was quicker, and said, "Yes, we will, thank you."
Ginny furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, and Malfoy grinned in silent victory. It was an unfamiliar expression, and Ginny found that the smile suited his face, so she told him.
"Why would you say that?" he asked.
"Because I say what I think, whether or not I think it through, as demonstrated by the fact that I think I just complimented you. And I maybe even called you attractive."
Draco grinned again in victory. At least he was not the only one being betrayed by his own words tonight.
"See, there you go again. It is a welcome change."
"I am smiling at your amazing ability to foot your foot in your mouth, and you find that attractive?"
"Yes, I do, actually, and at least I am not afraid to admit that sometimes things come flying out of my mouth without regard for my intention."
"Malfoys do everything for a reason," he replied simply.
"I hate the name Malfoy," Ginny mused while running her dessert around on her plate. "It reminds me of your father, and I despise that man."
Malfoy frowned at her frankness and replied, "I used to fancy that I wanted to be him. Then one day, I didn't anymore."
"That's weird."
Draco shrugged and wondered why he was telling her this, but found it another harmless instance in which his mouth seemed to work faster than his brain in immediate contradiction to his previous statement about doing everything with a purpose.
"I think, then," Ginny continued, "that I will call you Draco, because the thought of dining with a Malfoy is slightly more repulsive than dining with a Draco."
His first name rolled effortlessly off of her tongue twice before Ginny realized how comfortable it felt to speak. Much better than Malfoy, she decided. When she looked up, Ginny found an unreadable expression on Draco's face.
He had half a mind to tell her not to call him that and half a mind to ask her to repeat it, but all he managed to as was, "What is your full name? I despise Ginny."
Ginny wasn't sure whether to be offended, so she responded, "It's lucky for you that Ginny is a nickname, or you might have just offended your dinner company." She paused before continuing, "Ginevra. It is short for Ginevra."
"Ah, yes," Draco said in approbation, "Ginevra sounds much more sophisticated than Ginny."
The revulsion that Ginny usually felt at the sound of her full name was conspicuously absent, its place taken by a strange fluttering feeling that she hadn't felt since her fifth year at Hogwarts. She had always associated the feeling with Harry, but it had gone missing around the time of Dumledore's funeral, and never found its way back. She cautiously eyed Draco, confused as to why he should be the one to inspire the return of the flutters.
"Anyway, back to our previous topic of conversation," Draco said with a professional air. "You are too good for Harry Potter."
Ginny grinned and said, "Of course, you would think that anyone is too good for Harry. Though the fact that your animosity for him outshines that of the Weasley name is surprising and, dare I say it, pleasant."
Draco was unhappy to note that he too thought it a pleasant development. Why should he enjoy dinner with a Weasley?
"Yes, well," he coughed a bit to regain his composure, "I just think that you have too much spirit for such a nancy boy. I've been on the wrong end of one too many of your caustic remarks and bat bogey hexes."
"You would rather be on the other end, then?"
"What other end?"
"My end."
"What like standing next to you? Fighting for you, not against you?"
"Right."
"Well that seems unnatural."
"But strangely natural, don't you think?"
"Strangely."
Ginny shook her head. "Draco, what is going on here?"
"Do you know what, Ginevra?" Draco asked in bewilderment. "I think this is the most human conversation I have had in a long time."
Ginny smiled. "Well I am glad to be the one to bring you back to the human race."
"Are you?" he asked.
"Oddly, yes." Ginny was engaged in a fierce inner struggle between rejecting Draco as the arrogant prat she knew him to be, and embracing this new friendly Draco who caused her to feel things she hadn't in years.
Draco frowned. He was engaged in a similar battle between the Weasley name and a strangely enticing redhead sitting before him. Finally, he stood and put a hand out to her. Ginny took it and stood at his side with a slight smile.
"Allow me to escort the lady home?" he asked.
"Ah, so now I am a lady and not just a Weasley?"
"No, I think that I have determined that Ginevra is a lady, despite Ginny's lesser qualities."
"So, what? Do I have multiple personality disorder now?"
"Well, you did just go through a traumatic breakup…" Ginny cut him off with a glare. "Okay fine, no, you are perfectly normal."
"Thank you," she replied and hooked her arm through his as he escorted her out of the small garden. It is ironic that she had hoped the garden to be a romantic place for she and Harry to take their relationship to a new level, but shefound that she was much happier with taking her poor excuse for a rivalry with Draco to an unspoken friendship.
As she hooked her arm in his, Draco shivered at the contact. How could the most innocent touch from this girl excite more feeling in him that his most elicit females relations could?
The pair walked in relative silence until they reached the entrance to Ginny's flat. A crazy desire to invite him up for coffee flashed through her mind before Ginny decided that she most definitely needed some time alone to process her new lack of relationship with Harry and the weird sensations that kept coursing through her veins all night with Draco.
Unused to going on proper dates, especially ones that weren't dates at all but pseudo-pity-dinners, Draco found himself a bit embarrassed at bidding Ginny goodnight. A very faint blush crept onto his cheeks, which delighted Ginny so much that she touched his cheek with a smile. The current that seemed to flow from this innocent gesture seemed more than either could handle, and they both backed away quickly, Ginny's face flushing scarlet.
It was now Draco's turn to be drawn in by the blush. He stepped forward cautiously, his unsure eyes never leaving her questioning ones. Though his mind screamed for him to stop, his cool hand reached up and brushed softly against her warm cheek. The shock of electricity was not so surprising this time, and Ginny leaned into the tender gesture.
As Draco stepped forward to close the space between them, he could not help but run over the fact that he was likely about to commit the biggest mistake of his life- rivaling even that of saving Ron Weasley's life- but he was helplessly drawn in by Ginny's golden eyes. When his lips finally reached hers, Ginny stood on her tiptoes and leaned into the kiss, her hands tentatively moving to his shoulders.
The explosion of passion that he felt in the chaste kiss caught Draco completely off guard. He had been looking for this kind of passion, this kind of release, since the war, and had found no one to give it to him, and now he was standing with his arms around a Weasley of all people, kissing her and being kissed back with a passion he had given up on finding.
Ginny sighed as she felt Draco smile into the kiss; she had not felt anything close to this in so long, and even then, some of the sensations flowing through her were completely foreign. How strange, she thought, that this was what she felt for Harry, though she had never experienced this depth of passion. Instead she would feel it at the hand of her rival. All of a sudden the thought that he might be kissing her tauntingly ran through her mind, and she pulled back abruptly.
Dracos' hand immediately flew to his mouth, and he backed away quickly. Ginny was sure that she was right and he was taunting her! She mumbled incoherently and stepped back toward the door grabbing wildly behind her for the handle.
A brief flicker of emotion flitted across Draco's face before he reached out a hand to steady her and said, "Against my better judgment, I'd like to have dinner with you again sometime, Ginevra."
Ginny let out the breath she didn't know that she had been holding. Rejecting one man only to be rejected by another would have been too much for her. She sighed and gave him a cautious smile before saying, "I would like that."
Draco nodded and squeezed her hand before pulling away and saying, "Good night, Ginevra." As he walked away, he could still feel her skin against his hand and her lips on his. He determined that as surprising as he found it, he might not find that evening's exchange in nightmares after all, but in pleasant dreams, and hopefully even in the waking hours.
Ginny watched his retreating form in confusion. She could not determine whether she was sad over what had transpired with Harry, or confused over her dinner with Draco, or even giddily excited over the kiss that had awoken a dormant passion within her. One thing she was sure of, however, was that she was not meant to be a passionless trophy wife, and that sometimes what one sees in their dreams isn't quite as wonderful as the surprising things that could be.
AN: That's it- the end!