This is just the prologue of a story I have been considering for some time,
and my first time at writing Harry Potter fanfiction. It will be G/D, with
a little bit of confusion, machiavellianism, and heroism thrown in.
I am not in any way attempting to assert ownership over the work of JK Rowling. The Potterverse is hers in its entirety, and no-one is more grateful than I.
It was impossible to truly anticipate the level of stupidity of a recent Hogwarts graduate who was also a redhead and a Weasley.
Or, at least, so thought Draco Malfoy, as he stared in utter shock at the woman standing before him, his jaw dropping - rather inelegantly - with stupefaction.
"You are interested in what, Weasley?"
Ginny huffed. She had truly thought it was rather obvious. She had been as clear as she could be, after all, and didn't really she how Malfoy could have misunderstood her. She frowned, a little furrow appearing in her forehead.
"Are you deaf, Malfoy, or just stupid? I said I was interested in working for the Dark Lord."
Draco's cold grey eyes narrowed, and he began tapping one elegantly shod foot upon the marble entranceway of Malfoy's Magical Merchandising, the home of a plethora of top-selling products such as the Nimbus broom series, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
"Of course I heard you, Weasley. However, strangely enough, I didn't believe you were serious. Even you couldn't be that stupid."
Ginny's face flooded with colour, but Draco could have sworn he saw laughter in those eyes, along with a healthy (and most gratifying) dose of embarrassment, indignation, and fear.
Something was definitely going on.
Ginny began to speak.
"I may not be ideal Death Eater material, Malfoy, but there's no need to make fun of me. I refuse to be ridiculed by some little closed-minded prat who pretends that he can't understand plain English. I've had enough of being made fun of - eighteen years with six brothers have made me immune to teasing. However, despite their juvenile natures, they have taught me a variety of useful skills, one of which will lead to me plowing a fist into that pretty face of yours unless you are very careful. You heard what I said. I meant it."
Draco raised a single eyebrow, rather impressed. Who would have guessed the littlest Weasley had such anger in her? It certainly didn't show.
She had always been so sweet, so trusting, so naively innocent.
Rather delicious, really, from the point of view of a young man so jaded that he no longer dared even to hope.
But his image of her certainly didn't fit with her current request. For how could such a girl ever actually desire to support the Dark rather than the Light?
It would mean turning against her heritage.
Turning against her entire family.
Turning against everything she had ever been taught, in favour of something she could not know, something she had never known, something, until now, that Draco had assumed (or would have, had he thought of it) that she never would know.
It was horrfying.
It was ridiculous.
And yet, strangely compelling.
Draco smiled.
"Step aside, Weasley. If we are having this conversation, there are better places to have it." A contemptuous glance was thrown at the Triple M employees scurrying around the reception, their gazes consciously lowered to the floor, averted from the spectacle of the son of their employer having what appeared to be quite a heated conversation with a strange woman.
Cowards? . . . or sheep?
Draco was undecided on that one.
It was always possible that they were in fact both.
Draco did not believe in making the mistake of overestimating anyone - you were only liable to be disappointed if you did.
Draco did not brook disappointment.
And yet, as he led the way to his office, his heels clicking smartly and with purpose once more upon the marble floors, he found himself unable to completely restrain the vague and disquieting sense of something that appeared to be exactly that.
Disappointment.
He had almost forgotten what it felt like.
I am aware that Triple M as a company nickname bears an uncomfortable resemblance to 3M (Post-Its). No copyright infringement is intended.
If you like this story, please review.
I am not in any way attempting to assert ownership over the work of JK Rowling. The Potterverse is hers in its entirety, and no-one is more grateful than I.
It was impossible to truly anticipate the level of stupidity of a recent Hogwarts graduate who was also a redhead and a Weasley.
Or, at least, so thought Draco Malfoy, as he stared in utter shock at the woman standing before him, his jaw dropping - rather inelegantly - with stupefaction.
"You are interested in what, Weasley?"
Ginny huffed. She had truly thought it was rather obvious. She had been as clear as she could be, after all, and didn't really she how Malfoy could have misunderstood her. She frowned, a little furrow appearing in her forehead.
"Are you deaf, Malfoy, or just stupid? I said I was interested in working for the Dark Lord."
Draco's cold grey eyes narrowed, and he began tapping one elegantly shod foot upon the marble entranceway of Malfoy's Magical Merchandising, the home of a plethora of top-selling products such as the Nimbus broom series, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
"Of course I heard you, Weasley. However, strangely enough, I didn't believe you were serious. Even you couldn't be that stupid."
Ginny's face flooded with colour, but Draco could have sworn he saw laughter in those eyes, along with a healthy (and most gratifying) dose of embarrassment, indignation, and fear.
Something was definitely going on.
Ginny began to speak.
"I may not be ideal Death Eater material, Malfoy, but there's no need to make fun of me. I refuse to be ridiculed by some little closed-minded prat who pretends that he can't understand plain English. I've had enough of being made fun of - eighteen years with six brothers have made me immune to teasing. However, despite their juvenile natures, they have taught me a variety of useful skills, one of which will lead to me plowing a fist into that pretty face of yours unless you are very careful. You heard what I said. I meant it."
Draco raised a single eyebrow, rather impressed. Who would have guessed the littlest Weasley had such anger in her? It certainly didn't show.
She had always been so sweet, so trusting, so naively innocent.
Rather delicious, really, from the point of view of a young man so jaded that he no longer dared even to hope.
But his image of her certainly didn't fit with her current request. For how could such a girl ever actually desire to support the Dark rather than the Light?
It would mean turning against her heritage.
Turning against her entire family.
Turning against everything she had ever been taught, in favour of something she could not know, something she had never known, something, until now, that Draco had assumed (or would have, had he thought of it) that she never would know.
It was horrfying.
It was ridiculous.
And yet, strangely compelling.
Draco smiled.
"Step aside, Weasley. If we are having this conversation, there are better places to have it." A contemptuous glance was thrown at the Triple M employees scurrying around the reception, their gazes consciously lowered to the floor, averted from the spectacle of the son of their employer having what appeared to be quite a heated conversation with a strange woman.
Cowards? . . . or sheep?
Draco was undecided on that one.
It was always possible that they were in fact both.
Draco did not believe in making the mistake of overestimating anyone - you were only liable to be disappointed if you did.
Draco did not brook disappointment.
And yet, as he led the way to his office, his heels clicking smartly and with purpose once more upon the marble floors, he found himself unable to completely restrain the vague and disquieting sense of something that appeared to be exactly that.
Disappointment.
He had almost forgotten what it felt like.
I am aware that Triple M as a company nickname bears an uncomfortable resemblance to 3M (Post-Its). No copyright infringement is intended.
If you like this story, please review.
