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The Illustrious Weasel

To say Ginerva Weasely was famous would be a terrible understatement. She was legendary in London's fashion scene as the first model to rise to international stardom fresh out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. After booking her first photoshoot for WitchWeekly at the tender age of seventeen, she was snatched up by every major designer just aching for her brilliant red hair and adorable freckles. Five years later, she stands strong as England's favorite supermodel and Harry Potter's favorite squeeze. Can anyone say "superstar wedding"?

Ginny stretched her long slender legs until her manicured toes poked out from the edge of her 600 count Egyptian cotton sheets. She flopped over ungracefully and looked at the clock. Six fifteen.

"Bugger!" she shouted, jumping up. She had a show downtown at seven-thirty. Hannah was going to fry her arse for dinner.

Ginny threw on some skinny jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a pair of hot pink snakeskin pumps Luna gave her for her birthday. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, glancing at the clock again. It would be impossible to find a cab on a Friday.

She sprinted down the stairs, as fast as the stilettos would allow and practically kicked open the door to the street. Gridlock traffic. "Fuck!" Ginny screamed. People on the street stared at her as they walked by, and it wasn't because she was gorgeous. Then, she spotted Jesus on a motorcycle.

"Oi! You there!" She waved to the man on the bike while running through the sea of standstill cars. The man eyed her curiously, not quite able to place a name with her pretty face. "I need a ride. Twenty pounds to weave through all these cars and get me downtown."

"Fifty," he bargained, narrowing his eyes.

She glared at him and took out another fifty. "Fine. You better be good."

He shot her a handsome smile. "The best. Hop on."

As soon as she swung her leg over the seat, he was off. She gripped his waist for dear life. The cars flew by, mere inches from her legs. If she got in an accident, her career would be over. If she was late to this show, her career would be severely jeopardized. What a win-win situation.

Her motorcycle savior had her downtown in ten minutes flat. Not a scratch. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, hopping off the bike and giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

The man smiled gratefully, but still couldn't place her. Then, just when she ran out of earshot, he muttered in shock, "Was that Ginevra Weasely?"

"Hannah!" Ginny called as she sprinted through a crowd of anorexic twigs. "Hannah, I made it!"

A short blonde whipped around, furious. "Bloody hell, Ginevra! It's twenty minutes until we start! Get into hair and makeup!"

Since Ginny had started her career, she'd reverted back to Ginevra. No model would last thirty seconds in the fashion world with a name like Ginny. It was just too...childish.

Fifteen minutes of tugging at her hair and smuging plenty of black liner on her eyes, Ginny looked like a rockstar. Hannah Abbot, London's newest lingerie designer, was launching her spring collection of Aphrodite. Ginny had finally earned a good enough reputation to headline the shows as first to walk. It was a position she relished, despite the hundreds of girls out for her head.

"Five minutes people!"

Ginny adjusted the last few bits of a lacy Alice In Wonderland inspired number and tottered up to the front of the line. "Relax, Hannah. These peices are bloody fabulous."

"Shut up and get out there," Hannah replied with a smirk.

Ginny beamed. "Toodles."

The runway was her favorite place. She was a wallflower the entire time in school, barely noticeable next to the Golden Trio that happened to save the world without any of her help of course. Modeling put her in the limelight. People came to see her, to take picture of her, to watch her. Hell, she was almost as famous as Harry at this point. It was about time someone else got a turn.

Lily Allen's "Ldn" blared cutely from the speakers. She could fought the urge to completely sway her hips. It would look to unprofessional. The runway had thrown paper hearts all over it, making the surface only slightly slippery. Ginny was fine, though. She hit her mark at the end of the runway and gave a catty wink to the photographers. They ate her up in a million flash bulbs. She finished her walk and was thrown into a new outfit. The show only lasted a half hour, but Ginny's adrenaline was still pumping.

"Great show!" Hannah squealed, hugging Ginny round the waist. The blond designer was a whole head and a half shorter than her five-foot-ten lead model.

Ginny patted her friend affectionately. Hannah was always much more fun after shows when the relief came crashing down. Ginny slipped out of her couture and into black skinny jeans and tight blue t-shirt. This girl was hot enough to rock sweatpants to the Oscars.

The afterparty was held in an underground club, rented out for the occasion. Ginny texted Harry on her mobile. It was incredible how handy Muggle devices were. She wondered why wizard's hadn't discovered this kind of communication yet.

Her hip vibrated.

Harry: Have to work late. Sorry, doll.

Ginny jammed her phone back into her tiny pocket. She wished it was a flip phone so she could have snapped it angrily. Harry never showed up to anything. He was working. Working, working, working. Honestly, you'd think saving the world once was enough? But, no. He had to become a bloody Auror on his path to ultimate martyrdom. She wouldn't be surprised if the angels descended into her living room one day and offered Harry eternal life.

Well, Ginny wasn't about to waste a perfectly good open bar.

"Vodka martini. Extra dry. Extra olives." Her face was all business. She was getting plastered tonight.

Four martinis later, Ginny found herself wandering through the party, a Cosmopolitan in hand. She was about to circle back around to the bar when she accidently bumped someone.

"Oh. Sorry!" she giggled. Some of her drink had splashed onto a pair of black Italian leather shoes. She looked at the owner.

Draco Malfoy did not appear amused. "These are Italian."

"I'll buy - Draco bloody Malfoy! I thought I'd never see your pretty face again," Ginny shouted over the din.

God bless the man, he cracked a small smile. "Weasely, you think I'm pretty?"

"Oh fuck off," she teased, hitting his arm. Her drink nearly spilled again. "What are you doin' here?"

He suddenly leaned towards her face, her ear. "Networking. Where's boy wonder?"

Ginny couldn't quite think clearly with him so close. He smelled very nice. "Off being wonderful, as per usual. What have you made of yourself?"

"I own a Quidditch company," he explained patiently. His had was on her arm, to steady her. Ginny hadn't realized she'd been swaying. "Would you like me to take you home?"

"Yes. I do believe that would be a fabulously marvelous course of action at this point in time," she replied, "For my stomach has decided to go in many different directions as has my brain and general locomotive functions."

Draco chuckled lightly and led her up the stairs to the street. The night air hit Ginny like a cold shower. She suddenly became extremely hungry and unreasonable.

"I need some food. Now."

He shook his head. "You need to go home. I won't let Potter hear your incoherent ramblings about Malfoy deserting you in the middle of the city."

"Well, maybe Potter will hear my incoherent ramblings of Malfoy taking advantage of a poor inebriated Ginevra Weasley unless that same Malfoy gets me some appetizing substances," she retorted.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Do you always use ridiculous words in your speech?"

"I happen to find my linguistic vernacular quite intruiging, don't you?"

"No."


The next morning, Ginny couldn't remember much that had happened. She remembered bumping into Draco. She remembered the lingering mix of leather and fresh soap in her nose when he talked to her. She remembered the box of pizza she consumed by herself while Draco watched in amusement. Gross.

And there was something she couldn't remember that tugged at her memory. Something she had agreed to.

Ginny brushed her teeth, looking hard at herself in the mirror. Her hand fell limp. The toothbrush clattered in the sink bowl.

Bloody buggering hell.

She had agreed to dinner with Draco Malfoy.