A/N- Hello, all :)
So here is another chapter! Things are MOVING ALONG!
I must say, I got ahead of myself, just for fun, and wrote some experimental Ginny/Malfoy scenes that are yet to come, and let me say- I am so effing excited. Such sexy fun.
Thank you all for reading, for reviewing, you are awesome! Here's to you.
- Amie
The Face of the Harpies
"He WHAT?!"
Hermione dropped her carry-away cup of tea with a splat and a, "Drat."
Ginny had surprised even herself with her composure over the last few days. More numb with shock than anything, she had kept Harry's revelations (most uncharacteristically) to herself. She had sat in a kind of dazed shock on the swing until that internal nudge, telling her that one or more of her obnoxious brothers was bound to have started wondering about her prolonged absence, nagged at her to go in. She had stood, brought to her senses by the icy porch on her bare feet, and with one wide-eyed look at herself in the black glass of the kitchen window, had joined the rest in the living room as though it was still just Christmas- and not a crack in time itself.
She had spent the next day (or two) in a sort of giddy reverie. After vowing to herself that she would not fantasize about, or dwell upon, Harry in any way, shape, or form until she knew what on Earth was going on, she had spent most of the day snapping herself out of impure thoughts and premature daydreams.
It was impossible to keep his words out of her head. She would be making a pot of tea, and his voice would float into her mind, prompted by the igniting of the burners, the groaning of her old faucet.
To be honest, Ginny, I just don't seem to be able to shake the thought of you lately.
And then her sense had caught up.
Her good-old-rational-common sense, which reminded her that she was pitching herself headfirst off of the impossible cliff she had built to fortress her young heart, after all the things it had been forced to know already. She was hurling herself, like so many fools before her, into a sea of sharks, just because she thought she caught the tail of something that looked more like a dolphin.
Her unconscious mind would relive their parting. Cloaked in the bustle of all the Weasleys and Co saying their goodnights to one another, he had gripped her gently by the shoulders, searching her eyes deliberately for one last assurance that she was indeed okay. She had raised an eyebrow and smiled exasperatedly. Yes, you fool, I'm fine. And with a look of open adoration, he had pulled her in tightly for a long hug, chuckling into her hair.
Why? This blissful unconscious part of her mind would ask- why can't I dwell on this?
Because, her common sense would say, because Harry has a girlfriend. Because it's been six years. Because you are practically family. Because it's plunging back into Pandora's Box. Because, because, because, because, because….
And on it went. Until, by today, Ginny found that she felt quite insane. The task of carrying on normal conversation with Hermione had been just that: a task. And finally she had not been able to bear the argumentative frenzy in her head alone for another moment. And had blurted the basics to Hermione in a face-in-palms rush on their walk from the Teashop in Diagon Alley to Malfoy's Colloid Alley office. They had been going over the list of Ginny's 'Do's' and 'Dont's' in terms of her professional behavior, but she had simply not been able to concentrate, to Hermione's panic.
"Ginny. Repeat that, because I think I must've just been swarmed by nargles," Hermione stared at her with wide-eyed expectancy.
"He… said he can't shake the thought of me lately. He can't let us go, or something," Ginny mumbled into a hand.
"But what does that mean?"
"I don't know."
"Well what are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"And… what does that mean for him and Gwen?"
"Urgh. I don't know," Ginny grimaced at Hermione's friendly abbreviation of the name. She paused for a moment, and then said tentatively, "She wants him to marry her."
"She WHAT?" Hermione shrieked, whirling to face Ginny with so much force that she nearly slipped on the ice. Ginny nodded, and Hermione knitted her eyebrows together looking most perturbed. "But that's absurd! They hardly even know each other! I mean… she's a nice girl, and very beautiful, but I hardly think that's any reason to- "
She broke off, with a noise of strangled frustration. She smoothed her hair away from her face with rather a lot of force and glared at Ginny, "- he is so damn- stoic!"
Ginny raised her eyebrows in question, a little indignant under Hermione's misdirected frustration.
"Harry. He is so… how many times have I asked him outright about all this? And how many times have I asked if there is anything going on with him and Gwendolyn- because it's completely obvious that there is- and he just smiles and shrugs-" she stepped into a deceptively deep patch of snow and grabbed Ginny's arm to steady herself, "he's just impossible. There was a time when he would at least talk to Ron and I about everything, but he- he's just got it into his head that he has to… I don't know, live up to something now."
Ginny was taken aback to hear that Hermione actually had a slightly tearful note in her voice. She looked up, and Ginny could see the shadows of serious concern hovering over her face.
"He's going to crack under it all. It's so much responsibility… and he refuses to share or even talk about it with anyone."
Ginny nodded distantly, remembering Harry's unexpected and frenzied venting from a few nights previous. If not cracks, there had definitely been signs of hairline fractures in his emotional state.
"He talked to me… just a little bit. Unloaded some," she said eventually, in the hopes that some of the worry might leave Hermione's eyes. Hermione looked up sharply and then nodded slowly.
"That's good. You always could get through to him somehow. How is beyond me," she muttered wryly. Ginny tried to ignore the dull ache in her heart. Yes, she had always been able to get through to Harry somehow. By the same inexplicable force that caused her, since she was thirteen and Voldemort returned, to feel his burden almost as her own- that same force drove her somehow down the right paths to poke, and prod, and eventually easy Harry into opening up.
But not for six long years.
She felt a slight stab of guilt, and shoved it away. It wasn't her place to feel guilty about not being there anymore. There was silence between them and Hermione broke it.
"So… what are you going to do? Wait?" She said this with a look that clearly said, 'You will not let him make you sit around and wait'. Ginny shook her head.
"I truly don't know. Work out how I feel about it all I suppose. And then… talk to him?"
Hermione snorted at the notion of talking to Harry. But then she took Ginny's hand and squeezed it gently.
"How do you feel?"
Ginny looked at Hermione, and felt herself crack a bit, at the tenderness waiting for her in the warm brown eyes.
"I don't know," she said honestly, a smile blooming uncontrollably on her face, though she felt like she could cry. Hermione nodded, with a look of secret understanding.
"Yes, well. It had to come to a head eventually- we could all see it coming."
Ginny was just about to ask what exactly she meant be we could all see it coming?!- when she realized they were standing in front of the rose-laced black stone building. She made an exaggerated gurgling noise of her own imminent death, and buried her head in Hermione's shoulder.
"There's my professional girl." Hermione patted her head, and Ginny could hear the smile in her voice. "Ready?"
Ginny nodded, and with a hugely heaved sigh, pulled the stupid glass door open.
It was not, actually, half as bad- being in Malfoy's office with a cohort. It was almost quite fun, shuffling down the corridor and pointing and muttering about the pretentious paintings with raised eyebrows and silent giggles. They tried to sober up as they entered the reception area, but Ginny could not suppress the urge to sweep over to the cat-eyed witch and say in her most dramatically serious voice,
"We are here to see, Monsiour Valois, please. S'il vous plait - Pardon."
Which made Hermione snort horrifiedly into her hands, and even made the witch chuckle quietly. It was all most satisfying. They were pointed to his office, and entered with barely contained smirks of their own.
"You're late." Malfoy spoke sternly without even looking up at them.
Ginny was just about to point out that it was one-o'clock exactly, and to accuse them of being late because they were not early was absolutely ridiculous, when Hermione pinched the skin of her wrist sharply and she remembered that she was meant to be behaving herself.
"Sorry," she said instead, with a sweet smile. It was actually mostly sarcastic, but luckily, he still did not look up. He grunted and motioned for them to sit down. Ginny wondered wryly if he was actually doing anything of importance, or if it was purely for show. She had to bite her lip against a laugh at the thought of him scrabbling to pick up something to look busy reading as they entered, and that was when he looked up.
"What." He cocked one eyebrow imperiously, and she shook her head quickly, snapping into the expression of blank innocence she had perfected as a child. He let a look of detest linger over her, and then put the papers in his hands down.
"Hello, Draco," Hermione said, as Malfoy himself had not acknowledged their reunion - after who knows how many years. Ginny wanted to grimace at the sound of his first name spoken in Hermione's kind voice. She had never heard any of them refer to him as such, and was reminded of what a truly atrocious name it was. But she kept her face mild.
Malfoy was not as bothered with polite pretenses, and frowned with distaste before saying, with extra derisive pleasure, "Granger."
Ginny admired Hermione's ability to keep cool.
"Right," Malfoy said, "let's get to it- we have a lot to do."
He flicked at a speck on his deep satin sleeve and turned serious eyes on Hermione.
"Granger. So as you have an actual job, how will you two be dividing the-"
"- Sorry," Ginny cut in, despite herself. She paused to force the sweet smile back onto her face, "but what did that mean? I have a job as well, Malfoy."
"Oh?" He looked at her expectantly, and she could see the sneer in his eyes that warned her that he was setting her up for mockery, "do you have a career I'm not aware of, Weasley?"
"Yes, Malfoy, I do," she answered pleasantly, squeezing her fists together under the table. If only his fat head was between their crushing heels. Or his stupid, tiny, boll-, "I am a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, I think you know that."
He paused only to give her a look of weary pity before resuming his question for Hermione.
"As you have a job, how will we divide your work? There is an insurmountable amount to be done for the Protection Act- revisions and such. Will you have the time? Or should you handle the Restoration and Education parts?"
Hermione smiled obligingly, squeezing Ginny's fingers to keep her from piping up again.
"Oh, yes," she said easily, "we've actually already discussed that. My contributions were mainly to the Restoritive and Educational portions. I can oversee the creation and management of those when the time comes, as well as help with the Binding Spell. I think I will have time for that at least- maybe even more, I will have to see."
Malfoy nodded his agreement and smiled down at the proposal.
"I see, so the Protection Act is yours, Weasley? That makes sense. Riddled with errors."
Ginny was quite sure that Hermione was about to rupture the skin of her left thumb if she didn't cut that out-
"As it happens, the Protection Act is what appeals to me most. The majority of the profit will lie there, I think. As the other two parts are nearly up to par, we can table those until the Protection Act is up to their standards. You and I will work on that in the coming weeks, then."
It was a statement, not a proposition.
Had she ever wanted to harm someone more?
Ginny busied herself with the pondering of this query, as Hermione gripped her hand like a vice, and Malfoy scratched out notes on his schedule.
Perhaps Ron, once or twice in their younger years, or perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange at the Battle of Hogwarts. His Aunt, she remembered with a sick shock. God, if only she could singe all his silly, ghostly hair off with her eyes- or glue his mouth shut so he could never speak or smirk again…
"Right- it looks like I have time to get together bi-weekly to work on this," he said, looking matter of fact-ly from his schedule to Ginny. Bi-weekly?! First of all, what sort of git would use such a word she did not know, and second of all, no way in God's bloodiest Hell was she going to do that.
"Um," she said delicately, trying to choose her words in a flattering way, "I'm not quite sure that will be necessary… I am happy to re-write the Proposal on my own, and send it in to you for review-"
Malfoy snorted, waving the pages she and Hermione had toiled over, in the air by his ear,
"And end up with another ghastly mess? No, you need my supervision, I think. Monday and Friday of this week will be good for me. Here, at… Eleven O'clock." Once again he nodded affirmation to himself, without posing it as any sort of question to her. "Now you may leave if you want, or you can act as witness to the Contract Spell. Granger, wand out."
And thus it began.
- WWWW -
The end of that meeting ushered in a whirlwind of such intense work for Ginny, that she felt like she hardly breathed for the next three weeks.
He was relentless.
He kept her inexplicably busy, dawn till dusk, nearly every single day, with an array of the sort of tasks she would never in a million years thought necessary for such a straightforward thing as planning a business line. She had worked with George and Percy, developing new lines for the shop, and never did they go to the insane lengths that Draco Malfoy did.
She sent flowers, brought coffee, floo-ed to 'check in on' their prospective business associates, basically priming them so that they could have the very best of businessmen at their disposal when the time came for action. It was, when she thought about it, the sort of slimy, flattering work that she could not stand… but to her surprise, she was good at it. She was naturally gifted with a knack at social situations, and though she stuck her foot in her mouth nearly all the time, she charmed the pants off the men of the cut-throat business world- if she did say so herself.
She got in the swing of it fairly quickly; buy a small gift, and stop by each office in rotation, visiting each future partner at least once a week. Learn about their families, their likes, their dislikes, their secrets (which Malfoy was chock-full of, God knows how) and build a relationship. Many of the men found her quite refreshing and amusing, and she actually enjoyed their banter and careful flattery of each other rather a lot, if she was honest. They were all shocked to learn that she was in business with Malfoy- who was admittedly highly respected as the King of flourishing and flattering business, but who Ginny quickly learned, was so notoriously unpleasant, that no one could quite work out how the two of them wound up working together.
He was shrewd though, she would hand him that with extreme reluctance.
Like the slithering snake she knew him to be, he would watch people, and somehow instantly size them up- instantly know their weaknesses, their nerves. And sometimes he would use that to flatter them… but more often than not, he would use it to strike.
She came to dread their bi-weekly meetings with ulcer-like physical repulsion.
It was the usual fest of taunting and jabbing, 'tsk tsk'-ing at her 'shoddy' work, and delicately insulting her family and everything she held dear. Not that it was exactly one-sided. Ginny actually shocked herself by week three with just how fiery she could be, when she lost her head completely as he started in on Ron, and exploded a box full of papers near his desk. She would leave every single meeting with a pounding headache, and a shaking in her hands- both due, she was sure, to the buildup of tremendous fury she held inside for the duration of each one.
The shmoozing and the meetings were only the half of it however. There was the endless back and forth with his sadistic lawyers, and the hours upon hours of research he demanded every week.
Not the mention the letters.
The letters.
God, if she could only turn back time, take out her wand to perform the contract spell, but instead hex him into a thousand horrible little pieces. The letters were his revenge for any uncontrollable lashings of her tongue during meetings; she was sure of it.
December 31st
Weasley, I will need you to be at the Office of Mr. Drake Marley at 6:30 AM on the dot tomorrow morning. Clear?
- M
Oh, dear. I do hope that doesn't ruin any New Years Eve plans you may have had…
January 4th
Weasley, are you up? I know it's past midnight, but you need to compose that letter we discussed at once, and send it directly to the Office of Mr. Bonsao.
Consider it a demonstration of your dedication. Up. Now.
- M
January 10th
Weasley, this report you gave me on the 'Statistical Rise of Protective Merchandise' is atrocious.
I truly don't know where your head is most days.
-M
They haunted her. Not his words, not at all. Those she read blankly, and took much relish from tearing up into the smallest pieces she could. The letters literally haunted her. Day and night, at least two a day; she wasn't safe anywhere. She had come to have a visceral reaction to his enormous black owl that was so strong- she had actually come close to stunning it not but a day ago.
She had tried at first, to reply with a tone as polite (albeit sarcastic) as his.
Counting that as a failure, she had then tried to ignore the letters all together. She simply stopped replying. Ten letters and a badly bitten finger later, she had surrendered.
Her last few letters had looked a little something like:
Malfoy,
I received your letter, and heard what you so graciously had to say. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to bestow such gems of wisdom upon me.
Fuck You.
- W
Yet they still came. She could almost sense his badly masked glee at tormenting her day and night, and if she didn't have an equal part in it, she would have felt it to be truly unlawful.
"Why? Why can't he leave me alone? I'm doing all the bloody work he tells me to, but he just has to keep harping on me. He enjoys it, Hermione, that's the only reason he does it. I know it."
She had moaned this into her arms one night, at the sight of that ruddy black owl ('Salazar') outside the Burrow's kitchen window.
"Well," Hermione had said carefully, "I actually rather think it's something you two bring out in each other," she quailed under Ginny's look, "no, no- he is a git who can't get along with anybody, don't get me wrong. But there is something about you that fires him up. And vice versa. I noticed it right away at our meeting. Maybe if you laid off him, he would be nicer?"
She had thunked her head on the table, in the hopes that it's advice might be a little less rubbish.
If there was one good thing about Malfoy's ridiculous regime, besides the shocking amount of work they were getting through already, it was that Ginny was left with almost no time to dwell on Harry.
Almost.
She had moments here and there, but was rendered so practical-minded by the endless workload suddenly on her shoulders, that she had found that she had worked her end of it out rather quickly.
She still loved Harry. She had possibly known that all along, but had barricaded her heart so fiercely against slipping down that slope again, that she hadn't truly felt it. But she had also come to realize, that with her and Harry, it was always in the risk; always in the game. For years and years they had longed and tip-toed, lusted and tested the ice. His kind but damaged heart drew her like a cat to cream, and she would always feel the need to help him, the desire to be noticed by him. But they had never actually been together in the calm and the open.
She didn't know what she wanted, because the only way they had ever functioned regularly was as they did now. Almost-family. The big-brother's best friend. The best-friend's kid sister.
And if she knew Harry, which, inexplicably, she did almost better than anyone, he had no idea either. There was always the question in the air around them. The curiosity and the want. The hurt and the need. The comfort and the thrill. But when it came to the question of: did either of them want to risk the stability of their entire family life, to try something normal out?
She could say with ninety-seven percent certainly, that neither of them had a bloody clue.
They had seen each other only twice in three weeks- what with Ginny's newfound complete lack of time for her family and friends. Both occasions were just in passing really- at the Burrow. In both cases, the room had been full of their friends and family, and their communication had been reduced to casual jokes and small talk, with lingering gazes and sweaty palms.
Everyone, save for a shrewd-eyed Hermione, had been blissfully unaware.
- WWWW -
Why was it the nature of life, to lie still, dormant, boring and uneventful for ages and ages- and then explode with so much activity and emotion that one can hardly function?
Perhaps it was leftover activity from the Big-Bang… Ginny did not know.
The third week of January found a Ginny Weasley, hyper-functional, newly best chums with half the businessmen in Wizarding London, prone to frequent migraines and anxiety-induced nausea- called in to a meeting with the managers of the Holyhead Harpies.
She arrived in the cramped and cluttered office of Bob Jorgens, fresh from a Lilac-bearing meet and greet with the Head of Magical Defensive Law, at precisely noon, on January the 13th. A Friday.
Jorgens, fat, lazy, and abrasive, was waiting with his co-manager, Billy Waters- a contrastingly slender, crafty, and overly-charming man.
"Hello," Ginny smiled nervously, upon realizing that she was the only Team-member present at this meeting. A wide variety of paranoia and Malfoy-induced thoughts ran through her head. Had he spoken to them? Blackmailed them into convincing them to suspend her from the team until all her work with him was completed?
"Miss Weasley!" Grinned Waters, as Jorgens grunted his form of greeting, "Welcome! Have a seat. We have a very exciting offer for you."
"Oh?" Surprised, Ginny took a seat in a ripped red leather chair in front of the desk. She smiled again. She was far too used to being in trouble for her own good.
"We want you to be the new face of the team," said Jorgens without any preamble whatsoever.
Ginny frowned, entirely taken aback. What?
"What?" she said blankly, "… but it's only my second year on the team… Isn't the captain usually the face of the team as well?"
"Usually, but not always," Jorgens said dismissively, "if there is another player who has… Assets that appeal to the public more…"
Ginny narrowed her eyes, very skeptical, and a little offended. "Assets?"
"What he means to say," breezed in Waters, who was the 'tact' side of their two-headed-monster of management, "is that the public is fascinated with you, Ginny."
He let his words hang in the air between them.
"… No... not really, they aren't," she replied.
"They are," he nodded his head enthusiastically- sycophantically perhaps, "ever since we signed you last year that is all people have wanted! GINNY WEASLEY-"
He drew a dramatic hand through the air, as if her name should have burst out of his splayed fingers.
"The youngest player- scrappy, determined. A war hero, part of Harry Potter's old gang," he looked at her with a chum-y wink that was entirely one sided, "everyone knows you used to date him, you know."
Ginny looked at him with wide eyes, horrified at how completely ludicrous he had just made her life sound. Harry Potter's old GANG. Honestly. A war hero!
"Yes," she said, managing not to laugh, "some of that is marginally true… but I don't think that would necessarily make me a good… Frontwoman."
Waters grinned in a 'tsssk, don't be silly, lassie!" sort of way that was quite alarming.
"Of COURSE you will be. You're interesting- you're funny and candid. You will be gorgeous when our staff gets it's hands on you-"
Oh, cor, tell me more.
"Right… but-"
"We're not really asking you, Ginny," Jorgens stepped back in as she tried to keep up the debate, with an impatient hand held out in front of him, "fact is, you are a person of interest. You've got that new philanthropy project, a prominent family, and he's right- the Harry Potter draw. This is a meeting to let you know of your new position and discuss your duties as such."
Ginny stared at them, knowing she was red faced, but at least keeping her mouth shut. Bloody fuck, if she had an ounce of control over her life any more, she would fall over in shock.
The Potter Draw. Honestly. She was so tired of her own success being infiltrated by her association six years ago with Harry.
But she nodded with a smile, probably actually a grimace, and said resignedly, "What are these duties."
She already knew, really. The 'face' of the team was the public spokesperson. The 'Krum' or the 'Gwenog Jones'. They headed all the photoshoots, modeled all the sponsored gear, spoke at press conferences. Ginny blanched.
"… shoot with Gladrags wear, as they sponsored our entire wardrobe this year- that will be next Saturday," Waters was saying, "and the most important upcoming event will be on Friday, February 17th," he looked at her pointedly, "the Minister's Ball. Ernie Tall will be honored there, and as he is our main sponsor, you will give the speech."
Public speaking. Beautiful. Her favorite.
Ginny nodded blankly, another unpleasant notion coming to her.
"Does the rest of the team know about this?"
"Not yet. Wanted to tell you first," grunted Jorgens in a 'you lucky girl' sort of way.
"Right…"
Bloody Damn. Ginny could already imagine the upheaval on the team. She got along very well with her teammates, but she suspected a nasty wrench had just been thrown in that. They wouldn't be too pleased that the Rookie had just been made their poster child... Their Captain, Holly Havies, would certainly not be happy.
"Well then. Jolly good," she said distractedly, "right. Just let me know when I have to attend what," she tried to keep her voice buoyant, and not betray her panic at this added burden to her life, "thank you both very much. If you'll excuse me I have so much work to do... Be in touch."
They nodded, grunted, and waved, and she left the office with a graceful smile that fell off her face like the head of a snowman on a sunny day, the moment she stepped outside.
When it rains, it pours.
Leave us an opinion, if you would be so kind- xo
