Chapter 2
Ginny surveyed her new flat with great satisfaction. It had taken her all day to finish moving all the odds and ends in, but it was finally finished, and she loved it. It was small—very small, dim, and still had the peculiar, almost rancid odor of the years of potions made up here before it was converted to a flat, but it was hers. It had a small bedroom in which she had to be careful not to hit her head, an even smaller bathroom with uncertain plumbing, and a tiny kitchenette/living area crammed into a corner by the stairs. Clearly it was included with the job only because no one in their right mind would pay money to live there, but Ginny didn't care. For the first time in her life she had a space which was entirely her own. No more waiting in line for the bathroom, no more being prodded to clean up her room, put her things away, help cook dinner—she could do exactly as she liked.
Her work was going well, too. The head apothecary, a kind, older man by the name of Mr. Miscere, was thrilled with her, and didn't just give her mindless tasks, but taught her as they worked. Things were definitely looking up, further proof that while Malfoy may need money to be happy, she, Ginny Weasley, could make her own way without anyone's charity.
She thought briefly of her uncle, who had thought it was such a good idea. He'd stated in the letter he'd enclosed with his will his conviction that if purebloods from both sides could just understand each other, there wouldn't be any more war, and that this understanding could be promoted through arranged marriages, a bit like ambassadors to the other side of the war. Unfortunately, not many had shared this belief, but it was in his power to make a start by encouraging his two young descendants to set an example. Ginny thought it rather telling that he didn't think they would marry on anything less than almost his entire estate, which was substantial. She thought guiltily of her deathbed promise to him, then shoved the thought aside. No one in their right mind could expect her to keep it.
The bell rang downstairs, pulling Ginny from her musings. With the flat above the shop came the duty of taking care of anyone who called after hours. Gingerly climbing down the steep stairs, she hoped she could turn away whoever it was until tomorrow. It was only early evening, possibly they just thought the shop stayed open later than it really did. The bell rang again. Or not. "Coming!" she called, picking her way through barrels and crates filled with potion ingredients.
Ginny opened the door to find the last person she had expected standing there. Draco Malfoy. He was wearing robes worth more money than she would make in a month and a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Whatever you want, Malfoy, it had better be really important, because I don't feel like dealing with you right now," Ginny snapped, unaccountably flustered by his presence.
"Oh, it's very important," he assured her smoothly. "I want to take you to dinner. We got off to rather a bad start the other day, I'm afraid I was a bit of a beast, and I want to make it up to you."
Ginny raised an eyebrow and surveyed him incredulously, wondering how anyone could be so remarkably dense. Or maybe he was just extraordinarily greedy, though she wasn't sure quite why, since he'd always seemed to have more money than he could spend. His motivations were irrelevant, however, since he was still standing on the front step, contaminating her air. "Tempting, but no," she told him icily.
"Yes, I thought you might be too tired for dinner after working all day, so I took the liberty of ordering in." He glanced at his watch. "It should be here momentarily."
Ginny was stricken dumb. If he thought he was coming in, he was insane. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he interrupted her.
"No, no, I can't stay – ah, there's the delivery boy now—I'll just leave you to your dinner. Enjoy!" With that, he Disapparated, clearly pleased at having come off with the upper hand for once.
Ginny didn't have time to react, as the delivery boy arrived a second later with an armful of steaming hot food.
"Miss Weasley?" He glanced at a slip of paper. "Should be all here," he said, handing her the bags. Ginny reached into her pocket for a few knuts to tip him. The boy grinned. "Don't worry about it, miss. Mr. Malfoy took care of it."
Ginny nodded, and the boy left with a cheery 'night, miss'. Ginny picked up the bags of food and brought them upstairs. Whatever Malfoy had chosen, it smelled delicious. Against her will, her stomach growled. Ginny didn't know what was more appalling—that Malfoy could be thoughtful, or that she was actually considering eating food he had given her. Ginny set the bags on the table and peeked in them. Provided by Malfoy or not, it looked a lot better than the sandwich she had been planning on having, and she sat down and ate.
Ginny watched with a sigh as a magnificent hawk owl which she recognized as Draco's landed on the counter with yet another package. Every few days since the food three weeks ago, he had sent some sort of gift, usually a book or a trinket or expensive candy along with a short note. Things she couldn't kill and send back. Not that she hadn't tried to send them back, but he would just return them the next day until she gave up and kept everything. Ginny tore open the package with uncalled for force as the owl flew away. Another book-- an old one on healing potions she'd been searching for unsuccessfully. She wondered how he had known, and when the inevitable confrontation would come. He wouldn't keep away forever, she knew. He probably thought he was softening her up.
The next day, just after the shop closed, Draco rapped sharply on the door to get Ginny's attention. Ginny sighed and motioned for him to come in, as she hadn't locked the door yet. He strode over to where she was working, looking expectant. Perhaps he expected to her to thank him for all the gifts, Ginny thought. She continued working, carefully measuring two ounces of beetle eyes into each box and ignoring him with equal care. Maybe he would take the hint and just leave. After a moment's silence, Draco said coldly, "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
Ginny surveyed the mess in front of her. She was starting to fill Potions kits for the coming school year, and the floor and counter were littered with half full boxes, assorted jars and bins of ingredients, and a variety of scales and measures. "You are disturbing me, as it happens, but no matter, we might as well get it over with." She stood up and wiped her dusty hands on her apron.
Ginny took a deep breath, and gave the speech she'd been preparing for the past couple of weeks, ever since she'd realized he was serious. "I'm not going to marry you, Malfoy. I'm not toying with you, playing hard to get, or anything like that. I'm just telling you. I'm not going to marry you and you're wasting your time and money on me."
Draco looked livid, his pale face turning mottled red and purple. "I'm just trying to keep you from making the biggest mistake of your life, you silly little girl," he hissed. "You wouldn't know what's good for you if it hit you in the face!"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Malfoy, you've never thought of anyone but yourself in your entire life," she cried angrily. "Why are you really so desperate for the money? You have enough of it without adding Uncle Thestius's!" She looked pointedly at his obviously expensive robes. "You could try telling the truth, you know!" she finished caustically.
Draco's face had gone rather pale, though maybe that was just the uncertain light in the shop. He seemed to be thinking, hard. "All right, you want the truth?" he asked nastily. "Here it is, the whole, sordid truth."
Ginny held her breath, startled and immensely curious. She hadn't expected her ill thought words to have any effect other than angering him further.
"We're broke," he said roughly. "We're more than broke, we're deeply in debt. We owe every merchant in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and any other wizarding shop of any importance. The only reason they keep giving us credit is that my father threatens to curse their families if they don't. We have less money even than your family, and that's saying something." The words spilled from him angrily like pus from a wound, but seemed to give him some sort of relief.
Ginny stared at him. Of all the excuses she might have expected, this was the last. The Malfoys were broke? Ginny looked again at his clothes, his boots, even his haircut. Everything screamed wealth. She thought of the Slytherin Quidditch team, provided with new, top of the line brooms when Draco started playing. She remembered the galas the Malfoys were famous for, always written up in the society pages as the social event of the year. How could they be broke? And Dad said Lucius Malfoy was greasing the palms of every other person in the Ministry to get his way. But there was no doubting Draco told the truth. She could see it in every corner of his face as he watched her warily, waiting for her reaction.
"I don't understand," she stammered stupidly. "How could you be broke? You're rich."
"Are you stupid, Weasley? I just told you, we were rich. We're not now." Seeing her still puzzled expression, he rolled his eyes and continued. "If people knew we were broke, my dear father wouldn't have any more power. You think his tremendous influence is from personal charm? It's money, and without it, he's just another git who used to be important, once upon a time."
For the first time, Ginny thought she understood. In a world where money is power, being broke simply isn't an option. It occurred to her then how very different they were. In her family, money was just for buying food and clothes and things like that. There was never quite enough of it, but that hadn't really mattered. Ginny felt a sudden surge of pity for Draco, and all the caustic comments she had ready died on her lips.
"I'm still not going to marry you Draco, especially if it means giving people like your father money," she said softly.
"He wouldn't touch it," Draco spoke confidently. "I wouldn't even let him know I had it. I would use to get out of here, start a new life. You think I like having a Deatheater for a father? Look, I'll even split the money 60/40 if you want."
Ginny wished she could believe him, but she had seen the confident, arrogant look slip back over his face like a glittering mask at a masquerade. He was back to his usual self, saying anything he thought would get him his own way. She found she couldn't hate him, much as she tried. He was too weak to hate, really, when it came down to it. For all his arrogant ways, he was really little more than a lonely young boy trying desperately to buy his father's approval. All she felt was pity, a strange sort of pity tinged with frustration.
"For the last time, Draco, no." Ginny shook her head and turned away, concentrating on the jars of mooncalf dung stacked behind her without seeing them. A moment later she heard the front door slam, and she sank down to the floor in relief, wondering why she felt so drained.
The presents from Draco stopped. She was relieved, hoping it meant he had given up, but missed them a bit all the same. She had never been one of the really pretty girls at school, and had never been widely sought, nor showered with gifts. She'd dated quite a few guys at Hogwarts after she had given up on Harry, enough guys to raise a few eyebrows even, but they had only been a sort of proof, to herself and to everyone else, that she was over Harry.
It took her awhile to recognize that she was dating them and breaking up with them at the rate she was because none of them had been able to measure up to Harry. Only recently had she realized she hadn't really comparing them to Harry, she'd been comparing them to the hero she had built in her head and graced with Harry's image. It was only then that she knew she'd had a crush on a fantasy all those years, and her crush on Harry ended abruptly.
Ginny sighed and continued mixing up an anti-acne potion. Mr. Miscere said they sold lots of them when school started and kids wanted to stock up. He didn't quite understand why they didn't go to Madam Pomfrey and save money, but Ginny knew no one wanted to have to explain being treated for acne to clear skinned friends. Like many others, she'd kept a jar of anti-acne potion under her bed herself. The front bell rang, and Ginny charmed her stirring spoon to stir by itself and went out to see who it was.
Pansy Parkinson stood inside the door dramatically, looking for all the world like she was striking a pose and expected to be photographed any minute. Ginny smirked a bit and, wiping her hands on her apron, went to see what she wanted.
"Can I help you, Miss Parkinson?" she asked politely, using the formal title Pansy seemed to prefer. She refrained from asking if she had come for a beauty potion.
Pansy wrinkled her nose a little like Ginny gave off some sort of bad stench, and Ginny itched to slap the smug, superior look off of her pug face.
Pansy gave her a tight, forced smile. "I'd like to talk to you," she said at last. "Privately." She glanced around the shop as if she expected to see hoards of people hanging on to her every word.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You can come into the back room if you want," she said, wondering what on earth Pansy could have to say to her. Privately even.
Pansy followed her behind the curtain separating the two rooms. The main shop was kept respectably clean and orderly, but the back room was untidy and a little cobwebby, and the bubotuber pus in the anti-acne potion gave off an acrid scent.
Pansy clearly liked the back room even less than she had the main shop, but didn't comment, for which Ginny grudgingly gave her credit. She had never liked Pansy.
"I'm sure you know why I'm here," she began.
"I don't actually, but have a seat, I have a feeling this is going to be long." Ginny sat down herself and motioned to the only other chair in the room, an old one with a wobbly leg, which was why it had been relegated to the back room in the first place. Pansy dusted it off with a lace edged handkerchief, and sat down. The chair rocked ominously, but didn't collapse.
"You see, dear, it's about Draco," she gave Ginny what she probably thought was a sisterly smile, though it looked more like a grimace. Ginny could barely keep from laughing. Pansy was jealous of her!
"I heard he was sending you…well, gifts, of a sort. Trinkets, really. I came to warn you about him…friend to friend." Another would-be warm smile. Ginny stifled a grin.
"Well, you see, you're not really his type. Draco is destined to marry someone, well, someone of his own class. Someone…well, not someone like you. Not…not, well, a working girl."
Ginny was truly angry now. Ginny had more class in her little finger than Pansy could ever hope to have in her entire life. Her blood was just as pure, her education just as good. Her family was also now considerably wealthier than the Malfoys, though Pansy didn't know it. "Someone like you?" she shot back angrily.
Pansy blushed, a carefully cultivated blush, not one of true embarrassment. "Well, yes," she tittered, ducking her head in artificial shyness.
Ginny stared at her. Slytherins were ambitious she knew, but she had never considered what Pansy's particular ambitions might be. Now it came to her. Pansy's true ambition in life was Draco. It was pathetic. Well and truly pathetic. And now Pansy thought Ginny was going to steal Draco away. Ginny considered for a moment telling her that she and Draco had been dating secretly for years, that she had been a mere cover up, but nixed that idea. That might bring Draco back. She thought about relating Draco's confession, telling her that her prize was mere gilding, not true gold. But that was too incredibly personal. It was Draco's secret, his to keep and his to tell. And besides, Pansy would never believe her. Ginny opted to tell her the truth, or as close as she could safely get to it.
"Friend to friend, it's true," she said, forcing sympathy into her voice. "Draco has been sending little gifts. I've asked him to stop, but he insists on sending me things. You know the sort of thing—flowers, chocolates, jewelry. I tell him he really must stop, but he does insist so on having his own way," she said innocently. "Maybe you could ask him for me, seeing that you're such good friends with him. Perhaps he'd listen to you."
Ginny took a malicious satisfaction in Pansy's stricken face, feeling she had repaid her for the 'working girl' remark.
Pansy rose from her chair, pale. "I'll get you for this, Weasley," she sputtered, leaving with as much dignity as she could muster.
Ginny smirked, half in anger, half in amusement, and turned back to her potion, which had stirred itself into a gloppy brown mess. Setting the cauldron aside to clean later and reaching for a clean one, it occurred to her. Pansy must have been the one to tell Draco where she was. Her mind wandered back to the day she got the job. She had been so thrilled she told anyone who would listen, including Pansy Parkinson, whom she had met on the street. She was willing to bet Pansy rued that day as much as she did.
A/N:
RyokoJesseandFiend: I think I read that fic ages ago, and can tell you that the 'relative forcing marriage' idea is pretty much where the similarity ends. I recall that that fic was very good, and thank you for the comparison.
Yazethet: Another long review, thanks. Yes, the promise will come into play, she's just not feeling it yet, as the six months aren't. Glad you think my characterizations are good, I've tried to keep everyone in character.
About Ginny's new name: Anyone who's read the un-updated chapters or the past reviews will see that I previously had Ginny's full name as Imogen, a lovely name that I liked very much. However JK's brand new site, www.jkrowling.com, tells us that Ginny's full name is Ginevra, another lovely name, in my opinion. So if you don't like Ginevra, still insist it's Virginia, whatever, don't take it up with me, it's now canon. She will still be Ginny most of the time, since that's what's she's usually called in canon.
A million thanks go to everyone else who has reviewed, I appreciate it
Disclaimer: As usual, I own none of this.
