Disclaimer: : This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Authors Notes:

Thank you so much for reviewing! Thank you to my wonderful beta-reader who has returned from the dead and beta'd my story! I would also like to give a special thanks to Odyssia, for allowing me to borrow one of her specialties concerning Lucius Malfoy and the opposite sex. You really have to admit that he brings it upon himself. And now…a wrench in the works.

The next morning I watch her wake up. She is disoriented at first, hung over and bewildered until she realizes where she is.

Her gown is wrinkled and much of her is still exposed.

I am not much better. I do not want her to see me like this, so I do not move.

She jolts to full awareness and then she gives me a leery glance and decides that I am still asleep.

She rests her head in her hands for a moment and takes a shaky breath.

Not having second thoughts are you, my peach?

She looks as though she could be sobbing. I cannot tell; her (back is to me. But surely this cannot be. Not my brave little queen, the one who is rapidly morphing from fire to ice before my very eyes.

I watch her delicately remove herself from the sofa as if she is afraid to wake me and pick up my time piece from the table. She starts and drops it with a clatter. It must be very late.

Quickly, and I almost sigh in disappointment, she pulls her gown back up over her breasts.

She scurries as quietly as she can, picking up a nylon here, another that was flung across the room. I watch her pick up her torn underwear that was strewn over a lamp shade. She shudders and drops them in the waste basket.

She uses her wand to repair her dress, and she disapparates with a soft pop.

I sit up uncomfortably. I can't imagine where she might be off to. I rise and pull a throw over myself.

Daybeds are uncomfortable things to sleep on.

The throw pillow next to me smells intoxicatingly like her. I inhale deeply and pull a fiery strand of hair from it.

I stand fully and contemplate taking a shower. My head is throbbing and my neck is sore from sleeping on that blasted daybed.

I call a house elf and send him to find me a headache potion while I am showering.

Several red threads of hair fall from my body and pool around the shower drain.

Visions of last night cloud my thoughts.

It was so much better, so much more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. I have, contrary to popular belief, only been entertaining a few women since Narcissa died.

I needed that night. And Ginevra acted as though she did as well.

I am sad to have seen her go so suddenly and quietly this morning. I had Tinker stock every shower in the house with toiletries that I thought might please her. But there will be other times, times when we will (hopefully) be on better terms after coupling.

Perhaps last night was ahead of schedule. After all, I do want her to like me. I do care.

I turn my back to the stream of water and hiss. I grope blindly at my own back for a moment, unable to recall why I have pale pink scratches, but I remember with a smirk.

I also remember my ruined tuxedo shirt and smile smugly to myself. Whoever said a man's sexual stamina goes to the dogs after thirty has nothing on me. Sex was never this good at eighteen.

I can only hope to have the stamina however. It is something that has been in the back of my mind. Young people are all alike, curious and sexually eager. Women, in particular, associate sex with love. And I need Ginevra's love. I need our romance to be believable

I towel off after my shower and decide not to heal the scratches.

"Master! Master!"

Tinker the house elf is jumping up and down excitedly, holding a rolled up piece of parchment.

"Tinker is finding this in the east guest suite!"

I take it and bark at the elf to bring me a headache potion.

The letter is from Druella. Fuck. I never should have carried on with her after Narcissa died. Brief though our affair was, it has left a bad taste in my mouth. Druella was nothing a mistress should be and nothing that I wanted for a wife. And there was Ginevra.

Oh, I was telling the truth. Perhaps only part of it, but Druella and I were intended for one another in our youth. But I was young and Druella could not compare to Narcissa who, until her death, was more beautiful and more refined than Druella could ever hope to be.

I re-read the letter. She is as vague and monotonous as ever. I can tell though that she does not like this turn of events. I know that it must be hard for her to see me marry a woman half her age.

In spite of myself I smirk.

I saw her at the ball last night. She was speaking to that girl, Draco's friend. I can only hope that she doesn't make things difficult.

I wad up the letter and toss it into the waste basket. Then with a sneer of contempt, I set the contents on fire.

I slide a silk robe over my shoulders and settle down in front of my study window to read last week's paper, for I have uncharacteristically not been keeping to date with the news. A mistake, I admit.

A mug of coffee appears out of thin air next to my right elbow.

I read the paper, glad to have a hangover remedy and no obligations this morning. I fear that I could not handle polite society this morning. Which, lately, has been increasingly more and more important. I cannot afford to lack society's trust. Not that I provided information that was detrimental to the Dark Lord. Not that I risked my own life and the lives of my family, which incidentally was a price that I had to pay.

I cannot afford Rufus Scrimgeour to doubt my sincerity either. I know though, that he is close to Ginevra's brother, Percy I,think. Another reason that I need her, and her connections to the bleeding-hearted mudbloods and blood traitors. I am no fool. I know that when Scrimgeour gets wind of our impending marriage, if he hasn't already, he will pry information from that sniveling little sycophant, Percy Weasley.

I half-heartedly peruse the paper.

My quidditch team lost.

Walden Macnair was captured by Aurors in South America.

I file through the paper uninterestedly. But when I come to the obituaries I nearly spit out a mouthful of coffee.

The Patil girl died. The services are being held today.

That was where Ginny was rushing off to!

I stand up so suddenly that I knock my coffee cup to the floor where it lands with a soft thump on the ornamental rug.

"Tinker!"

"Yes, Master!"

"Bring me my black dress robes!" I snarl.

"Yes, Master! Tinker is getting them right away!" Tinker disappears with a sharp crack and re-appears seconds later.

"Give me those!" I snatch the dress robes away from him and kick him viciously. I do not care that it is not his fault. I do not care that he will be nursing a large bruise later. All I can think about is her, and her idiocy for not telling me. It is important that we are seen together. Never mind how it would look if she is seen at the Patil girl's funeral without.) me.

Tinker scampers as I stalk out of my study and into the front hall where I grab my cloak and disapparate.

X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X

The distinct feeling of falling wakes me up. I feel fuzzy in a way that is unfamiliar to me, and so I stretch to shake the feeling off. But my hand hits something warm and soft.

Disoriented, I open my eyes and blink rapidly.

Crap.

How could I have forgotten? Oh crap, how did this happen?

I tell myself not to be stupid, I know how this happened. Ginny, you dolt! No wonder he wanted you to have that drink! I give Lucius, who appears to be sleeping, a sideways glance.

Why did you do this, Ginny!

I sit up gently and rest my head in my hands and try not to feel so drained or hung over. Last night was too much for me. I have never had sex like that. I shake with what could be sobs if there wasn't something, ice, preventing me.

I cannot pretend that our love-making session wasn't amazing, or that it wasn't something that I have thought about-- even fantasized about. But oh god!

I wish that I wasn't so concerned about what he thinks of me, I wish it didn't bother me if he thinks I'm easy. After all, he's the one who roped me into this travesty - this sham of an engagement.

But it does bother me. I can't even say why.

I slip as quietly as I can off of the daybed, lest I wake him, which I seriously cannot handle right now.

I have no idea what time it is now, but I pick up his pocket watch from the table and drop it with a loud clunk.

It's almost ten thirty and Parvati's funeral is this morning at eleven!

I pick up my clothing as quickly and quietly as possible.

First, however I pull up the straps of my dress and cover my breasts.

I find my nylons in opposite corners of the room and when I find my panties I drop them in the rubbish bin with a small shake.

I fix the tear in my dress with a silent flick of my wand and I dissaparate to the Burrow.

I am late to Parvati's funeral, but thankfully Padma doesn't notice. She is sitting in the front row sobbing softly, her black hair cascading down her back.

She is not alone, though. My heart drops in my chest, and I can feel my own eyes widen in disbelief. Percy is sitting next to her, his hands wrapped around her.

This cannot be real. What the fuck is going on?

Someone gently touches my arm. I look up, startled to see Lucius.

I give him a "What-Are-You-Doing-Here"look, which he ignores and steers me to a seat near the front.

People are staring at us. One older witch, a friend of Padma's parents I think, nudges her neighbor, who whispers something behind her hand.

I didn't want to be noticed, but Lucius clearly has other ideas. He offers me his arm, and when I don't' take it he uses his free hand to place it in the crook of his arm. He pats my hand. I don't know what he's playing at.

Lucius leans into my ear, his lips are on my earlobe and I can feel the goose flesh rise on my neck.

"You should have told me!" he hisses.

I don't know what he means and I look sharply at him. He kisses me chastely on the mouth, a ploy to divert the speculation of the people who are sitting around us.

"What are you talking about?" I whisper.

He grips my elbow and I wince painfully.

"We will speak about this later."

He rubs my knee and brings my hand to his mouth to kiss. A maneuver to convince other of his intentions, I'm sure.

I look at him and I feel as though I am truly seeing him for the first time. Inwardly I cringe. I knew that this earnestness was a charade. I should have known.

Something boils inside of me. I can't take it! I think I'm going to be sick right here.

Suddenly the thudding of my heart is overwhelming; I'm surprised that the people sitting around us can't hear it.

I stand up suddenly and yank my hand out of his. I want to spit on him, I should.

I shove my way through three sobbing witches and run down the aisle. People are looking at me but I don't see them. They are whispering but I can't hear. My own heartbeat is the only sound.

I rush out of the temple and into the loo down the hall. The door swings open with a loud screech and thuds shut behind me.

The memory of last night comes full force, and this time I do vomit into the sink.

That bastard!

Of course the sex was wonderful! Of course it was passionate! He had to make it look sincere! He had to make me believe he cared!

I ward the door; I know that he will come after me. After a scene like that he must be furious.

Sure enough, a few moments pass and I can hear him pounding at the door.

"Ginevra!" he growls, "open the door!"

"Go to hell!" I shout.

"Open this door, or I will blast it off its hinges!"

"Fuck off!"

I hear him utter a curse and then I hear it backfire.

I laugh loudly and callously.

"Ginevra," his voice is more controlled but it is straining with the force of not yelling. "I must speak with you. Open the door and I- "

I push the door open as hard as I can and feel it connect with his face.

He appears, furious and menacing looking around the door frame. Blood is running out of his nose and onto the collar of his robes. His nose is broken.

He steps over the threshold of the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

"You will pay for that!" he promises.

"You bastard!" I hiss. "I knew it!"

"What are you talking about!" he roars.

"I'm talking about you! I'm talking about your games and your sorry attempt at public relations! I'm talking about last night!" I finish in a low growl.

"Ah, Ginevra," he sneers. "I didn't know that you'd relate physical love with emotional love. How very touching. It is a shame though that it didn't work on dear Mister Potter."

My ears grow hotter, if that is possible.

"Last night was a mistake! All of this was! This is it," I yell. "I won't marry you!"

Lucius opens his mouth angrily, color in his cheeks, but before he can say a word, I disapparate with a sharp crack.