ONE YEAR IN PARIS
Summary: His role in the war for the light side was over. His role in Ginny Weasley's life, however, was far from it as one unnatural event threatens to overturn his perfectly well ordered existence and it was all the Weaslette's fault.
PART ONE: DEVANT PARIS
Chapter 2
Seven years later...
Draco leaned his tired body on his tall leather chair before briefly closing his eyes and sighing. The lazy afternoon sun had already set off interesting shadows in his classically furnished office. The dark Brazilian Cherry and Oak wood panels were absorbing the light, making them darker and luminous at the same time while the plush Aubusson rugs that were on the floor and the massive stone Floo fireplace gave the room a warm feeling but also contrasted sharply with the high-tech gadgets in it. This was his personal office, his sanctuary where could usually be found at days on end. No one was allowed inside for it was a place where he freely used magic, something that would definitely cause alarm with his overseas muggle investors. On the other hand, Draco only employed witches and wizards who would be working directly with him for convenience's sake.
It had been more than a satisfactory week at Malfoy Industries, with the company's wizarding stocks staying steady unlike other businesses. The muggle stocks, on the other hand, were only slightly doing better after entering the NASDAQ market but it was expected since they were publicly new in the States. Indeed, the company his great-great-grandfather had built had grown into an economic pillar with him at its helm. Malfoy Industries had become a household name in both worlds.
Throughout the centuries, Malfoy Industries became an international conglomerate touching various businesses that provided jobs and livelihood for many people, both muggle and magical. More and more businesses went under the umbrella of the juggernaut company since Draco had taken the post. He regularly combined, took over, bought, and sold flailing businesses and proceeded to turn them into profitable ones. By the time Draco was finished with his fourth year in the business, Malfoy Industries' reach was extensive, from real estate to agriculture to electronics, from London to Buenos Aries to Tokyo. By that time, he had also earned the grudging respect of his numerous detractors who thought that he would only fuel the flames of destruction his father had started before burning Malfoy Industries to the ground.
His management and business expertise steadied the business after his father had virtually thrown Malfoy Industries all away with his campaign for the fallen Dark Lord during the Second War's prime. When people doubted that the company would survive, he had all but sweated blood to revive it to its former glory. Lucius Malfoy placed the Malfoy resources at Voldemort's disposal, which resulted to people suspecting and fearing that the Malfoy fortune was borne out of blood money. Blood money paid to fatten Voldemort's coffers to protect neutral Pureblood families and those who pretended to be pure. The wealthy Muggleborn witches and wizards suffered the most; Lucius took their protection money and executed them after.
His father. Another deep sigh escaped his lips, trying not to think of the dull ache slowly building at his nape whenever he thought of his father. Even though Lucius had been ensconced in Azkaban for the past seven years with no hope of release, his influence in Draco's life was still far-reaching. Recent whispers of new criminal allegations of his father's involvement during the war would finally give the Wizengamot more ammunition to seal Lucius fate and be given the Kiss. An ironic grimace slid into Draco's lips, he should be thankful that the so-called whispers were simply allegations. War crimes were the primary basis of Lucius' entrenchment in Azkaban, but the law had only to dig deeper to find out worse crimes. Crimes that Draco only knew as faint claims yet would not allow himself put past Lucius' nature to have actually done.
In reality, as a Death Eater's son, the right-hand man of Voldemort, he had seen too much to be surprised of anything. But as a Malfoy, he had duties to fulfill to his family. He wasn't doing it to pacify the Ministry's demands to give back something to the destroyed lives by rebuilding Malfoy Industries to give jobs and livelihood, he was doing it because as a Malfoy, it was expected of him to save anyone in their family from shame. The company was resurrected out of pure brilliance; it was his heritage and he was rebuilding it for his family and not for anyone else.
And with that, he could not allow his father to die at the hands of the Ministry. Imprisoned, yes. Executed, no. The Malfoy name aside, Draco thought more of the debt he owed immediately to his sire. The debt he owed himself and to his mother as well. Running his hand through his hair, he stood up and watched the empire his family had built and owned for more than four centuries through the tinted glass windows of his penthouse office.
The truth was that he loved, hated, respected, and loathed his father all at the same time, to that very day. The myriad of emotions regularly swirled in his head; his responsibilities that often threatened to overtake his sensibilities made his head ache. He opposed and agreed to Lucius' views; some had been practical, some had been brutal.
The day his father found out by accident that he had been aiding Dumbledore's cause for more than a year, Lucius Crucioed him to an inch of his life in the mansion's library. To that day, he could still feel the slight vestiges of the excruciating hum of the curse coursing through his bones. And if he would think about it hard enough, he could very well feel the repeated heightened cracks of pain that felt the worst when Lucius called out the curse upon him. Draco had been found by his mother unconscious and was immediately brought to Dumbledore with the help of Severus Snape. The Order lived for weeks in wary fear of the knowledge that their double agent had been found by no less than his Death Eater father but had rested easy when nothing in their plans changed. For Draco, it had been the worst few weeks of his life. The self-recrimination was almost too much for him to bear.
It had been too late to disinherit or disown him during that time; it was already past his 17th birthday. He had been of age but also knew that he would be a quick target for Voldemort's followers. But it didn't matter; his father did not betray him to Voldemort. It still confused him as he thought of how easily his father could have served him to the Dark Lord trussed up to be killed as he pleased but didn't. In that simple act, Draco could not understand where his feelings for his father lied.
Just that moment, his intercom buzzed. "Mr. Malfoy, the Chancellor of Exchequer's Office is inquiring about your attendance to the ball this evening, what should I tell them?" It was Marguerite, his forty-something secretary who had been with him since he started to work at Malfoy Industries.
Briefly glancing at the intercom box, he mentally tried to remember what ball Marguerite was talking about. He vaguely remembered it to be for the opening of the Euro-Asian Magic Trade Exposition that was to happen next week. Malfoy Industries was one of the event's major sponsors and participants so it was natural that his appearance was expected.
"What is my schedule for tomorrow morning?" he asked, not removing his eyes from the scenic view he had been watching, his hands shoved into his tailored trousers' pockets.
A slight hum was emitted from the box before it spoke once more, "An eight-thirty meeting with the Grayson Andrews of Sewell and Marburry here, a brunch meeting with the GenCorp directors at ten at the Claridge, and," a pause and Draco could hear pages being turned, "an interview with the Financial Times at eleven-thirty."
"Move the meeting with Andrews to eight, I have some new merger ideas I want to speak to him about. Tell him that I'll be needing to see the financial forecast for the next quarter, as well as the new investors' profiles that he has. And reschedule the FT interview sometime next week, just tell me about it," he answered distractedly.
"And the ball tonight?" Marguerite reminded him.
"Affirmative. Inform my valet that I will be at the Manor at seven." A sudden thought entered his mind and smirked. His workload for the next day was relatively light, and it wouldn't hurt to indulge in a bit of carousing that evening. He knew the perfect person to bring. "Call Madame Malkin's and tell them to expect Elise Warrington at their boutique this afternoon. And call her up and tell her that I'll pick her up at eight for the ball."
Ginny cried in dismay at the ruined crème patisserie that she had been making. It had seized, and she could smell the telltale signs of burnt milk and sugar crusting up at the bottom of the sauce pan. She knew that for a simple recipe that she could virtually make in her sleep go awry screamed further disaster for that night. Large scale projects seem to never fail to bring her to edge of her nerves. It was like she was experiencing a never-ending sensation of being grounded by electricity. The paranoia of something going wrong and the anticipation of having everything done just perfectly took its toll on her more than the usual. After all, her precious restaurant had a reputation to uphold since she had just received two Diamond Cookery Wands, the equivalent of the muggles' Michelin Stars, the month before. There was definitely no pressure there for Ginny at all.
Quickly dumping the ruined filling into the trash and scourgifying the pan, she restarted the recipe and vowed to concentrate on the task ahead. It wouldn't do to have so much wasted, and that included precious time. She, her mother, and all ten members of their catering team had less than three hours left before the ingress was to start at the Ministry at six that evening, and there she was, lagging behind on the desserts. She watched as her mother sliced the delicate roast duck breast into diagonal pieces with an expert hand and wished with all her might she had a better aptitude for cooking rather than baking.
"Can someone please watch this for me?" she called out, belatedly remembering that she still had to make half-a dozen large Angel Food Cakes. Heather, one of her pastry assistants took over while she started cracking eggs and separating them.
Two years ago, she and her mother put up a restaurant business. Thanks to a steady clientele, who at some point in previous years had sampled the famed gastronomic delights that the mother-daughter tandem produced, and the backing of one Harry Potter, SinSalta took off and became the poshest restaurant in that side of Wizarding London. Business had picked up further when they expanded into a catering business and was hired by virtually anyone who could afford them.
Since that night's Ministry Ball was to welcome both Asian and European wizards, all two hundred participants from two sides of the world, the Ministry ordered dishes that were familiar to both parties. It was a complete madhouse in the warehouse kitchen that SinSalta had been leasing for the past two years.
The menu included Duck Breasts with Crispy Skins wrapped in Thin Crepes, Roasted Suckling Pigs with five different sauces, Veal Wellingtons, Puddings, Steamed Groupers, Sea Bass and Salmon, Skewered Lamb, Wagyu beef, different curries, Rigatoni al Tartufo and two other pastas, Quail and Capon Roulades, Exotic Vegetables, Hot Soups, a wide array of tapas, and an even more impressive dessert spread care of Ginny and four of her assistants. Caviar, oysters, and blinis were already stocked along with a large supply of champagnes and wines. To say that the Ministry pulled out all the stops for that night's ball was an understatement. It was apparent that the host country wanted to impress the delegates, enough for them to want to invest in trade relations with them. Personally, Ginny thought it was an ostentatious display and extremely tasteless to boot.
Swallowing a cry of frustration after almost breaking an egg yolk, she quickly washed her hands to remove any possible residue. Thankfully enough, nothing else went downhill from there. She was directing her assistants to fill the choux pastries that were carefully lined on the workstations while another assistant dipped them into the prepared chocolate ganache to finish the éclairs while simultaneously filling tube pans with the chiffon batter when her mother approached her, drying her hands with a spell.
"Oh, I do wish your father would tell me what his surprise is," Molly muttered distractedly to her daughter as she surveyed the kitchens, carefully taking note of which dishes were just about done and ready to be packed. Ginny smoothed the tops of the tube pan's contents before putting all six pans into the waiting oversized oven.
Ginny spared a grin at her mom before turning back to her workstation. She was now starting to carefully spin sugar for the marzipan cakes' garnish and muttering spells to hold their shapes, just in case the weather decides to turn inclement on them and melt the sugar into a sticky mess. "It's called a surprise for a reason mum. Besides, you'll learn soon enough at the ball later."
"Come on now Ginny, I'm sure your father confided to you about it," Molly cajoled to her daughter.
"What makes you think that?" she asked innocently as a smile tugged at the ends of her lips. Sure enough, Ginny did know her father's big announcement for the ball, but she had been sworn to secrecy by Arthur and unlike her siblings, actually honored such agreements.
"Oh fine, keep your secrets, why don't you," Molly said, shaking her head before tugging off her spattered apron.
"You go ahead, I'll finish everything up here," Ginny offered. "You and dad are going to the ball together, aren't you?"
"Yes, which is regrettably too soon and not enough time for me to get my hair properly done," Molly said regretfully. "Are you sure you can finish up?" Ministry Balls were notorious for Ginny and Molly. Sod's Law seemed to always prove its existence every single time, and while the elder Weasley was quite sure that all the bases were covered, something was bound to go wrong.
"Don't worry mum, I got an owl from Ron during lunch, and he told me he'd be here in about half and hour to help out. Though in Ron-speak, I'm pretty sure 'help out' means 'sample everything'," Ginny said wryly, thinking about her brother's appetite.
When Molly left the kitchen warehouse, Ginny checked their menu one last time and ticking off the dishes that were done and packed. Only the delicate desserts that needed last minute prep were left. Ginny was about to start on the shrinking of the food trays when Ron Apparated in.
"Hullo Gin," Ron greeted, kissing Ginny on the cheek. "Awww, why is everything packed already?"
"Why does it matter if everything's packed when you're only supposed to help and not filch morsels from them?" she asked sweetly.
Ron muttered about selfish sisters and how he should have just stayed home. "Don't you have cases to review and people to defend?" Ginny asked, washing her hands.
Ron proceeded to be an Arguer after the war, continuing his wizarding law studies in Belgium. He specialized in war crimes and human rights. It was something that never ceased to give Ron enough load of work to make him buried in work for days at end. Harry realized that he soon had two swots as his best friends and completely blamed Hermione for it.
He shrugged and popped a walnut from an opened bag on the counter into his mouth, "Surprisingly, I'm quite free this weekend. Not that I'm complaining or anything. Hermione's pretty ecstatic about it and demanded that I escort her to the ball tonight." Hermione had been working with the Ministry's Internal Affairs Department for the past five years and was recently promoted as Deputy Junior Department Head. She and Ron had been living together for the same amount of time, much to the elder Weasleys' chagrin.
"Can I say, 'Family Affair' once more?" Ginny quirked with a smile at the thought. Most of the Weasley Clan was involved with the Ministry in some small way or another and functions, such as the one they would be attending later, became an impromptu way for them to see each other aside from their bi-monthly clan gatherings.
Ron was a Ministry Interrogator at the International Magical Office of Law. Hermione was in the Internal Affairs Department after debating for months whether she was to continue the last year in her healer program a year after the war or join the Ministry. Fleur and Penelope were in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, while Percy had been promoted to Junior Undersecretary to the Minister a few months back. Arthur, on the other hand, had been appointed Deputy Minister of Magic after being with the Ministry for more than half his life five years ago.
"Harry taking you later?"
"Who else? Though I doubt it if t'was such a good idea since I promised mum I'd handle this dinner. I'd probably be too busy to escort the Ministry's mascot. Can't say the same for Harry though, I reckon he just doesn't want to go through the usual hassle of asking someone better to go with him," Ginny said with a chuckle. "I gathered he wasn't too chuffed about this ball. It's the second time this month that he'd been asked by the Ministry to make an appearance."
"I heard Egremont's going," Ron said casually.
"Of course, he is. He's riding on his daddy's coattails to mingle with important people and talk about things he has no idea about," Ginny replied disdainfully at the mention of her latest suitor, who happened to be the scion of the late Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot after Dumbledore died. It was the same Chief Warlock that she encountered during Malfoy's trials.
There was something about Emory Egremont that made her uneasy. Coming from an affluent wizarding family that fought against the dark side during the war, the Egremonts carried weighty influence especially since Horatio Egremont was appointed Chief Warlock after the fall of Voldemort. His swift and firm judgments were popular with the people. He spared no mercy for Death Eaters who committed unspeakable crimes. Harry once commented observantly to her that the way Horatio Egremont worked was similar to Barty Crouch, Sr.'s way of executing and imprisoning criminals after reading numerous trials that he had presided over.
Something about that man made Ginny shiver in unease whenever he was around, and it wasn't only because he had been relentlessly pursuing her for the past four months even though she had refused him every single time he asked. It was mainly because of the fanatical and sycophantic look he permanently sported, which Ginny privately thought as something she only thought Death Eaters wore. That, and the way he wouldn't get a clue that she simply wasn't interested.
Outwardly, there was nothing wrong with Emory. If one wasn't looking hard enough, he was the perfect gentleman. But Ginny was looking, and the perfection itself was a warning sign. Egremont's physical appearance afforded him the same self-assuredness that a certain white-blond schoolmate of hers possessed, but whilst the latter tended to shy away from the public in the recent years, the former reveled in.
She proceeded to unload a massive tray filled with pistachio-almond macaroons from the cold box, as well as a large bowl filled with pistachio butter. "I just wish the arse would get a bloody clue that I'm not interested," she muttered, sitting on a stool to finish filling the delicate cookies.
Ron proceeded to wash his hands and putting on plastic gloves before sitting next to his sister to help her with the cookies. He sighed and turned to his sister with a serious expression, "Emory Egremont filed a case against Lucius Malfoy a couple of weeks ago, and the case just passed through my office this morning."
Ginny paused at this for a moment before frowning. "And?"
"I was thinking you know a bit about Egremont's background," Ron shrugged.
"I'm sorry but nothing about him is actually interesting to inquire about," Ginny replied mockingly.
"Egremont's been tailing you since he noticed you, I figured he mouthed off something to you about why he hates the Malfoys so much."
"C'mon Ron, how can anyone not dislike the Malfoys?"
"Sure, they're so rich it's disgusting, and we've wished for Lucius to die a million times over but things have changed in the recent years, Gin. We've shied away from handing out the capital punishment since the end of the war, and the Kiss has been only reserved for the most heinous and special crimes. Egremont's actually pleading for Lucius to be given the Kiss," Ron said, more puzzled than worried.
Ginny, on the other hand, was disturbed, albeit still a little detached. She had more reasons to want Lucius dead than the average witch or wizard, but she was past what had happened to her when she was eleven a long time ago. "What did Lucius do to Emory?"
"It's not very hard to believe, to be honest. Egremont claims that Lucius raped and tortured Gertrude Egremont to death towards the end of the war," Ron answered with a grimace at the thought.
As many times Ginny had heard the atrocities the Death Eaters did during the war, she couldn't stop her stomach from turning at the images that incidences, alleged or otherwise, provided. "I'm not sure how to respond to that," Ginny said with a frown. "And wouldn't Emory's father have filed for that before he died? He's her husband after all. I mean he had more than enough time to pursue the case and have Lucius Kissed even before he died last year."
"The Egremonts weren't exactly the kind of couples that get along well. I'm thinking Lucius in Azkaban was enough punishment for the elder Egremont," Ron replied with a frown as if trying to remember the details of the case that passed through his hands that day. "It's just one of the speculations we had this afternoon in the office. It's just too puzzling to take on but at the same time, too ridiculously wicked not to take on," he added ruefully. "Enough of the depressing talk, tell me more about that Egremont git so I can blab to Charlie and George and give them enough reason to pummel him to death," Ron said cheekily, changing the subject.
"He breathes," Ginny replied succinctly.
Ron stared at his sister and laughed. "I'm sure Charlie and George would find that sufficient reason to kill him."
"Trust me, after you meet him later, you'd think it's enough reason to save the world from having any more Egremonts running around in the future," Ginny said blandly. "Think of how Draco Malfoy was before he defected to our side," Ron growled at the image, "and multiply his bigoted tendencies a hundred times over, with a splash of Goyle's stupidity thrown in. That's how much the world would benefit with him gone."
"How can a half-blood be bigoted?" Emory Egremont was a half-blood with both his parents being half-blooded as well.
"Same way Tom was."
"Touché."
"He's a stupid and arrogant blighter, and I just wish he'd effing lay off," Ginny grumbled, finishing the last of the macaroons and shrinking the container to a manageable size. "It's like I'm you and Millicent Bulstrode is stalking me," she continued with a shudder, as she saw her brother wince. "I'd better head back to my flat and pick up my clothes," she said, brushing off crumbs from her chef's jacket before freeing her thick burnished hair from its ties.
"How about I pick up your stuff so you can head off to the Ministry to start the ingress with the crew so that you won't have any trouble going back?"
"In exchange for what?"
"Saving me one of each of the puddings that you've got," Ron replied with a grin.
"Deal."
Dressed in a simple puce colored jersey cocktail dress, Ginny was a little undressed for the event, which turned out to be a full-blown black-tie affair with witches and wizards dressed in their ceremonial robes and long gowns. It could be worse, she thought with a grimace while she supervised the hall attendants as they served amuse bouche and hors d'œuvres to the guests. So far, the Sod still hadn't made an appearance and fucked up anything, but she wasn't discounting a late appearance.
She picked up a flute of champagne from one of the magically suspended trays and settled herself near the hallway doors where the servers entered. Ginny spied her parents chatting up with a Japanese couple at the far end of the ballroom. Percy and Hermione were by the salad bar in an intense conversation, which Ginny could only surmise was something work-related. And if Ginny didn't know them any better, she'd say that Percy was winding Hermione up with his pompous views regarding the Ministry.
Of course, Harry would be surrounded by a bevy of international beauties, Ginny mused, watching her friend tug conspicuously at his collar when an all too forward female guest from a group of three advanced way too close for comfort. For all of Harry's popularity and lore, he still acted as if the attention was unwarranted. Ginny thought he was handling it pretty well, at least it wasn't like the last time where Harry's ears were in danger of flaming on its own. She smothered a giggle at the memory. If she wasn't so intent at supervising, she would have came to his rescue already. Turning her head back to the buffet table, she spied that the food were the ones that needed some immediate rescuing.
"Ronald! Stop gobbling everything up!"
"What? What's a bloke got to do here to get some decent chow?" Ron asked indignantly, quickly swallowing whatever he stuffed in his mouth.
From the other end of the Ministry Atrium, where the ball was being held, Draco Malfoy watched the youngest Weasley discreetly hit her brother at the back of his head, a smile quirking at his lips. It wasn't hard to miss the girl. Red hair aside, she was easily trying not to be noticed but failing supremely because of the manner of her dress.
With half an ear listening to the Trade Minister of Indonesia talk about better industry relations with the Netherlands, he studied her detachedly. Every single time he'd see her, a familiar surge of grudging gratitude coiled in his chest.
The horror of owing a Weasley something, he thought disconcertedly to himself. And it wasn't simply 'something'; it had been his freedom. His very life. It had been a long time ago; he might as well consider it as something that had happened a lifetime ago since even though Voldemort's crimes were horrific, he could already think about it now with a certain level of detachment. So much had happened in his life after the war, with the control of Malfoy Industries as the foremost priority that he had, that it took precedence over those dark times. To his relief, Potter and the girl Weasley were cordial enough to respect the unspoken plea to spare his pride regarding what happened during the trial.
Speaking of Scarhead, his eyes roamed around the room and watched amusedly as his date for the evening chatted up a distinctly uncomfortable Harry Potter near the buffet table. But Draco knew that sooner or later, Elise Warrington would have even the wary Harry Potter curled around her finger. It was what he liked best about the American Magical Ambassador's daughter; she was incredibly candid and sophisticatedly elegant at the same time that it was easy to be at ease with her.
On a more shallow level, she was very haunting to look at. He was appreciative of the lithe curve of her body paired with an understated striking face, which were framed by short and curly raven-colored locks. But it was her eyes that gave her a different depth that one itched to be privy of. Her eyes were a curious color of deep blue that it was almost indigo in shade. It was dark and almost always sparkling with humor but when it wasn't, there was a placid quality about it that was so hauntingly serious. Draco was surprisingly good-humored enough to understand the fascination the American girl found with the Boy-Who- Lived so he let her have her fun. He'd have his later that night anyway.
Dinner had been an enjoyable and delectable affair an hour later, and he knew it had been catered by the fashionable SinSalta; by the Weasleys. His vision strayed once more to where the youngest Weasley was who was then carrying a more harried expression on her face. The line of her full mouth was pursed as if she was biting her lip to keep from saying something. Figuring that the conversation at his table could go on without him there, he excused himself and walked towards where she was, more out of curiosity than anything.
"My compliments to the chef, Weasley," he said mildly to the redhead who was already busily arranging the contents of a glass dish with her wand. It looked to be some confection of some kind to him.
Ginny quickly narrowed her eyes to the white-blond before sending the server with the dish away with quick instructions to put it nowhere near a window. With a wary look, she thanked him.
"I'm impressed, Weasley, this is the first time I was able to sample SinSalta's fare."
"And you're being polite because?" she asked snippily.
Draco lifted an eyebrow at the shrewish redhead. "Manners, Weasley. Problems in the kitchen?"
Expelling an exasperated sigh, "Just when everything was about done, he had to appear and muck things up!"
"Forgive my ignorance, but who's he?"
"The Sod, who else?"
The spun sugar she made that afternoon solidified to something akin to the texture of plaster with stringy blobs running down before setting, making it look like some sugar monstrosity. The tray containing the spun sugar was set near the freezer, and it would take an hour to set it back to room temperature to make it edible since heating it through magic would destroy it. She had no choice but to substitute them with pulled marzipan.
"Do I know the Sod?"
Ginny gave out an unladylike snort. "Murphy's Law," she explained irately. "Isn't that your date with Harry?" Elise was dancing with Harry Potter, with the latter looking more at ease than the last time Ginny had seen him with his harem.
"It seems that I've been cast aside," Draco said dryly, picking up a glass of champagne and taking a swallow.
"No need to wallow yourself in drink. It's bad for a Malfoy to get sloshed," Ginny said teasingly, tucking a stray lock of her red hair to the back of her ear, "Don't worry, Harry's incredibly inept with women, as you well know."
"Speaking from first hand experience, Weasley?"
"Can't resist that jab, can you, Malfoy?" she asked with a smirk, not really affected by it. It was amusing to her, in fact. With Ron and Hermione living together and Luna and Neville dating, Harry seemed to naturally cling on to Ginny. She didn't mind, she enjoyed his company, and it was the best kind since they got along really well with no expectations. "You don't seem to be bothered that your date's with Harry," she commented.
"As you've pointed out, it's just Harry Potter," he pointed out sarcastically.
"Don't tell me you're having ego issues, Malfoy."
"Comparing myself next to Potter? I rather like to think it's not an issue of ego at all," he replied lightly. "I'm taking her home anyway," he followed with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, as if the Boy-Who-Lived was irrelevant.
Which, to Draco Malfoy, truly was irrelevant, Ginny thought wryly to herself. It was the first time in a long while that she was able to talk to her former schoolmate. Like the rest of the Wizarding World, she knew the basics; that he had resurrected the family business single-handedly and proceeded to become one of the youngest and richest wizards in the world after quadrupling Malfoy Industries profits in three years' time. He had also become some sort of a social recluse, something unimaginable to many, who had known him in Hogwarts. Many speculated that the war and the trial pushed him to do so. He was regularly featured in publications but was rarely seen in the public eye the past few years. Witch Weekly reported that reliable sources say that he was a certified workaholic who'd rather hole himself with work than socialize with people his age.
At around an inch or two above six feet, Draco had more or less the same build as Harry. Both were more wiry than thin, with a little more elegant, athletic quality in him as opposed to Harry's rugged aura. And unlike Harry's adorable unease towards being the center of attention, Malfoy had a better concept on how to deal with other people, especially when charming the opposite sex. The urbane masculinity that he had was understated, and Ginny had a feeling that he was doing that on purposed to avoid attention. His hair was no longer doused in a vat of hair tonics but was carefully trimmed and casually swept back, keeping the length acceptable at an inch above his collar. It was still pale, he was still pale himself, but unlike the peaky feature it once had, it made Ginny envious with its alabaster quality. What she would give to grow out of her freckles.
But the most noticeable change was the way Malfoy carried himself. Gone was the perpetually sneering façade, and in its place was a deceivingly amicable and polite look that if one didn't look thoroughly, would miss the still present feral hunger to win in his silvery eyes. The war taught him to lie low. The superior air was still there, but it had toned down to something Ginny could manage without wanting to bust him with a nasty hex. There were still appearances to be maintained after all, and Ginny understood that.
Before she could take her fill at studying her erstwhile former school nemesis, a chafing voice cut through their companionable silence.
"Malfoy."
Draco turned, "Egremont."
Ginny winced. She had forgotten about Emory Egremont's attendance until that moment. She watched as Emory's ill-concealed sneer slid off Malfoy's suddenly cool façade.
"Ginny,"
"Emory," Ginny greeted stiffly. "Good to see you." She saw Malfoy raise an eyebrow at the contradicting words and the way she said it in an abrasive manner.
"I saw you across the room and figured you wanted better company. Would you like to dance?" Emory asked with his trademark smarmy smile, offering a hand out to Ginny. She stared at it and ignored it. A slight flush crept on the newcomer's face, before pulling down his hand.
"You should have stayed there. As you can see, I'm presently engaged in a pleasant enough conversation," she replied sweetly.
Draco eyed the exchanged with detached amusement. The redhead apparently wasn't too fond of the peacock. "I assure you, a Death Eater is always a—"
"I strongly suggest that you do not to continue that statement, Egremont," Draco interrupted quietly. The controlled voice belied a flash of danger as his eyes took a storm-like quality to it.
Emory met his gaze with his own icy blue ones, which were again regaining an all too familiar fanatical appearance to Ginny. She took an inconspicuous step backwards. For some reason, the look Emory had was more sinister than the one Draco Malfoy had.
"Dance with me," another voice entered the rapidly tensing atmosphere. It was Elise, lightly tugging Draco's arm towards the dance floor. She hadn't noticed the strangled conversation that was happening before she had arrived. The blond nodded stiffly to Ginny, met the glare the dark-haired man gave him before following his date to the dance floor.
"You were talking to that murderer?" Emory hissed, his eyes still locked to the back of Draco's retreating form.
"Watch yourself, Emory. Slander is punishable, especially if you attack someone like Draco Malfoy." She couldn't believe she had just defended the Ferret. At least she knew whom she hated more at that moment.
"Aye, of course, because they're filthy rich. Of course, they can have me thrown to Azkaban. Maybe I can request the cell next to his father." Ginny narrowed her eyes to him in response. " The Malfoys are thieving murderers, Ginny. Surely, you, of all people, know that," Emory countered derisively.
"And I'm sure you know that you're not in the position to remind me of things you know nothing of."
"Know nothing of? I beg your pardon, but Lucius Malfoy destroyed my family. I don't want him anywhere near you."
The Minister of Finance was taking the stage and was introducing her father. The crowd in the ballroom was already listening with half an ear as low murmurs permeated the place. Arthur Weasley was generally known in the Wizarding community since he had taken a mainly non-violent stand against the Dark Arts and was very concerned with the well being and preservation of the world they lived in. Ginny wanted to listen to her father's surprise announcement since she knew that it would be a big deal to the rest of her family in attendance, but Emory Egremont was making it damn near impossible for her to do so.
Ginny counted to ten in French and pig Latin before swallowing a string of curses. The arse was pushing her to throw a fit in the middle of a Ministry Ball and right in the middle of her father's big announcement! "Would you kindly remove yourself near me? Now, if possible?"
"You're upset."
"No, really? What made you say that?"
"Don't take that tone with me."
She let out a frustrated gurgle from her throat at the audacity of his words. "You're this close to be hexed within an inch of your life, you interfering, sodding bastard," Ginny hissed, her wand's tip suddenly peeking out of her invisible wrist guard.
Emory frowned and took a step back. "Look, Ginny, you have to listen to me," the glow in his eyes were back. "His father murdered my mother. His lot—"
"—declare my official bid for the position of Minister of Magic for next year's appointment," Arthur Weasley announced with a broad smile to the now avidly listening crowd before him before it erupted into loud cheers and applause.
"Don't you mean, your lot? Stay away from me, Emory. I mean it," Ginny spat, gritting her teeth. She turned away from the unwanted company and wove her way to where her ecstatic family was.