See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Sadly, they aren't mine.


Author's note: I didn't realize FanFiction was editing out the fake email addresses in the story ... oops! I've reformatted the email addresses, replacing the at symbol (damn, I've just discovered it won't even let me use the symbol in regular text!) with [at] and adding extra spaces so the server doesn't remove them, because it's kind of integral to the story to be able to identify the writer, yeah? *rolls eyes* The addresses in Chapter 1 have been fixed as well. Bet y'all thought I'd just gotten lazy and decided to omit them! Apologies!


To: MustLoveQuidditch[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

From: IntrospectiveIntellectual[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

Monday, May 12, 2008 5:21 p.m.

Re: Answering the gauntlet

Gryffin,

I am in full agreement with your plan – though I must admit all this secrecy and shadow makes you seem more Slytherin than Gryffindor.

I have had a series of rather unfortunately public relationships that have gone awry in the recent past, so I, too, am reluctant to jump in without first getting to know you better. Shall we continue our getting-to-know-you game slowly? Asking you when you were at Hogwarts would probably be giving away too much, as would telling you when I last haunted the school's hallowed halls as a student.

Instead I'll share a few less revealing things about myself. I am a keen Quidditch fan; I have had box seats to Magpies for as long as I can remember. I played at Hogwarts, but I shan't divulge which position. I spent many of my summers in France during my youth, and in fact lived there for several years as an adult. Though I'm back in Great Britain now, my experiences left me with a tendency to favor French wines.

I've likely given you enough to mull over for the moment. I look forward to our next volley of information.

Sly

"A Slytherin, Harry? For shame," Ron teased after Harry gave him the highlights of the letter over lunch at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.

Harry's grin nearly split his face as he saw his friend's tactical error. Before he could warn him, a sharp Stinging hex hit Ron squarely on the arse.

"Bloody hell!" he yelped, instantly drawing his wand in defense. A whiff of a familiar floral perfume had him sheepishly returning the wand to his wrist holster.

"There's nothing shameful about a Slytherin, brother dear," Ginny said smartly as she slid into the booth next to Harry, snagging a chip as she scooted past.

"Ginny, lovely to see you," Harry said pleasantly, enjoying Ron's discomfort at being caught out bad mouthing Slytherins. It wasn't something Ginny stood for these days, even in jest.

Ginny lifted an eyebrow at Harry, looking from his face down to his mostly uneaten plate of chips. He held his hands up in surrender and she grabbed the plate, smothering the chips in loads of vinegar.

"Do you think the waitress could get me some butterscotch sauce, Harry?" she asked as she scooped the first chip into her mouth.

Harry put on his most supportive face, trying desperately not to look as revolted as he felt lest Ginny let fly with another stinging hex. Ron's face turned a light shade of green and he quickly stood, offering to run to the bar to see if they had any on hand. Ginny nodded happily.

"Everything going well, then?" Harry asked when Ron returned with a small pot of butterscotch, averting his eyes as Ginny poured the lot of it over her vinegar-soaked chips. Her small moan of pleasure at the taste of the combination had him gagging silently.

"Brilliantly," Ginny said, stopping to run a hand lovingly over her large stomach. "My mediwitch is working closely with Madam Pomfrey, just in case I go into labor before classes end for the year. It'll be close; the baby is due in late June."

"How's your replacement doing?" Harry asked warily. Ginny had not been pleased when McGonagall and Pomfrey had banned her from flying just two months into her pregnancy, something rather integral to the job of flying instructor. She had taken over for Madam Hooch several years ago after retiring from the Holyhead Harpies.

Ginny waved the chip in her hand dismissively, sending a shower of butterscotch and vinegar over the table. Both Ron and Harry flinched, but she took no notice.

"Oliver's doing a fine job of it, so long as he doesn't think the position is his to keep. I intend to come back after the baby's born."

The fact that he had no desire to fill the position for more than a term or two was what had made Oliver Wood an excellent choice as Ginny's replacement. He was on a forced medical sabbatical from Puddlemere United due to a wrist injury he'd gotten earlier in the season. It didn't prevent him from flying, but it would never heal properly if he had continued to play Keeper with the injury. He was spending his recuperation time helping out.

"And, uh, your husband? He's doing well?" Harry asked, desperate to keep his mind of the concoction she was eating.

"He's doing very well. He has a business deal going in Diagon Alley, actually. He's partnering up with Draco Malfoy to develop a nightclub," she said.

"Speaking of another dirty Slytherin bastard," Ron began, stopping immediately when he noticed his sister's narrowed eyes.

"I'd tread lightly if I were you, Ronald. What were you saying about Slytherin?"

"He was just taking the piss out of me, Gin," Harry said quickly, earning a grateful look from Ron, who surreptitiously rubbed his arse where Ginny had hit him with the Stinger earlier.

"I'm corresponding with a bloke who was in Slytherin. We met through that site I told you about last time I visited," he said.

"Who is it? Maybe Theo can tell you more about him. He is our age, right?"

Harry blushed slightly. He had no idea how old Sly was; he certainly hoped he was around his own age, but he tried not to think about it overmuch.

"I'm not sure, exactly. And I, uh, don't know his name. He's another client like me, so his personal information is kept confidential. We've decided to keep our identities a secret until we know each other better," Harry said, suddenly aware of how silly that sounded.

Ginny frowned, but she seemed to accept his answer.

"Well, I'm glad you aren't judging him just because he was a Slytherin, Harry," she said, shooting Ron a cold look. "Good for you. Someone could really learn from that attitude."

Harry laughed, reaching out to clap a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Hullo, someone. I think your sister wants you to cut her dear husband a break. It has been nearly six years, after all, and he's managed not to poison or hex her yet. She may well be safe after all, eh?" he asked with a grin.

"He could make more of an effort too, you know," Ron said grumpily.

"You'll not get any sympathy from me, mate," Harry said knowingly. Ron had been an absolute bastard to Theo for years. The rest of the family had been cool to the Slytherin at first but had quickly warmed; by the time they married he had been welcomed into the Weasley family with open arms. Except for Ron, who was sure his three year courtship and six year marriage to Ginny was just the prelude to some sort of evil plot.

Finally fed up after years of Ron's taunts and insults, he'd laced Ron's porridge with a Lip Locker potion on Christmas morning a few years back. While Molly had been slightly miffed, the rest of the family agreed that the holiday was much more pleasant without Ron's constant griping. Ron still hadn't forgiven him, despite the fact that man had been nothing but polite to him since.

"Well, it's a moot point," Ginny said, swiping the last of the butterscotch sauce off the plate with her finger. "He's managed to get your sister up the duff, which means he'll be the father of a Weasley child. There's no getting rid of him now."

Harry laughed out loud at the horrified expression on Ron's face.

"Gin!" he cried, sounding scandalized. "You can't talk like that. You're my sister!"

"Who obviously didn't get this way –" she said, expansively gesturing to her stomach, "–on her own."


To: IntrospectiveIntellectual[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

From: MustLoveQuidditch[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

Tuesday, May 13, 2008 10:23 a.m.

Re: A Slythindor, then

Dear Sly,

I admit I do have the trappings of both a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. I've never told anyone this, but the Sorting Hat did try to put me in Slytherin when I was a first year, but I asked it to sort me into Gryffindor instead.

Summers in France, eh? Most of my summers were spent miserably holed up in my family's suburban home near London. I always wished I could stay at Hogwarts instead of returning home, but circumstances prevented me from even considering it.

You must not be Muggleborn, since you talk of having had Quidditch season tickets your entire life. I wasn't introduced to the game until I started at Hogwarts, although I'm not Muggleborn, either. Again with those wonky circumstances, I suppose. I played for my house team as well, and I loved it. I still play when I can on one of the intramural teams in London, which I suppose answers another question for you. I have no strong loyalties in terms of teams; my best friend is a die-hard fan of the Canons, but I can't stomach the hideous orange uniforms. I generally root for the Harpies, and I have a box there myself.

As for wine, I do appreciate many French labels, but I find myself drawn to the bolder flavors of the new wines from Australia. Some of the Pinot Noirs coming out of the Yarra Valley region are spectacular, as are the innovative Shirazes in Coonawarra. Are you a white or a red lover? I've had several good whites, but my favorite would have to be a nicely aged spicy Shiraz.

All this talk of wine has made me rather eager for the arrival of the end of the workday. Luckily my boss doesn't mind if I drink on the job, though noon might be a bit early, even by his standards.

Take care, Sly.

Gryffin

"Mr. Malfoy? Your personal owl is here for you, sir," Madge sounded slightly put out. "He won't allow me to take the package he is carrying."

Draco smiled. He knew his secretary was confused about why he would send his personal owl on an errand instead of entrusting it to her and one of the company's messengers or birds, but he didn't want anyone to know what was in the carefully padded package on Orion's leg.

"Thank you, Madge, I'll take care of it myself. Orion's just getting a bit possessive in his old age, I think," he said smoothly, striding out into the reception area and gently untying the burden from the owl's leg. He grabbed a few owl treats off of Madge's desk and tossed them to Orion, who caught them in his beak and immediately took off.

"Sir, is there something I can help you with?" Madge asked, eying the oddly-shaped package.

"No, but thank you, Madge. This was just a bit of personal business," he said, sounding as though he had never sent her or other employees on personal errands.

Madge narrowed her eyes. Just yesterday she had spent the better part of an hour at Young and Kentworth's waiting for her boss' new tailored robes to be finished.

"Leave it be, Madge-pie," Blaise said as he rounded the corner. Draco could have sighed in relief. "The boss-man must preserve some of his secrets, yeah?"

Madge gave Blaise – her favorite person in the office after Draco – a grudging smile.

"You're a peach, Madge-pie. An absolute queen among witches," Blaise said, batting his eyelashes at her coquettishly.

"Two sugars and a splash of milk?" she said dryly, her smile growing as she looked at Blaise's mock-innocent face.

"I'd love some! However do you know just when I need a spot of tea, Madge-pie?"

She laughed at his outrageously fake posturing. She went to fetch the tea – both Draco and Blaise thought tea tasted better brewed rather than Conjured – and Blaise followed Draco back into his office.

"Is that it, then?" he asked, pointing to the oddly wrapped package.

Draco cut his eyes toward the door, and seconds later Madge knocked and entered, Levitating a tea service for two in front of her.

"Thank you, Madge. Blaise is correct. You truly are a queen among witches."

She blushed slightly, and Draco knew he had been forgiven. She closed the door firmly behind her as she left.

"Open it. I want to see what makes it so bloody fantastic that you had to comb every wine shop in London looking for it," Blaise said, picking up his cup of perfectly made tea.

Draco pursed his lips, but decided not to answer. Instead he unwrapped the bundle, revealing a bottle of red wine. He turned the bottle slowly in his hands.

"You'll be making something special for dinner, I wager, to go with the fancy new wine," Blaise said, his eyes on his friend, wondering how a simple bottle of wine could give Draco such a wistful expression.

"Steak, with a creamy polenta, I think. It's a spicy, full-bodied wine," Draco said, distracted.

"Well, I'm in. Will Caleum be joining us? I haven't seen him lately."

"Hmm?" Draco looked up, unfocused. "No. He's still in France at the moment. I'm rather anxious to see him myself."

Draco's face broke into a large smile as he thought of Caleum.

"I don't think he'd mind missing out, though. Not a big red wine drinker, that one."

Blaise laughed and sat back in his chair, bringing his foot up to rest on his knee.

"The proposal for the warehouse in Diagon Alley should be on your desk in the morning," he said, switching easily back to work mode. "Theo's hoping to get everything finalized before the end of June."

Draco set the bottle of wine aside and leaned back casually on his desk, crossing his arms.

"We had dinner a few weeks ago at that new place in Hogsmeade. His wife was a much more charming than I remember her being in school, but Merlin, can that woman eat! I assume it's mostly the pregnancy, but still. It was more than a little revolting to watch her eat ice cream topped with cockroach clusters and mustard," Draco said with a slight shudder.